I Should've Stopped Caring

Something was wrong.

Usually, the red curtains in the window were dimly illuminated by the living room lights when I arrived. That night, they weren't.

I turned around, temporarily distracted by the sound of Andy's shiny new Buick speeding off into the darkness. As soon as he was out of sight, I faced the door again. That's when I realized that, even if the lights had been on, I would've known something was wrong. Something just felt wrong.

I turned the doorknob and slowly stepped into the dark room. Robin wasn't there like she always was, stretched out on the rug, toying with GarageBand by the light of the floor lamp hanging over her. She didn't looking up to smile at me when I was inside,and she didn't spring up and hug me as soon as the door was closed behind me.

I flipped the light switch and beheld an abyss. The couch cushions were perfectly aligned. The floor lamp stood in the corner, abandoned. The TV was off, and the remote sat on the small end table, next to the sofa. A small envelope sat on top of my Macbook, which sat, untouched, on the smooth surface of the coffee table in the middle of the room. The room was silent.

The entire apartment was silent.

Hesitantly, I moved towards the table. I carefully picked up the envelope, part of me fearing it would spontaneously combust, or just disappear into thin air. Scrawled on the outside, in the most imperfectly perfect handwriting, were two words: “For Jane.”

I sat down on the couch behind me and sat on its edge, my hands trembling slightly as I carefully opened the envelope. Somehow, I didn't know what to expect as I began reading, but I knew it couldn't be good. I just prayed it wasn't a suicide note or something.

”Dear Jane,

As you might have noticed by now, I've decided to leave. It's just better this way, for the both of us.

Wait. Is this really from Robin? My girlfriend, Robin? Robin the total sweetheart/pushover/lap dog? The same Robin that would jump off a bridge, at my request? The same Robin that always seems happy to bask in my presence? (I'm not being conceited, or exaggerating, I promise.)

Don't get me wrong: the last three years of my life have been the best I've ever had. Or at least, the two before this year. You're the most amazing person I've ever met.

That's part of the reason I'm gone: You're amazing. I'm not. I'm just a talentless dental hygienist.

Talentless? Really, Robin? I didn't realize that being musically awesome like you are requires no talent. You may not consider contagious optimism a talent, but I do. What about your bravery?
...Where are you, Robbi?

You're a stunning girl with a promising political career ahead of you. (I'm really proud of that internship you got at the mayor's office, by the way). You've super-charismatic, and you can always make me smile. And giggle. And guffaw ridiculously. You're a wonder. You're perfect by design. No one could parallel you, but you need someone better than me.

I could say the same about you, minus the political career. I'm the scum here, not you.

I guess that's what Andy's for.

I spoke too soon. Now I'm the scum.

I know hewas is just a cover. I understand why I couldn't hold your hand at the mall. I understand how having a girlfriend in public could mess up your political future. I understand why I had to be just your roommate when your mom came over to visit. I understood why, outside of this apartment, you were Andy's girlfriend, not mine. I knew you weren't ashamed of me. You were just afraid. I understand that, and I love you for it—the fact that you were kind of scared and alone kind of drew me to you in the first place. Remember that?

Ah, Robin, how could I ever forget? We were at a party. I was 23, you were 21. I was sitting on the back porch because the inside of the house scared me—I had never been to a crazy party like that. The lack of personal space, the yelling, the loud music, the flashing lights, the drinking—I was uncomfortable, to say the least. I guess I was somewhat prude-ish.

As fate would have it, you ended up outside—not because you were shy, like me, but because you needed fresh air. And a cigarette. I remember that partially messed up my first impression of you. But still, we got were we are now, right?

You sat next to me, and we talked. And talked. And exchanged numbers. We kinda started falling for each other after that. A year after the party, we became roommates to the outsiders—and, as we both know, more than that, whenever no one else was around.

Still, you know as well as I do that I have an insatiable craving for affection. For the first year we lived together, I thought I'd found perpetual happiness. I thought living with you was the best choice I'd ever made. I thought that being your roommate would make it easier for me to be your girlfriend. But at the end of that year, he came in the picture. “Because Mom's getting suspicious,” you said. “And because the people at the office are, too.” And so, I accepted Andy as your cover-up, because you were afraid to be honest with the rest of the world.

Like I said, your fear is endearing.

Wait, so this is my fault, isn't it? I'm losing you because I'm a coward.
And how is fear endearing?
It must be the whole 'opposites attract' deal.

At first, it was okay. You went to work, and so did I. I'd only have to wait for a you a little while after I got home. When you were through with work, we'd hang out together — watch movies, jam, listen to music, dance, kiss, cuddle, touch — all within the confines of our little two-bedroom apartment. Then that gave way to your occasional dates with Andy — "Just to make it convincing” — and everything was still good. Soon enough, your work hours grew longer, and your dates more frequent. I ended up at home, alone, more than I would have liked. Still, I was happy to have you for the few hours that I did. They made me feel alive. You are were the best thing about my life.

I really started missing you a few months ago. It seemed like you were never here. I ran out of ways to stay temporarily busy or happy. My cleaning and cooking lost their value, since you weren't around to enjoy the results. The TV wasn't at all interesting, without you here, making sarcastic remarks about the idiocy of reality shows. Even GarageBand and playing guitar got bland after a while. I was empty, and nothing I did filled the void.

And that's when it really started going downhill. Whenever I wasn't at work, I was here, waiting for you. But you never came. My only true happiness disappeared, so I experimented with ways to fill the void. That's why you caught me smoking pot. Then you yelled at me.

That's when you stopped being the awesome Jane.

So it is my fault. I really should've paid more attention to Robin, not Andy. I guess I was too busy being an actress to go back to reality.

I'm sorry you don't like my recently-acquired habit, but what else can I do?

But then again, I'm not even sure you even care. You've got Andy. I have my weed. If that's the only thing making you mad at me, then I know you don't care. You're my source of happiness. If you didn't like being badly substituted by a joint, you'd be here. If you really minded the smell that much, you'd be here. If you honestly gave a damn about my well-being, you'd be here.

You say smoking's bad for me, but I guess depending on you this much is way unhealthier. I'm the problem here, not you.

I should've stopped caring about you a long time ago, right after you stopped being the Jane I love. I guess I've lost that part of you to Andy. I know he's not just a cover anymore.

I guess the worst part isn't that you don't love me anymore: it's that you didn't have the courtesy to break up with me before it got this far. Or maybe it's I didn't have the sense to leave you alone before.

What have I done?

But that's changing now.

I hate to spoil the surprise for you, but tomorrow night, Andy's proposing.

...

WHAT? How do you know, Robin? I've known him for less than two years.

He asked for a second opinion on his/your ring today, while you finished getting ready, when he was waiting in the living room. It's a very nice ring; you'll love it. I'm sure it's the best birthday present you could've asked for.

What am I gonna tell him? Do I like him that much?

Now that I think about it, I kinda love him. Not as much as I love Robin, but a considerable amount.

It'll be easier for you this way. You won't have to hide anything from your family now. You can run for governor one day, and you won't lose votes from homophobes. You'll be just like any normal politician, with a family: a husband, maybe a couple of kids...no girlfriend. Saying 'yes' is gonna make your whole life better: your parents will accept your choice of companion, no one will have any kind of smear campaign for you, and you'll be normal.

It's very logical. Love isn't supposed to be, though.

The next paragraph is smudged by a few tear stains. It's hard to tell mine from hers, though.

So that why I figure it's time for me to get out of your way. It's for the best. I'm sure you and Andy will be very happy together. Don't worry about me. This is better for both of us. As far as my future's concerned, consider this 'breaking the habit'. I'll get over you, and I'll be stronger. I guess I'm better off alone.

You'll be happy with Andy. I'll be happy by myself. Just forget about me.

Okay, Robin...but how?

(All physical traces of me are gone—besides this letter, anyways—so it shouldn't be that hard.)

That's not gonna help much.

Have a good life. You really deserve it.

Love Goodbye forever,
Robin

After I finished reading the letter, I leaned back and sank into the back of the sofa, silently sobbing, tears streaming down my face. After a couple of minutes, I got up and went to her room, wondering if everything was really gone.

I opened the door, and, through eyes blurred by tears, I saw that nothing was left. Nothing. No furniture, no CDs, no clothes, no drugs, no guitar...The room was completely empty.

I remember wondering how she had managed to clear it all out and write the letter in the five or six hours I was gone.

Then I remembered the photographs in my room. I ran to the next door, threw it open, and was shocked to find empty photo frames sitting on my dresser. My digital camera was sitting on my bed, not on top of my dresser, where I'd left it. I picked it up and scrolled through the pictures. There were pictures of me, by myself, and pictures of random trees, and pictures of me and Andy, but no Robin.

Still struggling to breathe against my tears, I went back to the living room, wondering if anything else was amiss. Nothing seemed out of place, so I took the liberty of crashing on the couch, ready to pour my heart out into a cushion.