The Last of the Player

I told him I would stay, begging him with my eyes that were red from crying all night. I told him that I would learn to trust him. I looked at him with a face that was puffy from not sleeping at nights. I was at my most unattractive bests (or worsts) but I didn’t care. I had made the decision to stay and fight for him. He asked for a week to think it over.

To summarize the next few weeks, because the middle part of any story is almost always boring, he never gave me an answer. I waited two or three weeks for him to say he didn’t have an answer. He wanted to be with me, but he was too scared of being hurt again. Did he know how much hurt I was going through? And now things were even more inconclusive. I cried in his lap, tipsy drunk, because that was the only way I was able to walk into his room and talk to him.

Finally, two months later, I couldn’t take this shit anymore. People knew we had this off-on relationship, where we weren’t really together, but we weren’t really NOT together. I guess it’s the Singapore way of dating. Maybe?

I walked into his room. I was drunk again. Sat on his swively chair. Swiveled back and forth, poking him each time his shoulder came into range. He left to go help my friend with something. I tumbled onto his bed. Fell asleep waiting for him to come back.

He came back. Went to bathe. Came back again. Turned the lights out. Held me in his arms, and bent his head down to kiss me. I murmured sleepily, I’ve missed you.

Like a stupid fool, I asked him if he missed me, too. He said, To an extent. How the hell do you miss someone to an extent?

Same thing, same story. We kissed, the clothes came off…but no sex. I refused. And he, knowing I was a virgin, held back.

Only in bed are we able to communicate seriously. And he finally gave me his answer. No. He didn’t want to be hurt again. No. He wanted to focus on his career. No. We didn’t have enough time to make it work.

It’s been four months since then. We had plenty of time. He just didn’t want me enough to fight for me. So I resigned myself to the fact and backed down. Let things end.

And that’s how it ended. Two months of ambiguity. Another three months of healing. Funny how that works.