Accidental Housemate

28: rejecting

when he held me,
all the places inside me
that had been waiting for war
finally went quiet.

REJECTING

. . .

Melissa had so cunningly fooled me.

I stood awkwardly, facing a very much healthy Dave sitting by his mother’s bed as she slept and snored softly. He looked at me as if I were an alien, and he had the right to. He was probably wondering what had brought me there.

“Dave... I...” I stammered, unsure if I should go on with an asleep person in the room.

“What are you doing here?”

The coldness in his tone could freeze me.

“Can we talk... outside?”

He brushed by me, just like his sister did, and left the room. I followed him.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry for what I did,” I started, not looking him in the face.

“Okay,” he retorted.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did—I mean, leaving wordlessly after relentlessly doubting your intentions. Sometimes, we have to lose precious things before we realise their value. I learnt the hard way. I’d have made myself live with the pain of losing you, but I can’t live knowing I hurt you...”

My words stopped in my throat, blocked by a forming lump. I wasn’t sure where I was going with my speech. I willed myself not to cry and get embarrassed, although his attitude wasn’t helping.

“I’m sorry, Dave... I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me,” I finished softly, so it wouldn’t sound like an order.

When I finally looked up at him and met his eyes, I wished I hadn’t. His face showed no emotion, and his eyes no longer held a glint of admiration for me.

“You don’t have to be sorry. We were decent housemates to each other. We had good sex at the end. No strings attached.”

The word ‘sex’ had the same flabbergasting effect on me as before. “We... what?”

“As I said, no strings attached. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“This... This isn’t the Dave I know.”

“I stopped recognising the Perrie I knew long ago. Now, excuse me, I need to leave.”

He turned around, but I stopped him with a strong, desperate grip on his sleeve. I would’ve preferred him screaming at me rather than giving me that chilly attitude.

“You’re lying. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent me that text and actually moved on. There are strings. I’m not asking you to take me back in your life as if nothing happened, but this coldness...”

He hesitated for a second, as if he were having a hard time choosing between his heart and mind.

“Throw that text in the trash. I was dramatic and sorta drunk while writing about not forgiving you. Not worth it. There’s nothing left in me for you, Perrie.”

And he chose his mind over his heart and left.

What a big mistake I had made.

He’d looked genuinely wounded, unable to carry on the conversation. As he walked further down the corridor, he stopped for a moment to look back at me, then he walked on again.