Commit This to Memory

I'm outside her house, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, nervous as fuck. I try to think of all the things I could say to her so she won't immediately slam the door in my face. As I hear the doorknob turn it occurs to me that I've done this before.

When she opens the door she just stares at me, no emotion played out on her face. We stand there for a moment staring at each other then she stands aside and waves me in.

The house is deadly silent save our footsteps echoing off the marble floor. Betty leads me to the kitchen and motions me to sit at the island. She pours a cup of coffee for me and makes a cup of tea for herself. Sighing she sits across from me and fiddles with the tag on her teabag.

"I have to say," I mutter tentatively. "This wasn't quite the reaction I expected."

"Well what do you want me to do Justin?" she asks, her voice hard. "You want me to scream at you? Tell you to get the fuck out of my house? Throw plates at you?" She takes a sip of her tea. "I'm too angry and tired to give a fuck at this point. So just say what you came here to say and then leave."

"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I was wrong to get mad at you. You may have fucked up my life but by doing that, you also made it better. And I just don't want you to beat yourself up thinking you ruined me forever."

She lets out a hollow chuckle and stands up. "It's always fucking about you isn't it?" She pulls a bottle of gin out of a cupboard and slams it on the counter in between us. "You think you can say that you're sorry and everything magically becomes okay?" She's yelling now and all I want to do is drain that bottle dry. "Because it doesn't!"

"What do you want me to do?" I scream back at her. "You want me to make myself miserable? You want me to fuck myself up? Just tell me what you want me to do Betty. I'll do it."

"I want you to lose!" she shouts. "I want you to lose something for once! I'm always getting the short end. I'M the one with brain damage. I'M the one who fucked everything up. I'M the one who has to deal with a kid. And you have the nerve to come in here and tell me it's okay that my life is fucked up because your life is great?" Betty twists the cap of the bottle off and takes a long drink. "Well fuck you it's your turn now."

Her words shock and sting me. I hadn't really thought about everything she had lost. I just focused on myself like the egotistical asshole I am. I never thought about her past the needs and uses she held for me. Those first five words destroyed the image I had of our relationship.

I knew exactly what to do to lose.

Slowly, I stand up and take the bottle from her as gently as I can. My empty hand lightly rests on her cheek and I murmur, "This is me losing. You were the best thing that ever happened to me." My lips brush against hers for a moment and then I pull away. "Goodbye Betty, for real this time."

And I leave. An exit so cool and smooth and tragic it should have been in a movie.

I start down the street with no idea where I'm going or how I'm going to get there, taking occasional sips from the bottle.

"Get in the car asshole," I hear some one yell. I look up to see Antonia parked across the street lazily waving at me. Her bleach blond hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun and her eyes are hided behind oversized sunglasses. As I sit in the passengers seat she says, "So I take it things didn't go as planned."

"Decidedly not," I reply taking another drink.

"Can't say I'm surprised." She starts to drive down the street. "You are amazing at fucking things up." She says it with a smile and ruffles my hair.

"Aren't you supposed to be pissed off at me?"

Antonia laughs. She has a great laugh, I'd forgotten that. "You're suffering, that's good enough for me not to be a total bitch to you."

"That makes me feel so much better," I say grimacing.

The rest of the ride is passed in silence. When we get back to her apartment we just sit in the car for a bit. I finally make a move to get out and she grabs my arm. "For what it's worth," she starts. "I really did like you. Maybe if you hadn't been so hung up on her we could have had something."

I shrug, not really sure how to respond to her. "Maybe."

"Do you think we could ever-"

"No." I cut her off. "We had our chance." I'm starting to think second chances are just repeats of the first chance.

So I'm done. I hold her hand in mine. I'm sick of trying to make things work. I run a hand along her face. I'm sick of all the failed relationships I've had and will have. I press my lips to hers. I'm sick of trying so hard at everything. My hand moves down, feeling the shape of her body through the fabric.

So I'm going to stop. Her fingers undo the fly of my jeans. I'm just going to let things happen as they happen. She's climbing over to my side of the car.

It's a pity fuck. The kind of fuck that's all about sadness and loathing. The kind where you go home feeling dirty and hating yourself. We're both mourning the futures we never had, the futures we so desperately wanted. The future Antonia wanted with me, the future I wanted with Betty; there're both lost causes. We know this. So we're fucking to make ourselves feel something other than the bitterness in our hearts.

After we finish, we both just sit there panting lightly. I feel disgusted not because of the what I did with whom but because of the why.

Somehow I know, I'm not just going to lose, I'm going to finnish last place.