“You are being the better person,” she said over the phone. I scoffed.
“I know,” I replied, with a sad and passive-aggressive tone.
I could feel the walls closing in. Hanged up with anxiety creeping down my throat to my stomach. Went back to my computer and gambled away 1,000 bucks worth of cryptocurrencies. Now I was mournful, angsty and broke. Because nothing screams desperation and helplessness rather than letting oneself sink deeper in their self-destruction Pit of Misery.
Met up with a friend of a friend, afterwards. She invited me over to her place to sign a copy of my novella “Re/Start,” that she had just bought in Amazon. The old me would have fucked her to numb the pain inside, just for a while. But The Writer was nowhere to be found. It was just me, faking a smile as I told what was happening with C, over a beer.
“She met this Jewish guy not too long ago, on a hike in Israel. They hooked up. They fell in love. Flew back and forth Israel and Denmark, but things didn’t work out. Distance, you know?” I said. “But they never stopped talking, or having feelings for each other. So, a couple of months before meeting me, she planned a trip to meet him in Germany next weekend, to see where they stand.”
“Is she still going?” the woman asked, surprised.
“Yes, she is. I don’t want her to, of course,” I said, with my nonchalant facade falling apart. “But I won’t stop her.”
“Are you sure? Why not?”
“Because I have been there before. I did exactly the same, with my Norwegian ex and Laura, a British girl I met after our first breakup. I had to decide between the New and the Old. And I picked my ex, but never quite got over Laura. So I know how this whole ‘what if’ story plays out. If I don’t let her go, whatever feelings she have left for him are gonna grow and push her away from me, right into his arms. And she’ll resent the fuck out of me, making us both miserable in the long run… I wish she had made a fucking decision by now, but she clearly haven’t. Not really.”
“True,” she said, taking a big sip on her beer, with a compassionate look on her face. “And you know what they say: indecision is a decision in itself.”
“Yeah. And I feel pretty fucking hopeless about it,” I replied. “Because even if they just ‘hang out as friends,’ something in me just broke. She didn’t change her plans, after all. Even though she says she has feelings for me, that she sees a future together and that she really likes me. I can’t help but feeling like the consolation prize, the second choice, and it fucking sucks. I never wanted to be somebody’s backup plan, and here I am, waiting for her to make the call. I can already feel how I’m falling out of love, protecting myself from this damn fuckup. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”
I left her apartment after finishing my beer. Hit the streets of Copenhagen, breathing in the cold and darkness of the Danish autumn. I walked into the night with no direction, feeling depression finally showing her face, clear as day. It was Friday night and I had nobody to drink my sorrow away with. I was alone. I was lonely. And it was all my fault. I had prioritized fucking over anything and anyone else. And now I was staring into the ceiling from dozens of messy beds, next to warm silhouettes with no face nor love; empty feminine vessels. And I was fucking empty too, depleted of any resemblance of human emotion. Dry.
“You are being the better person,” C said. Her words crushed me. “To what end?” I thought. Any possible outcome seems so irrelevant now. If she still loves this guy, it’s over. If she’s still “confused” after meeting him, I’ll end it. But even if nothing happens between them, my mind has shut down my heart, putting a halt to my feelings. And I don’t know if I can make it run again; if I’m willing to risk being broken, the same way in which I have broken others. Even if I think I deserve it, after all the terrible things I have done.