Knowing When to Fold ‘Em…and other shit that I should’ve done a long time ago! (Part 3)

 

Part 1

Part 2

 

The Conversation 

I left the computer lab in a daze. I walked back to my dorm room in a daze. I left my best friend there. I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted, no, I needed to talk to this man that I called my best friend. The man that promised that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, disrespect me, deter me, or harm me, that’s the guy with whom I needed to speak.

That one.

I entered my dorm room, my roommate wasn’t there — thank God,—I hated her. Really, really hated her. She was the absolute worst, but whatever, that’s a blog for another time. I got there, and she wasn’t there. I looked in my desk for my calling card—yeah, can you imagine, calling card, not a cell phone, not just pick up the phone, calling card. Damn things have changed and I feel officially old right now. Whatever. I found the calling card. I looked at it numbly, picked up the cordless phone in my room, dialed the number to his dorm room, and then entered the numbers of the calling card. He picked up. You heard me. He picked up. He hadn’t been picking up for days, remember, but this time, as if he knew, he picked up. I could hear the noise in the background, it was a room full of a guys, I believe it was a football game on TV. I said in as much of a monotone as I could remember. “We need to talk.”
I surmise that at this time, he could hear the seriousness in my voice, so he said, “Okay. Give me a second.” Perhaps it wasn’t even the seriousness, perhaps he just knew that his time was up? Perhaps he just instinctually felt that he had been caught. Whatever the case, he left the mentioned noisy room, found a quiet space, and said to me, “I’m back. What’s going on?”
I sat there and couldn’t decide what was going on. I couldn’t understand what was happening because I believed that this was my first bout with heartbreak. The severe heartbreak that will have you thinking that when Angela Bassett burned her husband’s car and other personal shit up in Waiting to Exhale he got off too easy. It was too nice. She should’ve killed him. Yeah, that type of heartbreak, the kind that left you with your very own episode of Snapped via the Oxygen Network.
Suffice it to say, I was hurt.

Numb.

Flummoxed.

I didn’t speak for a moment. I sat quietly. I heard him say, “Babe? You there?” I remember because anytime I think of him until this very day, it’s those words that I hear.

I answered. “Don’t call me that.” The ire in which the four words came out, left me a bit out of sorts. I had been crying. I didn’t even know it until I felt the tear stream my face. “Don’t you dare call me that.” I warned again, still in a trance at my wearied tone.

He had the decency to oblige. “Okay…well, what’s going on?” the query as skeptic as they came.
It was probably the skepticism in his voice that bought on the next part of this blog, or perhaps it was blind furry that that turned my tears into a rage like you wouldn’t believe. Anger that heated my skin, my soul, whelped my being, and singed my core.

Skepticism.

Here’s what I said, “How could you sit there and act like you’re concerned when you weren’t concerned. You weren’t! You were out here f&*ing girls. You m$$#%*in  ass. You simple son-of-bitch. You lowly f!#%er. I hope you die, you good for nothing, *(*^*UOII! I*UWIOP*7827u! … {The rest was truncated do to the adult nature of the blessing bestowed upon him and the length in which it transpired}

Yeah, so I said that.

And get a damn load of this.

When I was done, when I had no more words, no more tears to cry, no more of anything, I was spent. Depleted.
He said. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to be this guy. I got into this mess, and I couldn’t get out of it. I don’t like her, I don’t love her. I love you. You’re my best friend…I don’t know how I did this to you, and I haven’t slept well knowing that I did. We’re best friends remember, best friends. I know you’re hurt and I hope that you can forgive me. Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

My being stilled.

My soul cooled.

My body relaxed.

I opened my ears.

I listened.

My heart softened.

I listened again as he pled my forgiveness.

I listened and heard him say, best friend. I was his best friend. He was my best friend. I hadn’t been completely honest with him when I decided that I wanted him to be my boyfriend. At the time, you’ll remember, that I had just left one guy. Like, same day broke up with one, later that night, called this guy to fill the void. Too, I kissed him, while I was still with my ex. No, I convinced myself, I hadn’t been the perfect girlfriend. I had a little fun in the boy’s dorms—not that way you perverts—during the earlier part of the semester. I still kept in contact with my ex-boyfriend. We talked on the regular. We remained good friends—we’re still good friends today—all the while I was with this guy that I was supposed to call a best friend and boyfriend. So yeah, I guess I wasn’t that innocent.
With the depreciating realization, perhaps it was a balm for my hurt pride, I said, “Okay, I forgive you…let’s work on it.” Whatever the hell that meant at nineteen, being a damn sophomore in college, separated by a two-hour difference.
And you will never guess what he said to me next.

Shit, I have a hard time believing it now.

I simply fucking can’t believe that I actually heard the words, because listen, it’s not the words that you want to hear after swallowing your own pride, coming up with reasons yourself for forgiving a cheating bastard. Listen, you simply don’t want to hear this…but here it is:
“I don’t think we can work on it. I don’t. I don’t think you‘ll look at me with the same eyes. I don’t want to be that dude in your life. We have to break up.”

What?

In.

The.

Complete.

And.

WHOLE.

ENTIRE.

FUCK.

JUST.

HAPPENED?

After relegating his actions to that of my own, because you know, according to my fucked up thoughts I had not been the perfect girlfriend, that’s what he said to me. That’s what he said to me, after me having, swallowed dwindling pride. After realizing that my best-friend/boyfriend had cheated on me, in some very descriptive details, that’s, what he said to me. Those were the words that he used. Those were the ones that he chose. Of all the things, that was it?

Really?

Really.
I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to ask him. I wasn’t given a chance to request an explanation.

He hung up.

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

As far as the other shit I should’ve done a long time ago, this blog’s regrets, not taking my braids out last weekend. They’re past due for a taking-out. That’s it.

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About Author Robin Selise Muse

Seriously, what else would you like, my ssn number. Get real !

Posted on September 22, 2013, in Food For Thought, Happiness, Heavy Shit, Honesty, Life, Live With No Regrets, Love, Sex, Sublimation, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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