Feel The Romance

I can remember searching the faces in front of the movie theatre that sleety winter's day. My boyfriend and I had arranged to go see a movie, to celebrate our two year anniversary. But the pain of waiting five, ten, fifteen minutes suddenly got to be too much combined with the rain that plastered my hair against my head, and I rushed inside. I thought I saw him there, for a second, and then I realised it was a couple making their way into a movie.

I broke down. I think there were strange looks, but I didn't care. All I knew was things had been complicated for a long time, and now he had decided to show me how much he cared by setting up this, this date and forgetting me.

Or ignoring me.

I got home late that night, shivering and wet, having searched every face I passed for my boyfriend's familiar grin. I even waited in my front hall for half an hour, hoping he'd come past to apologise. I waited by the phone until my eyes were so heavy they hurt, but there was no call, no received messages.

And so I cried myself to sleep.

***

The next day, I was comforted by close friends who decided that it was just a mistake and the best cure was not to confront him and demand an explanation, nor go crawling back in obvious misery. The best cure was an all night party. We primped, we curled, we plucked, we showered, we dressed again and again and again. By the time we were finished we looked spectacular and I felt better. I was even ready to have a good time.

The party was excellent, for a while. Blasting music and good drinks, and it wasn't long before I was filled with a buzzy feeling and was dancing the time away with my friends. We used all our moves, and drew an appreciative crowd. It was a beautiful, clear night.

And then we started to make our way over to the toilets, and the night started to go downhill very, very quickly.

My boyfriend, and the same girl I'd glimpsed at the movie theatre, against the toilet wall, skirt riding up her leg. And so was his hand. I was shocked, just a blank shock filling my mind more and more until my friends dragged me outside and to a taxi rank nearby.

I sniffled the whole ride, friends murmuring and rubbing my back, telling me he was a no good and that I should get rid of him. But they didn't know, didn't know the start of it. I'd been catching him at parties with different girls for as long as we'd been dating. He knew about half the times I'd caught him. He was pathetic, a user and a player.

But I was even more pathetic. No matter how many times it happened, I knew I'd always go back. Because I loved him no matter what, no matter how miserable things got. I'd lose friends and draw looks and gossip, but it couldn't be helped. He had this way of making me come back, as if I'd been in the wrong. Didn't matter.

Sitting up straighter, I made up my mind. This would never happen again. I'd confront him, I'd make him sorry, and I'd leave him begging while I laughed. This stupid excuse for a relationship had ended, not the first time he'd cheated on me, and not when I called him later to tell him it was over; it was over that minute in that small taxi, with all my friends holding me and helping me.

But separate to all that, I couldn't help but think I was absolutely pathetic. Miserable. Fat tears kept squeezing out of my eyes, one after the other, plopping into my lap. All my fault.