The Final Push

You know those words too well. Or at least, this is how I fool myself at night, because at night it’s the only time when I can fool myself. The complete lack of light is not confusing, but inducing. It helps me induce a proper state of being mocked and fooled, and that’s so familiar, I just can’t hate that feeling.

It was two years ago, the first time I met you. Yes, I am well aware that you did not acknowledged me in any way, but I took notice, and I indulged myself in that sweet eye candy that was way too dangerous.

For a few weeks, I just stood there whenever you walked in the office, with that smile that could light up – literally! – one thousand rooms. The sound of your voice was calm, and it sent chills down my spine, without meaning something in particular.

I heard you once talking about this blues singer, and even though I was a stranger to this kind of music, I looked it up and fantasized about sharing those notes with you.

In short time, I started wearing different clothes, I started using makeup and you started to notice me too.

It was that absurdly warm May afternoon, when you met me at the coffee machine. The automat refused me service, but when you arrived, with your shirt sleeves were up to your elbows and your big grin that prophesied absolutely nothing good, the machine started working all of a sudden. I can still remember what you said to me, straight and very up close and also very personal.

„Your dress is amazing. I bet its collar matches your good girl attitude”.

I was wearing one of those scalloped dresses, with a white collar. That white, resting on the rest of the bubbly blue dress, was hinting at a very childish personality, and at that point, I felt very childish myself. I really did not know how to react to you, so I said nothing, while smiling embarassed at my own lack of wit. But you took my coffee away and you were even more verbal than before.

„I want to taste you”.

And you sipped my coffee slowly, and I started to burn from the inside.

After a few dates, I started to lose patience and control. You felt so solid, yet so distant and cold, and I wondered what I did wrong. You always talked about how you want to taste me, but that only happened when we were at work. When we went out, you were the perfect gentleman, ever so sober, ever so calm, never wanting to kiss more than my lips. Maybe my neck, if I was a good girl, but that rarely happened…

The nights were difficult, but then, in the bitter mornings, my bed was still empty, still cold. Only one shadow could be guessed, and that shadow was mine, and my shadow was longing for something more real.

At work, some people took guesses, but most of them already knew about us. There were the inevitable glances, the meetings at the water fountain and the „projects”. The leaving together and the long searches in the morning, until you arrive. So everybody guessed, but no one dared to ask. Neither did I.

Three months of squirms. Three months of insecurities. Three months of cold sweat whenever you kissed me in front of my door, wanting to invite you in, but then you rapidly left the building…

Three months until my sheets met you with the same warmth they greeted me with. Three months until you asked to borrow my toothbrush, and until I laughed at your sleepy face in the morning. Three mornings until you found out I also drink coffee at home, and that my coffee making skills are terrible. You still make fun of me because of that, but now it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.

I know you cheated on me. I know how and when and I know the person who willingly put herself in your bed. In our bed. I noticed the same initial treatment, I noticed the same peacock dance in front of her, the dance you danced for me not so long ago. I noticed how you started saying „I love you”s more and more, trying to cover up your mischief, trying to soften the blow.

I pretend to be blind, and I try to calm the fuck down. I know how bitter is the lie, and I take it with a sugary spoon and wide smile that echoes your own. I pretend that your lie does not hurt me, and I pretend to be happy, because you chose to lie in order to cover up something that shouldn’t need cover. I pretend to smile for the man that isn’t a man anymore, but a child chosing to use words to comfort his own lack of courage.

I am just waiting to see when you’ll have the balls to confess your wrong doings. I know this is not wise, or helpful from my part, but I just can’t quit now. I want to hear you say it, I don’t want to force it out of you. This is already dying, and I just want you to be the one to give it the final push.

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