Usually, I am someone who steers clear of the word regret. I take ownership of a mistake and move on with the intention of not repeating it again. But sometimes, life throws such weird curve balls that against better judgment, one succumbs. My last break-up was a painful one. It was a long time coming yet I feigned ignorance. Why would bad things happen to a good person? I was committed to making the relationship work and wasn’t prepared to handle things when it all blew up in my face.
This beautiful man, with eyes as blue as the ocean, fessed up to me. That he was falling out of love. It was difficult to put two and two together. We were just having dinner and drinks on a weekend, how long was this feeling festering in his mind before he finally let it all out?
As I write this, it has been well over a year since that incident. But how the rest of the night transpired is as clear in my mind as though it was yesterday when I sat, transfixed next to him, in sheer disbelief. The looming sense of intimacy was even more painful. This man just broke my heart and all I wanted was to envelop him in a tight hug because he couldn’t stop weeping.
Time dragged along, with the searing hurt outstretching itself inside me like a gaping wound. The clock struck midnight and it was time to leave. Mostly, he always stayed over on date nights because he lived with his parents. But now what? As we stepped outside, the December cold caught me by surprise. Like old times, he didn’t take my hand and put in his jacket’s pocket. This was happening. This break-up was real and in my head, still a mistake. Like an unhinged river dam, my emotions took over.
“It is really late, can I come home with you?”
“Uh… yes, of course,” I replied in an instant, between my incoherent sobs.
The cab ride home was quiet. Both of us sniffling at an arm’s distance. After I reached home, I changed into my pajamas behind the open cupboard. I closed it to find him standing in front of me. His towering, lean frame looking down at me. His hands found mine and he kissed them. This made me burst into tears, yet again.
“What are you doing?”
He said nothing but kissed me on my lips ever so softly, his hands inched down my waist, measured and steady. Sex was off the table, why was he doing this? Why was he messing with my head?
My mind resisted, my heart gave in. I was kissing him back, unbuttoning his shirt at the same time. It was obvious that it was the last time we would ever be sleeping together. If this was a mistake, it would be a glorious one at that.
Looking back, I regret allowing him to manipulate me like that. Even the next morning, he left my doorsteps with the words, “I love you.” I watched him walk away with the feeling of dejection taking over me. This mistake taught me more about love, than our short-lived relationship ever could.
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