Don't Let Me Go

I don’t know how long I’ve been here for. How long I’ve been sitting on this dirty stool and chucking shots after shots. The sky is dark, few drinks have appeared and disappeared from my sight and the crowd is getting smaller. It must be late already. I don’t know why I keep coming here right after work and stay so late that the owner needs to drag me through the door. I know that he’s at home, that he’s waiting for me to come back. I can’t quite figure it out. This situation is fucked up. Our relationship is a mess but neither of us is ready to walk out of it. I love him so much. I don’t want to hurt him but I do every day. Every time I go home to see his swollen red eyes, I feel my heart breaking that little bit more. And I know that his heart is in bad shape too, probably worse than mine. And I know that I’m to blame. He’s always been a step ahead of me in the relationship. He was the one who asked me out after years of a perfect friendship. I was so scared to put my heart on the line and have it broken into pieces. But he took care of it. He was the first to utter those three words and he didn’t blame me when I didn’t say it back. I wanted to say it back but I couldn’t. It felt like the words were stuck in my throat and it took me about a month to get them out. But he never lost hope. He never thought I could not share his feelings. He thought that I had issues to work on but that I’d be ready to open up someday. And he slowed down his pace to follow mine. He never pressured me into anything. He let me go at my own speed. But it’s been three years now. Three years during which he’s waited for me to catch up with him and I’m not even halfway there yet. I thought moving in together would be a good thing; that it would help me to overcome my fear of commitment somehow. But it didn’t help at all. If anything, it only made things worse.

“We’re closing, mate.” The bartender, Ben I believe, tells me in his perfectly British accent. I guess it’s time for me to go home, time to face the sadness on his face. I wish for him to be asleep already but I know he’ll be awake. It’s the same scenario every night. He waits for me to walk into our living room to go and lock the door of our bedroom, leaving me to sleep on the couch he’s been crying on all evening. I feel the wetness of his tears on the cushion every night and fall asleep hating myself that little bit more. I give Ben enough money to cover my tab for the two previous nights and walk myself out. The air is so cold that it burns my lungs. It’s almost painful but I take it all without whining. I deserve the pain. It’s nothing compared to what I make him go through every day.

Sometimes, I wish I didn’t fall in love with him. It’d be so much easier to let him go if these feelings didn’t get in the way. It’s pathetic how I can’t picture my life without him but still do anything I can to push him away. I make him feel unwelcome in our apartment and in my life. All of our friends look so happy in their relationship. It feels like I’m the only one who doesn’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to make him happy anymore. I wish I knew how to fix things between us but I’m scared it’s too late for that. And walking into the apartment to see him sitting on the couch, empty gaze lost in space, makes me realize that I’m righter than I’d ever want to.

“Do you know what today is?” Jack asks, sounding so tired and weak. It’s Tuesday; the fifteen of March. I’m trying to remember what it means to him and to us but my memory is blank. He’s asking me because I should know. It’s only six days to my birthday. I’ve never been a big fan of getting older for it means I should get smarter and wiser than the year before. The only birthday I actually enjoyed was my eighteenth. Jack and I had just gotten together.

“Our anniversary.” I breathe out as realization sinks into my head. I can’t believe I forgot our third anniversary. I’ve seen the date a million times today. It should have hit me. I shouldn’t have had to come home to have my boyfriend reminding me that it’s been exactly three years since our very first date.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I didn’t realize but I’ll make it up to you. Let me make it up to you.” I plead with him, desperate to have another chance but I know that I’m too late. Sorry won’t cut it this time. He won’t go to bed and sleep it off. He won’t try to act normal in the morning even if he knows it’ll always be the same story.

“It won’t take a fancy restaurant or expensive holidays to make it better this time, Zack. You can’t make it up to me anymore.” Jack says sadly and takes a step back. That’s when I notice the suitcase next to the couch. His suitcase. And I finally understand that I did it. I’ve pushed him over his limits. He’s giving up the fight. It’s over. He’s leaving me.

“We can work things out, Jack. I’ll be home more often and I won’t ever let you down again. I can be a better boyfriend to you.”

“No, you can’t. You’ll never be in this relationship completely because you’re too afraid to have your heart broken. You can’t make it work if you’re not ready to lose yourself just a little.”

“But I love you.” I reply, hoping it’ll make him rethink his decision but knowing that it won’t. He’s done trying to see the best in me and he’s finally seen me for what I really am. A loser afraid of what his feelings could do to him. I can’t make him hold on when I’m not. I get it now; the saying about how you should let the people you love go.

“I’ll miss you.”