Wrong about Him

"Must I go bound while you go free

Must I love a man who doesn't love me

Must I be born with so little art

As to love a man who'll break my heart"

— Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince

What do you suppose you do, when say... the person you want comfort from the most is the very person who caused you the pain?

When you so very desperately want him to take you in his arms — and yet, you want him to go, to leave you alone.

What does one do?

My predicament may seem petty to the average outsider - I was the girl he looked twice at, when nobody else could hold his attention. And plenty before me had tried, believe you me.

It had all seemed so simple to begin with. Boy meets girl, girl likes boy back, they dance and laugh and drink a little more than they probably should have, and with their inhibitions lowered due to that amber liquid with a hooking punch to the mouth, girl and boy have sex.

And boy was the sex good. No, not just good - it was fanbloodytastic.

Boy then goes away a while to work, but keeps in touch - for when he returns, without a drop of scotch in sight, boy and girl have sex again - and again and again and again.

But here's the rub; after girl and boy have spent some time getting to know each other beyond their sexual desires, girl falls for boy.

How cliche of her.

And I thought he liked me back in the same capacity. We were comfortable around one another, seeing each other not just for sex, but for trips to the theatre or to eat dinner; lying back in probably the worst clothes we owned while we spent lazy sunday's binge watching Grey's Anatomy on Sky. Heck, I even peed with the bathroom door open, once.

We would read together (mostly at his flat as his book collection was far more impressive than mine could ever hope to be, and not from a lack of trying), and one time we even went for a run together, though, we quickly admitted that was a huge mistake when I remembered my cardio sucks.

Life with him in it was sweet.

But then Boy went away again - nothing untoward, it was part of his job - dating the hottest British Actor since sliced bread apparently had its hardships, and that was that he did actually have to work.

With Tom gone, time stood still around me. My morning walks to work seemed as cloudy and dull as the evening walks home, and I couldn't remember having seen the sun or felt the gentle autumn breeze on my flustered cheeks - it were as though everything around me held its breath too, just waiting for the day he'd return.

And return he did.

Return.

Back to the way things used to be.

The first few days were always full of hot fucking that kept us up all hours and even had me calling into work 'sick'.

Then he'd go home, and I wouldn't hear from him for a few days. He'd attend big fancy events and dinners, and award shows, and i'd sit in my pyjamas eating ice cream.

And that was when it struck me - we'd been doing this for around a year, and not once had we defined what we were actually doing.

We just... plodded along.