Having my heart broken by Andy proved to be amazing for my sex life. In the theater department, the whole “dating the co-stars” thing isn’t exaggerated. It’s like what you hear about movie stars, but on a much more pathetic level. There was one exception: I was in a show called The House of Bernarda Alba, and I didn’t hook up with anybody during that time. It was an all-female cast and I wasn’t one of those “experimental” theater girls. If you’ve never heard of that show, it’s a Spanish tragedy. It never occurred to any of us that it was ridiculous for eight girls with Southern accents to be wandering around whining about our lost love, Pepe el Romano.
Since I wasn’t taking men seriously anymore, I developed a crush on a guy named Steven. He was younger than me, eighteen to my twenty. I usually dated guys at least a couple of years older than me, so I was feeling good about how much I was branching out. Steven was really, really cute and really, really interested in me. He was also a virgin. I became very interested in what it would be like to date someone who didn’t have a sexual connection to anybody else but me. It seemed like that would make me really important.
Steven and I started hanging out after rehearsals for a show that we were in called The American Clock. He played a young guy and I played an aunt. It made making out a little creepy but I worked through it. There was something very empowering about being a couple of years older than him. I felt as if I were this wise older woman who came into his life to teach him the ways of the world. It was really helping me with my role, too. He, on the other hand, was just ready to ditch his virginity.
The sex itself wasn’t so bad, but then again my standards were still low. It was at least better than with Andy. In college, sex is very rushed and things are pushed and twisted and you wake up wondering if your nipples will ever be the same. Let’s take this slow and find out what feels good doesn’t really start to happen until your late twenties. And that’s only if you figure out that it’s okay to ask for it. The bigger problem that I encountered with taking Steven’s virginity was the overwhelming feeling of responsibility that followed.
Guys don’t have that feeling of responsibility after sex; at least Bucky didn’t. He was only interested in high-fiving the other morons in the locker room. That was not the case for me with Steven. The second we were finished, which was about two seconds after we started, I felt the weight of the world on my chest. Lying next to him, I started to panic.
What am I supposed to do now? He probably wants to marry me. I’m not prepared for that kind of commitment. I’m moving to California the second I graduate. Successful actresses don’t date guys who have only fucked one girl. This is a disaster.
I quickly called it quits. I couldn’t end things while we were still in the show, because I didn’t want his performance to suffer. So the day after it closed, I asked him to meet me in the park. He rode up on his bike wearing a silly-looking newsboy cap. We sat on a bench and talked for a couple of hours. Within the first five minutes, I told him we could no longer date. He said it was okay, then I cried and rambled on for the next hour and fifty-five minutes while he patiently comforted me for breaking up with him.
“It’s okay, Sarah, I understand. We can still be friends.”
“Friends? Oh my God, you’re so young and innocent! You can’t be friends with someone that you’re in love with! Believe me, I know.”
“If you’re in love with me, why are you breaking up with me?”
“No, you’re in love with me.”
“Um, I just kind of thought—”
“I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be,” I interrupted. “I have to go.” I walked away dramatically.
I usually find that if I end a relationship, I’m more devastated than if the other person ends it. If I make the decision not to be with someone, I’m closing the door on a future with them, but it’s my choice. So if it’s the wrong choice, that’s on me. If they break things off with me then I don’t have to feel responsible, and I don’t have to question whether I just walked away from the perfect guy, since I wasn’t the one doing the walking. Don’t get me wrong; it still hurts but it’s somehow more reassuring. I had broken up with Steven, but in this case I knew I wouldn’t have any regrets.
The next play I was in was called Bus Riley’s Back in Town. It’s a play about a guy named Bus Riley who is back in town. My co-star was a guy named Nick. Nick liked to drink whiskey.
Nick lived with his girlfriend but he was miserable with her. Really everything made him miserable, but he covered it up with moments of what seemed like joy. I assumed that I could make him happy. I can’t say for sure that he was manic-depressive, but I can say for sure that he reminded me a lot of my Uncle John, who was manic-depressive. John was someone who when I was younger I thought was one of the happiest people that I’d ever met. I later found out that my parents just didn’t let me around him when he was having an “episode.” When they did finally decide that I was old enough to be told that he was sick, I insisted on seeing him. My dad made arrangements and we paid Uncle John a visit in Sacramento. I was about thirteen and we met him at a diner. It felt like he didn’t want us to see where he lived, which turned out to be the case because he didn’t have a home. My grandma was secretly harboring him even though she’d been told over and over that she was enabling him; everyone else kept him at a distance since he refused to stay on his medication and get the help he so desperately needed. She didn’t care. A woman that will take the bus cross-country to see her grandkids has a lot of dedication in her. And she was his mother.
John was really nervous when we all sat down in the big red booth; my dad had told him that my sister and I now knew about his condition. He tried to overcompensate with humor. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, “Just trying to stay away from the chain saws,” and laughed.
I was, and still am, terrified of chain saws. I won’t even set foot in a haunted house because I’m convinced that the person holding the chain saw is an actual serial killer using Halloween as their excuse to go nuts. All year they wait for the night they get to dress up and act like it’s all fun and games, then when the moment is right people who just thought they were out for a good scare will get their heads sliced off. The movie Halloween really fucked me up. Uncle John’s joke made my head spin.
The most attractive thing about Nick was that he was a complete mess and an adult. He started classes then dropped them. He wanted to be an actor but felt like he was too smart for it and should probably teach English. All of his noncommittal bullshit made me really horny.
After Andy, I didn’t think I would ever fall in love again, but it was happening. Nick made me feel incredibly safe and incredibly insecure at the same time. There isn’t anything more tempting than that combination. It’s like someone offering you a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich right after you start a diet.
Nick flirted with me, but I couldn’t decide if it was real flirting or if he was just researching his role of Bus Riley. He seemed to be taking his acting seriously during those few weeks, and I liked it. I was starting to find guys in my classes hotter than the guys from the fraternity houses. Frat guys were fun for a night, but brooding actor guys had me really interested, and Nick was an amazing brooder. It wasn’t until my late twenties that I figured out the guys I had been labeling as brooding were probably just alcoholics.
One night after a long, emotional rehearsal where my character agonized over the return of Bus Riley, Nick and I decided to go for a drink. We were physically exhausted from what our characters were going through. We decided that a pitcher of beer at Fuzzy’s was the perfect way to unwind. As a bonus, Max was working that night. He was too dumb to figure out that since I never returned any of his calls he should start charging me for drinks.
One free pitcher led to another, and the next thing I knew Nick and I were in my shitty Mustang on our way to the same place Andy and I had gone the night we decided to give “us” a try. I guess my car just knew that when it was time for me to break the make-out ice with someone, it should head to the park. We pulled over, parked discreetly underneath a giant lamppost, and shoved our tongues into each other’s mouths.
It didn’t take long for a cop to pound on the window. I put my shirt back on and asked him what I could do for him.
“You can get out your ID and step out of the car, that’s what you can do for me.”
I obliged, but in the back of my mind I was trying to figure out how the hell I could keep from getting arrested.
Luckily I was an actress; the tears immediately started streaming down my face. I began telling the cop all about the huge fight Nick and I had just had.
“We’ve been together since I was fifteen!” I told the cop. “A few months ago I found out that he cheated on me and we broke up. He felt so bad. You know, like when you screw up and then you realize that person was the best thing that has ever happened to you? Like that song ‘Don’t Know What You’ve Got (Till It’s Gone)’ by Cinderella. That’s what happened with us. So now we’re making up. Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
“I don’t know. I mean, sometimes guys screw up, you have to consider—wait, what are you two doing at the park this late?”
“This is our spot! It’s where we first kissed. He wanted to come here to make up, like a fresh start. Isn’t that romantic?” The tears were flowing. I was so excited that I could cry on cue that I almost forgot to focus on my lie.
The cop let us go home with a warning. He told me to get home safe and “be careful with my heart.” I was in college. I didn’t listen to cops.
Nick and I kept seeing each other for a while. He and his girlfriend eventually broke up, most likely because I dropped him off at 4 A.M. several nights a week. At the time I was sure that hearts had to be followed—no matter the circumstances. That’s what the girl who walked down the aisle throwing rose petals at her dad’s wedding only months after her family fell apart believed. That was just the way things worked. The other side of me, the grown-up girl who believes in commitment, now knows that during that time I was a selfish asshole and so was Nick.
Nick decided that I was now his girlfriend and we continued to be really fond of each other during play rehearsals. My feelings for him intensified my character’s joy that Bus Riley was back in town. People started saying that I was a really good actress. Co-star dating was great for my career.
When Nick and I would go out, we’d get drunk. He liked to drink whiskey and smoke cigarettes. I was already on board with the whiskey, so I just needed to take up smoking again. I had smoked a little in high school, which traced back to Austin Cooper. Austin had ridiculous dimples and looked amazing in a pair of Wranglers. I don’t care what you say, the Arkansas girl in me will always find that look attractive. With him I had discovered that if you were talking to a guy and he wanted a cigarette, the best way to get some one-on-one time with him was to also want a cigarette. This can even apply to female friends, but the payoff isn’t as rewarding. Nick actually reminded me a lot of Austin, without the Southern accent. Nick was from Virginia and liked to read Jack Kerouac. Austin was from Prairie Grove and couldn’t read. Austin smoked Marlboro Reds, so my throat suffered more than my heart did when he broke it. He’s been arrested a few times in the past couple of years for something to do with meth. Just like Garth Brooks said, sometimes it’s good when things don’t work out with somebody you think you love.
While Nick and I were dating, my roommates graduated and I had to find a new place to live. I moved in with these girls Amanda and Heather from my acting classes. Amanda was a big lesbian. Lesbians loved me in college. Flattering at the time, but in retrospect that was probably less about me and more about my haircut.
Amanda and Heather had been friends for years and I really liked them. I was excited that my new roommate situation would be as fun as my previous one. Heather and Nick were also close, maybe a little too close. I can’t say for sure if anything ever happened between them, but it seemed like something had happened between them. At first I attributed their bond to their similar moodiness. Heather used to lock herself in her room, light candles, and cry, while Amanda and I sat in the living room playing the drinking game Quarters. Heather also wandered into the kitchen at night and would guzzle an entire carton of milk. Then she’d claim that she didn’t remember doing it, blaming it on “sleepwalking.” I’m sure she has incredibly strong bones now, but the whole time I lived with her I had to eat dry Cocoa Puffs.
Shortly after moving into our new place, we decided to have a party. Nick had been acting strange, and I was pretty sure I needed to break up with him. He’d been blowing off school and was starting to seem really irresponsible. My mom has always scared me into believing that if I pay my gas bill one hour late I will never be able to get a home loan, so I can be a bit uptight. The things I had loved most about Nick were that he had similar interests as me, and had aspects of being responsible, but was still fun. I’ve found throughout my life that that is a hard combination to find: Guys tend to be one or the other, but rarely both. Now that the responsible side of him seemed to be fading, I was getting sick of his brooding. I got enough of that living with Heather. I just wanted a roommate who would twirl broomsticks again and a boyfriend who finished his classes. The night of the party, he couldn’t keep it together. He was drunk and rambling, then he went outside, set a bush on fire, and brought it into the house. It was a direct slap in the face to my fire department roots.
I was pretty sure he was in a blackout at the party so I decided to wait until the morning to tell him that it was over between us. I explained that we were just going in “different directions,” which I’d heard someone use as an excuse to leave a woman with amnesia on General Hospital.
About three weeks later, Nick announced that he was moving back to Virginia. He told me he didn’t want to lose contact with me, and promised that he would write. I liked the idea of a guy writing me letters. It seemed really romantic. For a while I got a letter every week. He claimed to write them while he was on his porch drinking his whiskey and smoking cigarettes and he referred to himself as a poet. I don’t know what the deal is with me and guys that I break up with deciding to write poems to me, but at least Nick’s were legible and he didn’t make up words like Bucky did. He also never called me his “ho” in any of them. My standards had risen.
I was still having fun living with Amanda. She was great at being a lesbian—she brought home lots of girls. But one night I pulled into the driveway and caught her making out with this guy Rob in his car, which was confusing for me. I didn’t want her to fuck things up. Having a lesbian roommate made me feel really open-minded for a girl who grew up in a town with one thousand people. She apologized for making out with a guy and assured me that she was really a lesbian.
“I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“It’s okay,” I comforted her. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
Eventually Heather decided to move to another state. I would miss her but was excited to finally be able to keep a carton of milk in the house. Now we needed a replacement roommate. Amanda asked her friend Misty, who was also a lesbian, to move in. Now I was a straight girl living with two lesbians. I could see my sitcom developing and I hadn’t even moved to California yet.
Unfortunately Misty was out of her mind. She used to write mean things about Amanda and me on pieces of paper then leave them in odd places. I’d lift up a Q-tip box or a plant and read that I lived like a pig and had fat arms. I was very clean and prided myself on it, so the living like a pig part really pissed me off. Each time Amanda or I found a passive-aggressive note, Misty would act surprised and say that she didn’t write it. It made no sense. If she didn’t want us to find them, she’d have thrown them away. She was like a mean note hoarder. I do think if she would have lived there for much longer she would have killed me. Amanda and I had daily meetings, trying to figure out how to ask Misty to leave without incident. Luckily one day we came home and she was just gone. She’d taken all of her stuff. Angry notes were left uncovered everywhere. She really hated us. I guess she couldn’t take me or my fat arms anymore. I was relieved that she had left without murdering me in my sleep, but now Amanda and I needed a third roommate yet again.
A week later, Nick wrote me one of his drunken letters and told me he was coming back to finish school. Amanda thought this was the perfect situation—he could just move in with us. I was hesitant. I was over him at that point, but I hated his mood swings. Those are only fun when you really like someone. I wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea of him being our roommate. So he moved in.
He and Amanda had sex a few times, which was pretty confusing. I didn’t even really care that she and I had had sex with the same guy who was now living with us; I just cared that she was a lesbian. I was sure we had talked about this behavior when she made out with Rob. I asked her to stop having sex with Nick, which surprised her because she didn’t think I knew about it.
“You guys are my roommates. Of course I know.”
“I’m sorry. Are you upset? I thought you didn’t have feelings for him anymore.”
“I don’t. I don’t think I do anyway. It’s just weird, mostly because you’re a lesbian. It feels like you’re losing focus. You’re in COLLEGE! This is the time of your life to be a lesbian.”
“I know. You’re right. I don’t even like guys. Sometimes I just slip up,” she explained.
“Okay. Just don’t let it happen again. I can’t lose another friend.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked back. I knew I was talking about Andy, but I didn’t know if she knew I was talking about Andy. I also didn’t feel like crying.
“No, I mean when you said you can’t lose another friend. Who are you talking about?”
“What?”
“This game sucks,” Amanda conceded.
“Who do you think, Amanda?” Tears started to stream down my face, but they weren’t the kind I mustered up on cue. “Andy. I lost Andy. And now we barely hang out and when we do we both act like fucking morons. It’s so dumb.”
Amanda hugged me. I wept like a baby. If I’m even kind of upset and then someone hugs me, I lose my shit.
Fuck. It was my senior year and my heart still belonged to Andy. I didn’t understand what the problem was. I’d had a few boyfriends since, even ones that I really had feelings for, like Nick. But somehow, no matter what, my heart still skipped ten beats when I was around Andy, even though those times were few and far between.
A couple of weeks later Andy asked me to meet him for lunch. I was usually the one who instigated us getting together, so I was particularly excited at his invitation. I put on my lucky toe ring and did the best I could with my hair.
Andy wasn’t much for small talk, so he got to the point right after the chips and queso arrived.
“I’m moving to Little Rock.”
I stared at him. Little Rock was four hours away, probably fourteen hours in my Mustang.
“That’s really exciting,” I lied. “What are you going to do there?” I felt the tears coming up and fought them with everything that I had. Not here, I thought. Not at Chili’s.
“I’m not sure. I just need a change … are you okay?”
“I’m great! This queso is just so spicy.” My face does sweat when I eat spicy food, so it wasn’t a total lie.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, shit. I forgot I have a test in an hour!”
“But it’s Saturday.”
“I know! Rude, right? I’ll see you later.”
I bolted home, into my room, and cried into my pillow, hoping not to stir the neighbors. Any hope that I had in the back of my mind that we would end up together had just fizzled. I knew that I was planning on moving away, but I wanted to leave first. I didn’t want him to leave me. Suddenly it didn’t feel easier to have someone make the final decision for me. That previous theory was so stupid. This was so much worse. I wondered if this was how my mom felt when my dad made the decision for them.
I guess I cried myself to sleep because the next thing I knew, Nick was sitting on the side of my bed rubbing my back.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I rolled over and looked at him. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Well, I got home a little while ago and it sounded like you were playing one of those whale sounds CDs in your room, but I know your CD player is broken. What’s up?”
I was taken aback by his concern. Even though we were roommates I hadn’t felt the friendship that we had once shared. I had really distanced myself from him. I’d let him move in after a long discussion about how I didn’t want it to be weird between us and I assumed he understood part of it “not being weird” was not fucking our lesbian roommate.
The Nick I used to love was back, if only for that afternoon. He comforted me. He spoke about Andy and me in ways that confused me, because they hadn’t spent much time together.
“How do you know so much about this?”
“You love him,” he said to me.
“Why do you think that? Why do you know that? I’m supposed to be over him, and you’re all supposed to think that. Oh God, do you think that he knows …?”
“I just know what you look like when you’re in love.”
I released a sound so horrible I’m not even sure it classifies as a cry. It shocked me to the point that I began to laugh. Nick started to laugh, too. It was just like old times—so we had sex.
That afternoon’s festivities were like the breakup sex that we never had; neither of us took it seriously. The only thing that really stuck with me was that he encouraged me to tell Andy how I felt before it was too late.
I didn’t listen to Nick. I figured since he was someone who should probably be on medication he wasn’t necessarily the best person to take advice from. But as I was approaching my senior year, I decided I wanted to check out a theater company in Little Rock. At least that’s why I told Andy I was going to be in his neighborhood.
Andy offered to let me stay on his couch. My plan was to stay on his face. I didn’t want to leave Arkansas without getting this sex thing right with him.
When I got to his apartment, everything felt weird. There was more distance between us than before. I didn’t take this as a hint; in fact I took it the opposite. Here’s the psychotherapy rundown of it all: If you grow up fighting for a man’s attention, specifically your father, you will probably find yourself attracted to men whose attention you have to fight for. I also realize this is not exactly groundbreaking information.
That night in Little Rock, Andy and I had sex on a pullout couch in his apartment. It was even more awkward than the first time we did it. We just went through the motions and neither of us seemed to be getting any real enjoyment from it. It was blatantly clear that we would never have sexual chemistry. With him I really wanted to let it slide. I guess I thought there was something more, but thank God we never worked out because I really do like sex and that kind of relationship would have been a huge bummer. When we were finished, Andy didn’t stay on the bed with me nor did he invite me to his room. He just went to his bedroom and left me on the couch with my own thoughts, which were mainly focused on not crying so hard that the police would show up.
The next morning I woke up before him, so I left. I drove home and decided to put him out of my mind and focus on enjoying my last few months in not only college, but in Arkansas. I was involved in something called the “Mount Sequoyah New Play Retreat” and it was about to start. Mount Sequoyah is a beautiful place on the top of a mountain, with tons of cabins and a beautiful view. It seemed like a good way to go out.
The retreat was for playwrights to come and workshop their new shows. The actors would work with them, then at the end we’d put the shows up for an audience. A few of my friends from theater, including Michele, were also doing it. There were some others whom I hadn’t met who used to go to the University of Arkansas and were coming back to participate. One of those guys, John, was really cute. Michele laid dibs on him pretty quickly and followed through. They were making out within about two hours of meeting, and it was the middle of the day.
It was my last few weeks in Fayetteville. Since Michele had taken up with John, there weren’t a ton of options for distracting myself from thoughts of Andy. I tried not to care, but at night after rehearsals it became kind of a bummer that I didn’t have a make-out partner. We’d all go out for drinks, but I just didn’t find any of the new guys interesting, although there was one who thought he was really suave. His name was Colin. He had gone to school at the U of A and was now living in California. From what I heard, when he was at the U of A he fucked everybody. He was kind of cute, but his sleazy attitude that he could get any woman he wanted was really annoying. He constantly tried to flirt with me, but I laughed him off.
The thing about guys who act like that is that eventually I wind up attracted to them. At first I find them ridiculous, then I feel sorry for them, then I develop a crush. The final night of the retreat, I put my favorite long, wavy crinkle skirt over my black bodysuit, added my favorite choker for good luck, and headed out to party.
The more I drank that night, the more Colin’s behavior became irresistible to me. I walked over to Michele and told her that I was going to hook up with him that night. I wanted her permission.
“Really? I knew it! I say go for it. He’s totally cute,” she encouraged.
“He is, right? Did you know that he was in Biloxi Blues?”
“Really? That Matthew Broderick movie?”
“Yep. They filmed some of it here or something. Whatever—Andy’s never been in a movie.” With that I sauntered off toward Colin to laugh at his dumb jokes all night long. He was eating it up.
I can’t tell you the specifics of the rest of that night because I don’t remember them. All I know is that I woke up in my bed and my clothes were not on. My head was pounding. I stood up to go get some water and aspirin, then caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was still wearing one part of my outfit. Naked with a choker: not a good look. I then saw a note on my dresser.
“Had so much fun. I’m headed back to CA today. Love, C.”
Gross. He called himself “C.” It wouldn’t have taken him that long to add the other four letters. Even grosser—he’d left me a note. I knew he was going back to California that day; I didn’t need a Post-it to remind me. I had intended that night to be a one-night stand and now he’d gone and trumped me with a note; God he was full of himself. If he was still there I would have fucked him again just so I could get the last word in. I slowly stumbled back to my bed and called Michele.
“Hello?” she answered groggily.
“I woke up wearing nothing but a choker,” I told her.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is not a good look,” I warned her.
“Is he still there?”
“No. But he left a note.”
“Gross. Does your head hurt?”
“Yes. Is John still there?”
“No, he left. Want to go get a Bloody Mary?”
“Yes.”
We met at our favorite place, the Grill, and drank for the entire afternoon. She asked about the night with Colin, but I didn’t remember any of the details.
“I just know we used a condom. I found the wrapper. So there’s that.”
“Oh that’s too bad. He would have made a great father.”
“I hope I never sober up again,” I stated. Then I polished off another drink.
A couple of weeks later, some friends from work decided to have a going-away party for me at their place. I was just about to graduate and I was going through with my plans to move to California to make my living as an actress and a comedian. I wondered if I should have two different parties, one with my friends from classes and one with my friends from work. But then I figured, screw it. I was about to leave anyway. Having all of the people I loved under one roof just might be a blast.
The party was exactly what I expected it to be. Everyone was drinking and I did a lot of crying. I couldn’t believe that I was about to move. I’d been in Arkansas for most of my life. I didn’t know how I was going to pull it off.
Andy’s appearance was a surprise. Nobody had warned me. I was happy to see him, but at the same time I wished he would have stayed in Little Rock, or perhaps jumped off a cliff. We hadn’t even talked since he’d pulled out on his pullout.
With the exception of the time I ordered all of Olivia Newton-John’s records on Amazon, I’ve never made a great decision while intoxicated. The night of that party was no exception. Everything was going fine—I felt loved and supported and special. The only thing that kept bothering me was the situation with Andy. I didn’t like that we were going to say goodbye at this party, possibly forever, without discussing what had happened between us. I just wanted to say something, get some closure.
If you are a girl, you probably know that closure is the excuse that most of us use to do something dramatic. Saying you are doing something for closure is just covering up your one last futile attempt to tell someone how you feel in hopes that they will come around to admit that they feel the same way about you and the two of you will ride off into the sunset leaving all of your cares behind. So, I went to find Andy in order to get closure.
I don’t know if you’ve ever had forty drinks and then spilled your guts to someone, but I don’t recommend it. We stood there for an awkward moment, and then I unleashed. I told him that I had been in love with him for years. I told him that even when he was with Caryn I was in love with him. I told him that no matter who I was with, he was the one who I wished I was with. I told him that he was my best friend and how often does a woman get to fall in love with her best friend? I told him everything.
“But you’re moving away,” was his response.
I stared at him. No fucking kidding I was moving away.
That’s why I was standing on a lawn after drinking a gallon of Jack Daniel’s telling him that I loved him.
“That’s your response?” I asked.
“Well, you’re leaving, right?”
“Yes,” I slurred. “What are you getting at?”
He just looked at me. His eyes said it all. Mine probably said, “I’m seconds away from alcohol poisoning.”
I guess in my heart I knew what he wanted to say. It was a weird time for me to lay all of my cards out on the table. I shouldn’t have even bothered to put myself through it. If he’d returned my feelings, it wasn’t going to change my plans. Maybe I’d hoped he’d come with me. I didn’t know. I just knew that now I had closure. It felt anything but great. Fuck closure.