Your Giving Tree

Leaving you behind at night has always been one of the hardest things for me to do.

She knows. I know she knows. I go to my designated home those nights just to see her sleeping on the couch with Full House reruns playing on the t.v. while she holds her phone in her hand, her hair in her face and a thin blanket from our bedroom snugly tucked under her. She looks so damn peaceful, but I know it hurts. I know she needs me, but I can’t help it. I need you, I just can’t have you right now.

When I’m beside you, my arms wrapped loosely around your waist and your hair scratching against my chin, I feel like… like I’m a single person. Whole. When I’m with her, I can’t be myself. There’s only half of me with her, and when I come back home to you, I’m complete. She doesn't understand me the way you do, and I’m sure all three of us know that. One of us is just better at pretending they don’t.

I've been avoiding you ever since you caught me leaving a few nights back. I know you don’t understand why I can’t just choose someone, and that it hurts you. I don’t understand it either, honestly. My heart is with you, but my mind… it belongs to her. She’s got me wrapped around her finger and I don’t know how to untangle myself.

But today, I’m going to try.

“I have to leave,” I say to her, my arm is around her shoulders as we sit on the couch.

“But it’s only 4? Your shift usually starts at, like, 8.” She questions.

“N-no, I mean… I have to leave. To him.”

“... Jack, you can’t be serious.”

“This is as serious as I can get, Juliet. I’m… I’m leaving you.” I stand up to make my way into the bedroom and pack my things, trying my hardest to not look at her face, but she takes hold of my wrist.

“Please don’t leave… I don’t know how to live with you not coming home to me at night to kiss me goodnight like you used to. Not seeing you ever…? Please, Jack, I-I can’t do that!”

She starts crying into my hand then, mumbling “please” and “I need you” every few seconds, as if this weren't hard enough for me to do.

“Why am I not enough for you anymore?!”

I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.

I snatch my arm away from her before I get in too deep, leaving her a sobbing mess as I make my way down the hall to the bedroom. My things are literally all over the place. Clothing across the floor, items littering the dresser and so on. I sigh and start looking for a bag big enough to hold all of my important things, and finally make it down the hall again where she lay on the same couch, crying as she probably did every night, afraid that I won’t come back home.

This time I’m really not, the sun is in the sky and there’s no Full House on t.v. to keep her company.

- - -

I finally make it to your apartment complex after 20 minutes of actual driving added onto about 30 minutes of sitting in rush-hour traffic. The buildings look different in the sunlight, so it actually took me a minute to find the place, but I did indeed make it here safe and sound.

I drive down to your building and park a few spaces down from where your own car usually is, being a bit surprised when it isn't actually there, but I don’t think much of it. You’re probably out buying milk or something. I’ll just wait for you to come back, no big deal.

While walking up the steps that lead me to your door, I notice there’s a slip of paper taped to it and start climbing the steps a bit faster. Why would there be a notice on your door? You’re never one to pay bills late, and I've surely got the right apartment. I've been here enough times to recognize the few cars that are always parked in front of the building, even in daylight.

Though, when I make it to your door, it isn't a notice from any bill collector to you for being late on a payment. It’s a notice to me, from you, for being late on my decisions.

“July 2, 2014 ; 4:52 AM ; Wednesday” the top line reads. That’s about an hour after I saw you last.

“Jack,

All the leaves on the Giving Tree have fallen;
No more shade to crawl in underneath…”

I read on, shaking in my shoes at the words printed pretty mesilly on this small piece of paper. I barely even understand exactly what it means, but I understand the parts where you needed me and I wasn’t there. Now I’m here, and I’m too late. You’re probably off wandering the streets for somewhere to go or someone to love you because I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.

“...
Love,
Your Giving Tree.”

You were my giving tree, and I took advantage of you. I took your love without even spitting a single thank you, not showing the least bit of gratitude for the things you did for me for so long. I’m wrong. I’m so fucking wrong, and I need you.

With a quick shaky hand, I reach on the door frame to look for the key I always use to get in, and eventually find it. I finally unlock the door after multiple failed attempts (and dropping the key more times than I’d like to admit) and look for something, anything that lets me know you’re at least safe.

There’s an open notebook on the coffee table with words scrawled across the paper and I rush towards it, thinking it’s some type of note or letter to let me know where you are.

“June 29, 2014 ; 8:07 AM ; Sunday

He didn't even have work today and he made his way to me.
Maybe he does love me.

Edit: 8:10 AM;
He left.”

“June 18, 2014 ; 9:24 PM ; Wednesday (his birthday!! ❤)

He should be here in a couple of hours, so I’m going to order food and a movie. I’m hoping he might want to… do stuff again. We haven’t since maybe the start of May, I’m starting to think he’s trying not to get attached to me.
I really hope he gets attached to me.”

“June 1, 2014 ; 5 AM ; Sunday

None of my friends know about him yet, and I won’t tell them until we’re a real thing and she’s out of the way. He told me she’s a trendy fashion blogger and likes to do things like wine tasting and karaoke on the weekends. She sounds nothing like his type, but I won't say anything.
I just wish he'd see how wrong she is for him on his own.”

Everything on these pages is about me. Everything. How have I not seen this before? Where’ve you been hiding this? I don’t even have time to ask myself any questions before I flop onto the couch and shove my face in my hands, dropping the notebook onto the floor.

I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m finally ready to give you my other half, forever, but I’m too late. Now there’s just half of me on this couch, and it’s falling to pieces.

I pick up the notebook from the floor and grab the pen that was beside it on the coffee table, then scribble a few words onto one of the last blank pages before throwing the entire book across the room.

“July 21, 2014 ; I have no idea what time it is ; Monday

Never forget to thank your Giving Tree. It won’t last forever.”