late nights and loud fights
it's all just a blur

3:13 a.m. | 2004-08-20
That Awful Memory Of Yours

It's terribly embarrassing to come home at 3 am with your hair a mess, your skirt sideways, and your makeup running from the tears you sobbed on the way home.

It's really quite depressing actually.

Perhaps this is some sort of resolution, though, because I pulled another high fidelity tonight, only this time I crumbled a little, and managed to pick myself up a bit. Today is, for those of you who give any kind of shit at all, my 19th birthday. That horrid awkward year (not 18 where you're an adult, not 20 where you're no longer a teen, not 21 when you can drink) which has no purpose whatsoever. Gabe insisted on spending it with me.

Needless to say we didn't say anything about birthdays as he caressed my waist at the store, smelled my hair and growled into my ear in his low voice that I smelled oh so good. And when we got home, and put on a movie, he was the first to envelop his legs and arms around me, and the first to kiss my forehead. And when I pressed against him harder...he didn't say no.

Who says no?

He wanted to say no apparently. Because as things were coming to a slow...he got awkward. And he got quiet, and we actually watched the movie. I rolled away from him and tried so hard to not cry as I was so frustrated that I was simply his yo-yo. That I offered so much to him--and he didn't seem to care.

I didn't want anything to happen tonight. I wanted him to give me the attention I thought I deserved. For all of the hours I've put into him, for all of the times I called him, for all the times I bought dinner. I wanted a hug and an "I love you." Too much to ask? Yes.

So I got frustrated and angry, and I told him that if he wasn't going to be a man and stand up and say what he was thinking, then it wasn't worth it. And if he wasn't going to be enough of a big boy to tell me no--then he shouldn't be putting himself in these situations. So I drove him home. Upset and angry I decided that I needed to get out of the car. I didn't pull it over, I didn't stop it, I never killed the engine, because I wanted to get as far from there as I could as fast as I could. I walked over to his side, and he hugged me, and he said, "you know, Lauren, you really do mean the world to me." And I bit my lip so hard and sniffed in and said, "do you mean that?" He replied with a yes, and I pulled back from his hug, and I put two fists to his chest and looked him straight in the eye and said, "then never ever treat me the way you did."

I stood up for myself for once.

As I climbed back in the car, and he started to realize how much I hurt (because I've been so strong to him up until this point) he leaned in and I said, "and I mean that not just for tonight, for everything before." He looked saddened and I finished, "I know someday this will all make sense. And I know that you'll be a better and stronger person because of it," I fought the tears away at this point, "and someday everything I'm saying right now, will be clear."

He said, "I love you." And I said, "goodnight Gabriel," not even having enough energy to tell him that I loved him, which is what he needed and wanted to hear more than anything in the world. I couldn't bring myself to say it.

He might be leaving next week. Actually leaving. To pursue a real career, and a real life. Not this one. And while I want to break down so hard when I think of him leaving, I have a feeling that being away from him will be so good for me.

I hate him for being so lovely.

He's my terrible country song, sweet and sappy, terribly depressing, and yet touches me in ways I never want to admit. I'm going to miss him, but I really hope this is the end. I really do.

Please let go of me. Please.

ante / comment / post