C is for Caroline

11 | self-preservation worse than a day-old quokka

Okay, so before any of you ask or get all weird about it, I'm just gonna level with you.

Yes, I'm currently sitting in the lobby of 393 West End Ave.

I don't want to see any disappointed looks from any of you, please, I'm already suffering enough as is. Besides, I have a good reason to be here this time (yes, it's a better reason than just wanting to fuck—although I do still want to fuck, let's be clear). I wouldn't have bothered updating you guys on my miserable, sex-free life if it wasn't important.

Over the past few weeks, I've had some time to think about everything Caroline said to me, and I've come to the conclusion that maybe I was a little ignorant.

...okay, more than a little—I was downright obtuse.

Giving Caroline an ultimatum for sex was wrong. As was following her to her apartment and staying there after she'd asked me to leave. I'd known that all then and I still know it now, I'd just been too swept up in her daze to accept it.

I was so busy always trying to get some sort of reaction out of Caroline that I didn't listen to the things she did say. I didn't appreciate the things that she gave me because I was always focused on wanting more; I kept on demanding things I could never get from her instead of taking a step back and figuring out what she actually wanted to give.

I still maintain that she was pretty fucking rude to me and that she didn't have to say everything she said about my feelings that day, but the past is the past. I've moved on from it since I highly doubt she's ever going to apologize for saying those things (she'd already made it clear to me that I'd never hear her apologize again), and also, I did kind of provoke her and force her hand, so there's that.

There's no point dwelling on what I can't change, and so I'm choosing to focus on what I can.

Mature, right?

Well if you're impressed by that, then wait till you hear this:

I came back to you guys, and to 393, to apologize.

Yeah, you heard right. I know I can be a dickhead, but believe it or not, I'm enough of a gentleman to know when I've fucked up. And I honestly wouldn't have ever set foot in Caroline's apartment again, but, as we all know, my sense of self-preservation is worse than that of a day-old quokka.

Anyway, I've been feeling guilty and regretful for awhile, and I'm usually able to live with myself despite it, but the craziest thing happened the other day. As I was coming back from a long and sweaty day with Betsy, I walked past the 7/11 up the street from my apartment, and you'll never guess what I saw.

Go ahead, try to guess.

.......

Okay, okay, I'll tell you.

I saw Caroline Fucking Machingaidze staring at me from the window of the 7/11, her face on the cover of Elle magazine. The COVER!! Of ELLE!!!

I know she's a successful model and whatnot, but I for real couldn't believe my eyes. Not only was she on the cover of one of the biggest magazines in the world, but she looked good. Like, really good. And the way she was looking into the camera with those fucking cat eyes of hers, it felt like she was staring right into my soul.

Not gonna lie, I lost my balance for a second. And actually seeing her face so close up, it was doing a lot of things to my body. I thought I was going to throw up and it took me a minute to realize that the nauseous feeling rising through my body was actually my emotions. Go figure.

I of course had to drop in a buy myself a copy of Elle, and I'm sure you can already guess what I planned to do with it so I'll spare you the icky details.