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 ^{(it's beta!)}

I really don't think it's anything special, but I needed to write it to get some perspective on the situation. Comments would be appreciated. Heck, ADVICE would be appreciated. Hahaha.

--

He’d ended it a few months earlier, feeding her a few half-assed lines. We’re different, he’d said. We’ve grown apart. And it was bullshit, of course. She knew it before it came out of his mouth. Katie had told her a few weeks earlier that he’d chatted up some girl at a party, got her number. He could have told her the truth. He should have. But he hadn’t. Amidst the amorphous blob of shit that was pouring from his mouth, he’d asked her if they could still be friends.

And she’d said yes. That was her fault; she owned up to it.

She just hadn’t felt like she was in a position to say no. He’d had been one of the biggest parts of her life for nearly three years. She’d seen him, talked to him, nearly every single one of those days. If she cut him out, she felt like she’d be losing a huge portion of herself; if he wasn’t in her life, then she’d be incomplete. Telling him to take his bullshit lies and shove them up his ass, no matter how well-deserved, had never been an option.

So she’d sucked it up, dealt with it. Even when he kissed her the night after he broke up with her then told her it meant nothing other than he was still attracted to her. Even when he dated the other girl from the party and didn’t tell her.

She’d confronted him about it, and he’d been sheepish. I was going to tell you, I swear, he’d said. Again, bullshit. She wanted to ask him, why is everything you tell me a lie? But she didn’t. Because she was patient. And strong. And it wouldn’t be that hard to deal with, in the long run. The feelings would go away, and then she wouldn’t be so bitter. They’d be friends. In the hopefully-soon-very-idealized future.

And the days had passed and turned into months. And she still thought about him, and missed him, but it got better. They were friends, in their own way. Sometimes they’d go out to lunch or dinner, catch up. They didn’t see each other as much anymore. He had no reason to come home on the weekends, now that there were no longer dating. He stayed at college so he could be with his girlfriend.

Sometimes, she’d slip up. Not to anyone in particular. In her head, she’d call him her boyfriend. Or she’d see him and the new girl together and would have to bite back the impulse to tell her to get off of him. And it wasn’t easy to remind herself day in and day out that she had no right to feel that way, none at all. But she did it anyway. And it seemed to work, until the weekend he’d come home to visit.

His parents had been complaining. They never saw him anymore. They missed him. They called a lot, annoyed him, so he decided it would be best to go home for a few days. He asked her to hang out. And she did, because she always did what he asked her.

And it was fun, like old times, before the break up and the bullshit lies and the new girl. They went to the mall, looked at CDs. He talked about the bands she didn’t like and made her listen to them, and she wrinkled her nose and told him he was crazy each time. They hugged. They took a nap. It was like nothing had changed; how else could it have been? They’d never been friends before they dated. They didn’t know any other way to act around each other. Katie sometimes asked her, isn’t it weird that he still does things like that with you? And she knew the answer should be yes, but it just wasn’t. Why should it be weird? They’d always treated each other like that. They didn’t know any other way to act around one another.

He kissed her before he left. Not like a friend, or a brother. On the mouth, soft at first and then harder and more demanding and she gave in because she always did what he asked her, even when the asking didn’t involve words.

He pulled away first. “I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She said.

“It’s not. I can’t…oh, God is going to hate me.” He dropped his head into his hands, tearing at the roots of his hair. “You hate me. I don’t blame you.”

She shook her head but maintained her distance. “I don’t hate you, and I doubt God does. It’s not like you’re married to her…it’s not like it’s adultery.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No. That doesn’t make it right.”

He came home the next weekend. And they went to the mall, and listened to CDs. He tried to convince her they were good, she respectfully disagreed. They took a nap. When they woke up, she was curled into his side.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

She didn’t say a word, just merely looked at him. Part of her wanted to say yes, but her brain refused to let her mouth answer. It was the right choice, the respectful choice. She knew it. But still couldn’t find the strength to say no. She simply stayed silent, watching him in disbelief.

He seemed almost as shocked that the words had come out of his mouth. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

They both turned over and watched TV. They didn’t bring it up again.

And then he broke up with the new girl.

For all her own private issues with jealousy, the new girl had always been completely respectful and sweet. She trusted him completely, never had an issue with him hanging out with his ex-girlfriend. The new girl didn’t doubt him for a second, and really, that just made everything much worse.

Of course she felt guilty, felt responsible. He never said the break up was because of their kiss, but she still felt as though it had played a role. She’d hurt someone who’d only ever treated her with gentility.

She was officially a terrible person.

He kissed her often, now. After they went out to lunch. They’d go back to his room, and he’d shove his tongue down her throat. And she never said no, never discouraged him, but always left his room feeling dirty. He wanted to be her friend with benefits, but nothing else. He wanted to have his cake and fuck her, too.

She wouldn’t let him. Sometimes she wondered if that’s why he kept coming back: the conquest, the challenge. And whenever that occurred to her, she occasionally thought that maybe that was why she wouldn’t give it up: to keep him coming back.

It was stupid. The entire relationship and everything about it was completely fucked up, had been for months. And she knew it, but the same old fear haunted her. Without him, she’d lose part of herself. She felt like she knew who she was when he was around; if she lost him, what the hell would become of her? So she kept seeing him as friends. Their usual routine of CDs and naps. She played him her new favorite band, asked him to see them in concert with her since he was the only other person she knew who was aware of them. He agreed.

They had great seats, could see the stage perfectly. The songs were wonderful, the performance electric. And every now and again, he’d lean over and kiss her on the lips, and pull away smiling. She didn’t smile back.

He frowned. “What’s the matter?” then, teasingly, “You don’t like me anymore?”

“YOU don’t like ME, remember?” she said. It wasn’t accusation, just a statement.

He pulled away, brow furrowed, and turned back toward the stage. He seemed lost in thought the rest of the night, until she drove him home and pulled up outside of his house to drop him off. Before opening the door, he turned and kissed her, grabbing the back of her head and forcing her to respond.

He pulled away. “Come inside with me.”

She looked at the clock. “It’s 3 AM.”

“I know.”

But she went inside, because she always did as he asked her.

And he kissed her very thoroughly, quietly on the couch in his living room. He didn’t want to wake his roommate. The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, and when she glanced up it was almost 3:30. She started to get up.

“I have to go. I still have a half-hour drive to my house.”

”Can I ask you something?” he said, standing and looking at her very seriously. When she nodded, he continued. “Do you think you’d ever consider giving me a second chance?”

Her body felt cold. Her head was swimming; she was really tired. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, her right hand reaching up to clutch the back of his head. “Maybe.” She said. “I don’t know. Do you want one?”

“I don’t know.” He said. “I need to think about it.”

“Alright.” She answered.

He walked her to the porch, gave her a kiss and a hug, watched her get into her car. During the drive home, all she could think was that she was so, so stupid because she knew that for some inexplicable reason, she’d give him a hundred chances. All he had to do was ask.