Mitchell's Mustard Blog

June 23, 2012

Pain and Pride

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:44 pm

“I do love you, but. . . .” she stuttered,

That’s how the conversation started in the corner of the coffee shop, the modern chrome and pine interior started to close around him, strangling him with invisible ties.

“But what?” he replied choking on the lump in his throat.

“I’ve fallen for someone else . . . I’m sorry” she started to sob.

“What . . . ?” he stared at her trying to digest what was just said.

She pulled her hands from the table and placed them on her lap and her eyes followed.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” he said through his gritted teeth raising his hands in the air.

Everything in the room had disappeared; all he could see was her. She looked uncomfortable, probably because he was making a scene in a public place.

“What the fuck are you crying for?” he said whilst failing to hold back his frustration.

“God . . . You can be a real dick sometimes you know that?” she spat with venom.

The room was spinning; he felt the heat prickle up his face.

“I’m better than this” he lied whilst standing up.

Feeling punch drunk he headed for the door, his jaw feeling stiff and his eyes feeling as they could roll into the top of his head. The cold air slapped him in the face as he opened the door, he looked back at the table because he still cared but the girl sitting there wasn’t the one he loved.

His paranoia started to play games; everyone around him in the street was looking and laughing at him. His vision blurred and his mouth dry, his senses felt heightened but reluctant to work. Feeling as if he had left all of his pride at the table he started to cry, a crushing cry that should never be seen by a dry eye.

 

Days passed, weeks had passed. Days and weeks filled with self loathing, self-pity, self-pride and then the strength to build new foundations. Days and weeks of text messages written but never sent, over the weeks the feeling to communicate slowly starting to subside. The pictures became unworthy of their frames, the memories becoming lost behind the shadows of the new. She was never forgotten she just became unimportant, that’s what time does.

 

I miss you x’ . . . . He couldn’t actually remember the last time he had seen her name on his iPhone. For weeks he had prayed, wished and cried to receive a message from her but now he hated her name, he hated the thought of her thinking of him but he couldn’t help but wonder how she is, what she wants.

‘What do you want?’ he replied a couple of days later. He never understood why people play games by text, not replying for two days etc but in this occasion she could wait.

‘Can I be honest with you x?’ her reply causing him frustration.

‘What do you want?’ he replied with hope that he’ll get a straight answer this time.

‘Meet me in our coffee shop at 5pm, I hope your curiosity will steer you x’ as much as he hated the thought of seeing her, this invite made his heart jump.

 

Stepping over the threshold of the coffee shop he realised that he hadn’t stepped foot in since they had parted ways, the place looked different, it looked old and just a memory. On a summers day the interior felt over cast, still built of pine and chrome but looked worn and rustic which surely wasn’t what they were going for. As much as he hated the thought of caring about her, he showed up and that must have said something. She was sat in the corner toying with her cup with both hands; she looked up as the door closed and gave a nervous wired smile. She looked tired, worn and unloved. The deep dark rings under her eyes told tales of the lack of sleep, a substantial weight loss seen in her face and chest.

“Hi, you look good” she said as he made his way over to the table. To repay the compliment would have been polite but he didn’t want to lie, she looked unwell.

“Hi” he said as he took a seat opposite her.

“I’m glad you came” she said with a cracked smile, it wasn’t the smile he used to love.

“So . . . what’s up?”  He half heartedly asked,

“I’ve missed you, I wanted to see you”

He sat and stared at her, not sure what to think or feel. Part of him wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand, see if she still felt like the women he once loved.

“I thought you’d be pleased to see me?” she said to break the silence.

“What do you want?” he replied. Images of holding her, kissing her again in his head swirling with mixed emotions.

“I just thought we could spend some time together?” She reached across the table for his hand.

“Why am I here?” not sure whether that question was better directed at her or himself whilst he pulled his hand away from hers.

She started to sob, closing her body language to protect the weak spots. He wanted to lean forward to hold her and tell her that things will work, they’ll be ok but he sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. He still loved her; he still pined for her touch. He knew that being with her would make him happy again, the happy that he enjoyed and the happy that he hadn’t felt for a while. He missed that feeling, he missed her. He could feel his armour slip, his pride seep away like a sand castle in the wind, grain by grain she had him. But that’s when she said it . . .

“He cheated on me” the muffled voice came from behind the hands covering her face.

“What . . . what did you just say?” he hoped his ears deceived him.

“He cheated on me; I’ve made such a mistake. I know you would have never done that to me, you loved me.” She sobbed whilst removing her hands to try and keep eye contact.

“So wait a minute . . . he cheats on you and you think that I’ll come down here and comfort you, everything will go back to how it was?” his pride took over, he felt stupid. His anger came to the surface and she started to sob again, probably because he was making a scene in a public place.

“You always loved me no matter what” she said wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“Right . . . I really want you to listen to what I’m going to say, I don’t want there to be any miss interpretation . . . . . Fuck you!” as he stood the sound of his chair legs dragging on the floor shattered his heart.

“Wait . . . please” she pleaded.

He stopped and turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.

“I’m pregnant” she looked defeated and tired as the words slipped from her mouth.

“I’m sorry” is all he could muster.

Feeling punch drunk he headed for the door, his jaw feeling stiff and his eyes feeling as they could roll into the top of his head. The cold air slapped him in the face as he opened the door, he looked back at the table because he still cared but the girl sitting there wasn’t the one he loved. Once again he cried a crushing cry that should never be seen by a dry eye.

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