walk away again

Spoilers: General series three

***

Walked away, heard them say
"Poison hearts will never change,"
walk away again.
Turned away in disgrace,
felt the chill upon my face cooling from within.

Hard to notice gleaming from the sky,
when you're staring at the cracks.
Hard to notice what is passing by with eyes lowered.

The Leaving Song: AFI

***

You wake up early on Sunday morning and roll over. You reach out for him and notice in a panic that he isn't there. And for 23 seconds you can't comprehend why this might be.

And then, 24 seconds in, at 5:46am and 53 seconds you remember. And your heart literally aches. And you curl up into a ball and try to control the pain and the gut-wrenching sobs that threaten to overcome you.

But you can't give into it. Because it's entirely your fault and you know it.

It's your fault that you pushed him away.

It's your fault that you can't see him anymore.

It's your fault that everything fell apart.

And right now you don't know why you'd made that decision.

But it happened. And it's real. And it's now. And there's nothing you can do.

Back then, at the beginning, you rationalised that it had something to do with a fear of commitment.

You explained to yourself at length that bad things happened to you in relationships for a reason.

You only belatedly realised that this reason was you; given half a chance you'd allow even the best relationship to wither and die.

But this time, you excelled. The demise was not through neglect and calculated lack of attention, but instead you managed to shatter any idea of a relationship in one short, quick burst.

And even then, you said to yourself that he should never have told you that he loved you. Should never had given you reason to believe that he had fantasies of a future between you. Because you know that's when you shut down.

These days - days, weeks, months after – you rationalise that although it was your fault, it was down to your upbringing. You could never sustain a normal relationship because of your twisted family history. And how your father treated you and your sister in the short time he lived with you.

You've incorporated this into an idea that you hate men. All men. And hence you treat them badly as a result.

Because it's not just down to you; it can't be.

Because if it was, there's no viable reason that would cause you to get drunk and flirt with Jack because you knew that he was vulnerable and that he would never say no to you.

If it was just down to you, you wouldn't have taken Jack back to your apartment and slept with him even though you no longer desire him. You wouldn't have touched him and laughed with him in his office when you knew that Martin was watching.

You wouldn't have led Jack on to believe that this was the beginning of something when it was just a short-lived self-serving one night stand. And you certainly wouldn't have advertised that fact in such a furtive manner to someone who thought of you as his girlfriend.

And when Martin approached Jack and questioned him about it, and Jack came to ask you about it afterwards, you would have admitted you were in the wrong and that you were sorry for having screwed everything up.

It must be because of something that has occurred to you in the past, altering your perception of what's right and acceptable.

Because the conversation with Jack went that he walked up to you and you unrepentantly and uncaringly admitted to it all.

“You're seeing Martin,” he comments.

“Yes.”

“You're seeing Martin and yet you slept with me.”

“Yes,” you find no reason to deny. You simply cannot be bothered.

“Why?” he asks. “Wait, I know. It's because you wanted him to know.” He pauses. “You used me?”

You shrug. “Isn't that what you did with me?”

“I… I just don't get it.”

You laugh derisively. “You'll never get it, Jack.”

***

Later, Martin approaches you. “You slept with Jack,” he comments almost casually and you find it almost ironic.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it's what I do.”

“You're wrong,” he tells you flatly. And you can't conceive at this moment just how much you've hurt him.

“I don't do relationships, Martin,” you tell him. “I didn't mean to hurt you but you knew how I felt before we started this.”

“Don't give me that bullshit,” he interjects bitterly. “This is exactly what you wanted; you orchestrated this for your own bitter and twisted reasons. Lead me on; make me believe that you'd changed; that “you make me happy” crap. It's nothing to do with your inability to “do relationships”; you get distinct pleasure from screwing men over.”

You shrug. What he says hurts you but there's nothing you can do. You certainly can't show that he affects you.

“It's not like it matters now,” you tell him. “I've handed in my notice.”

“So this is what you do?” he challenges. “Sever all emotional ties, move on when it becomes too much for you?”

“Use whatever psychoanalysis you like, Martin,” you tell him, adopting a tired tone of voice, “but you can't change the past.”
You give up and leave the building, looking not at the bright blue sky but at the sidewalk beneath your feet. The cracks give you no advice and you walk on, avoiding them.

***

Three weeks later, three bitter and tense weeks later, you leave for good.

There is no leaving party. No drinks. No fond farewell.

All there is is an overheard conversation.

“I thought she'd changed,” Jack says.

“Poison hearts will never change,” Martin replies bitterly.

You hear it as you walk away, box of possessions under your arm.

You shiver as you reach the outside; the biting air breezes past you, reducing your body temperature until you're cold all over. But it doesn't bother you. It stops you from feeling and you revel in the numbness. You're not worthy of anything more.

You look behind one last time; do you regret leaving?

It strikes you that it's always easier to walk away.

It's always easier to start over again.

***

Except that it's now months later on a Sunday morning and you're alone again. You can cope with loneliness, but this is something different. You've not felt this pain before.

And finally, you know that there are no excuses. You destroyed what you had for no reason. There is no one else to blame but you.

The problem is that you now know that you loved him. You love him.

But that changes nothing.

***

Companion Piece: i eat dinner

Sequel: back to you

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