Anger has finally begun to materialize in my heart. Anger. I can’t believe it. I’ve always hated anger because it has always been such a selfish, unproductive emotion, but now it stirs a frenzy inside my head. Now I’ve got anger-induced action to take. “Let me know if you need anything from me?” What kind of an offer is that? I do need something from Jay. I need an apology.
Jay is the kind of guy that floats around assuming all women are in love with him. It was the few tender moments he slipped in this façade, his tiny weaknesses that allowed me to feel for him in the first place. I’m certain he was unsurprised by my little confession.
It’s February, earlier this year. 2am and we are sitting on his couch talking about life, about everything. He tells me about his past relationships, his philosophies on love. We lounge and chat idly. I have class in the morning and hours of homework I’m putting off. But it’s for this, I tell myself. All the buildup was worth this reward. He’s finally opening up. “To be totally cliché, I’ll quote a Bright Eyes song,” he says. My heart leaps. He lent me that cd in November, just before Thanksgiving break. We listened to it on the way to an art show half an hour away. It was one of many golden-edged afternoons we spent together.
“I’d rather be working for a paycheck than waiting to win the lottery,” he finished lamely. Of all the lines to quote, he really did pick the most cliché. I would’ve known that one without having borrowed the cd. I snorted at the idea. “What does that even mean? That you’d rather be lass than happy with someone you know rather than hold out for someone who makes you delirious with joy?” His response was depressing. “How do you even know that it’s going to happen like that? You often have to get to know the person first anyways.” Well, I think, then it’s not just a paycheck anymore…
I trick myself into believing the evening is more intimate than it is when he declares he’s never dated anyone he knew for less than a year first. Until he begins on a tirade about his belief that if you like someone you should tell them. I couldn’t be more confused. This means if he liked me he would tell me. So it’s obvious he doesn’t like me. Unless he’s trying to force a confession, in which case he’s a huge hypocrite. But why would he goad a confession he didn’t want to hear? And why am I on his couch this late?
Now that I know he’s not at all interested in me, I see he would’ve rather had me confess then so we could put this business behind us. So why did he not just let me go in March, when I got angry enough with him to necessitate an hour-long lunch break phone call to mend our strange relationship? Why did he let me spend 30 hours making him a tailored button-down shirt? I feel so used, so cheap. I feel pitied.
I need an apology but I doubt his sincerity with every fiber of my being. I doubt that sincerity is a quality he possesses. I am sick over my yielding, apologetic confession, but I am unwilling to write another e-mail and unable to face him. How am I ever supposed to regain my dignity in this situation? I hate him for stealing it from me. For ever having felt anything kind for such a coward, I hate myself. King of the hypocrites, he could’ve prevented all of this by making his intentions known from the start. He chose not to, and I have blamed myself. That is the crime.
