Last Escape

Day 6

Wednesday evening was too beautiful. The snow was spiralling down and everything was silent, I didn't want to ruin that sudden tranquility by screaming into the phone in hysterics. We spoke for 22 seconds. But yesterday. Yesterday I saw him.
I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I'd just tell him clearly and bluntly how I feel so that in 10 years time I don't have a moment when I go "What if..." I cried. A lot. But I told him everything down to the last breath. I tried my hardest, it felt humiliating. He said he respected me for it but I just felt pathetic. Laying myself out on a platter and saying "Everything that I am belongs to you, you have complete control over me because I love you more than anything in my life. I don't see a purpose in waking up tomorrow or the day after without you next to me. I never stopped loving you, I'm sorry for putting you in this position but I can't stand the thought of us losing a chance to be as happy as we were, have been, could be now." And then getting rejected. Reality kicked me in the teeth, I don't know how I convinced myself for even a moment that he'd still want me. I'm not going to go into details. We spoke in flaming, infuriating circles. He listened but at the same time he didn't. He was cold and cruel but loving and gentle. He was very straight with me but didn't know and then changed his mind and then went back and forth. He said I was right. He said I was perfect, we were perfect. That deep down he must love me. He said we could be amazing together. But he also said his head tells him one thing and his heart another. He said it wasn't our last chance. He said the time is wrong. He said that maybe, he didn't want me now because I was always a fight and now it is too easy.

We escaped reality for a few hours. At least I did. After shivering at Christchurch trainstation for an hour we got the first train available. It was only to Bournemouth although we were thinking of London, Brighton, anywhere. We got to Bournemouth at around midnight. After hopelessly looking for some open corner shops we found a dead looking hotel about 10 minutes walk from the town center, the entire time talking about herherherher. The Picadilly Hotel. Double room priced at 50pounds (but Sev the Polish nightshifter only took 40.) He then unlocked the bar and gave us 12 shots of vodka, 2 shots of tequila, 4 shots of liqueur, a Pimms and lemonade and a bizarre concoction of schnapps, vodka, Jack Daniels and lemondade, all at discounted price. Oh and two polish shots of vodka, blackcurrant and tabasco sauce. Needless say, all my sobbing at the pub, on the trainstation and walking through Bournemouth was numbed. We we very very very very drunk. We stayed with Sev until about 2:30 am and I don't remember going upstairs. I woke up in room 112, him hugging me, cold, the truth of rejection biting me on the tongue and more tears clumping themseles in my throat. I love you. I cried and cried, cold and naked. We hadn't done anything like that, niether of us wanted to, that wasn't why we were there. He just held me like a child and I couldn't stop. Then it was checking out time, they called the room phone but he refused to answer. So we hastily pulled our clothes back on while a fire alarm (??) went off. We dropped off the key and left. We went to a pub and I bought him a breakfast sandwich and a glass of orange juice. He ate, he drank, he repeated himself "I don't feel that way, it's not right, I don't know what I want." I broke down again, this is getting tedious, I need to learn how to control my tear ducts. We sat in Inferno and suddenly he seemed very bitter and hating towards me. Probably because I'd cried so much. Probably because I kept asking about her. Probably because it is very hard to care about a pebble in your shoe or a feeling thats exterior to your life because it is entirely unreturned by you. I know it isn't the end of the world as we know it, there is no war, there is no death. It just hurts very deeply.
I'm glad we ran away for a night like that, I felt like me again for a few short hours. It felt indescribable to be held, after a week of crying alone. It was a night I won't forget, and I'm grateful that he listened, that he agreed to go with me, that he held me and that he was very straight. The choice seemed easy for him though, I guess I'm fading away already. Maybe one day all thats left of "me" will be packed down into a dusty cardboard box full of photos, notes and underwear that I left at his house after Madrid, desolate in the attic.
I'm unsure as to how I should feel now. How does some one feel in my shoes? If it's confused, empty, angry, rejected, worthless, unwanted and hideous then I've pretty much hit center. Drinking too much seems to be doing the trick for now.
As long as I told him. As long as he knows. The rest isn't up to me. But who is it upto at all?
Still, I love you.
Still, Goodnight.