Moving On

Moving On (5)

Chapter Five

Dear Diary,

Today was—different. I woke up frustrated and annoyed at Vincent, but by the end of the day, my feelings towards him had changed slightly. He was still a big, fat jerk, but to be honest, he was a good guy. I still didn’t like the fact that he was trying to help me, but he had good intentions. All he wanted was to see me happy.

And he did. Well, I think so. After we left The Chocolate Room, the two of us walked to McDonalds, thank God it wasn’t too far. There, we chatted about random things. I got to know a lot about him, like his favourite color – red, his favourite food – Chinese, how he knew Dani – he used to work at the library before, and other general information like that.

And I had actually laughed at the stories he told me about himself. They were real laughs, real smiles. It had been a long time since I had laughed like that – to be precise, around six months.

The reason I bought you is because I needed some sort of closure from all the pain. I needed to rant about all of our fights, be sure of myself that it was never really my fault. Somehow, I had started to talk about Vincent, but this diary entry will be solely dedicated to The Jerk Who Must Not Be Named.

Remember when I said I cried a lot the first time we ‘broke up?’ It apparently wasn’t a break up, it was just him taking time to think about our relationship. I remember that day clearly; it’s as if the events are imprinted in my brain, forever to remain and never to be destroyed.

When he said he needed time, I agreed. I mean, what else could I possibly do? Did I really have a choice? Could I really say, “No, you’re not allowed to take a break?” No. Of course I couldn’t. That would make me a bitch.

I tried my best to leave him alone. I really did. It was hard. Extremely hard. How could it not be? We had talked constantly for about five months, every single day. Even when we had fights, we would be normal with each other by the next day, no matter how much we yelled at each other or insulted each other the previous night. That had been the first time for us to actually stop talking.

He did reply when I messaged, but his replies were never proper. They seemed distant and far away, as if something else was constantly on his mind. I decided to leave him alone for a whole day. I didn’t allow myself to text him, thinking that what was on his mind was probably him thinking about us.

I was wrong. I texted him the next day. I had waited three full days for him to think about our situation and I was getting extremely anxious. He replied. I asked him. And do you know what he said? He said he was too busy and he didn’t have enough time to think about us or our relationship.

I thought about it all for a long while. And I made a decision. I told him clearly that it would be better if we broke up because it was just too hard. I told him I understood that he was busy and that it would be better if we stayed friends.

He should’ve left it at that. But he said he would change.

He didn’t.

I blinked my eyes a few times. I had not realized that tears had formed in them until the last two words I wrote had become blurry through my vision.

Two tears dripped down my cheeks and I angrily pawed at them with my hands, not understanding what I had to cry about or why I should be crying when it wasn’t my fault.

I gulped, trying to swallow the tears that wanted to spill down my face. This wasn’t right. I shouldn’t be crying.

I grabbed my cellphone and quickly dialed Vincent’s number. We had exchanged contact information—well, he had given me his because he had already obtained mine from Dani—this afternoon at McDonalds.