Accidental Housemate

24: connecting

some people return to you
like rain to thirsty earth—
not because they were called,
but because they were always meant to.

CONNECTING

. . . 

The first thing I wanted to do when I got home was call Courtney. I wanted to tell her I agreed to her offer. I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the change, but anything that would get me out of Dave’s face was a better idea than staying. I started packing my things aggressively, taking my anger out on my clothes and belongings. Thank God they were all I had, and I didn’t invest in anything else.

I stopped for a second. Why was I angry, seriously? Dealing with everything with so much aggression. Was it the downfall of my expectations that caused the negativity build-up? The embarrassment of my exposed past? Was I mad at myself, or Dave? Maybe, just maybe, I was looking for someone to absorb my anger, to blame, and the guy fell victim for it.

He had gotten intimate, knowing what I was. He was most likely horny.

My brain seemed to know that statement was all I needed to reawaken my anger.

A knock resonated from the ajar door. “I’m ordering food. Do you want anything?”

I let the view of me packing answer him.

“So hasty to get rid of me, I see. Fine, got my answer.”

He turned around to leave, but I had something to say.

“You know what, Dave? You might be honest about your feelings. I might be wrong about my assumption. But you know what’s for sure? It’s not all about you!” I walked closer to him. “Although we live together, although you knew me before we even met—” I showed him my index finger and thumb almost stuck together to demonstrate— “you barely know this much about me. You barely know enough to understand what I’m doing! Then how can you want us to be anything together?”

“Because you won’t tell me! Over and over again, I try to get any words out of your mouth to understand what you’re going through, to offer anything I can to help, but I always carry the heavy weight of your rejection on my heart. You want to act like Superwoman all the time? So be it!”

He’d taken my words as me blaming him, although I’d only meant them as facts. He didn’t know much because I’d never wanted him to know. That could’ve contributed hugely to why I was mad at him; he knew much more than I’d wanted to tell.

“Because how am I supposed to tell you or anyone else I’ve been sexually harassed at work?” I could feel tears coming out of my eyes. “How am I supposed to explain this fear? How am I supposed to trust anyone who recognises me because of the filth I used to do? How can I be sure about my safety with anyone? What if it’s all an act?”

Dave’s eyes showed him puzzling between containing my emotions and keeping the conversation going. A moment of silence settled in, a moment I couldn’t bear, so I turned around to announce I was leaving things there.

However, he wouldn’t.

“Just... know anyone can hurt you in this world. Not always because of what you did, but because they’re a bad person. And I’m not. I’m... I’m sorry about what happened to you. Lemme know if I can do anything. We can sit down and talk about it.”

When he received no reaction from me, he left me with a great pain I didn’t know how to handle, a pain about which I could only cry.

I was so over people telling me they were sorry about my misfortunes.