I can hear my phone beeping continuously, receiving one text after the other. Three beeps and then it stops; then there’s two more and then another. I rush to grab it in fear that someone’s hurt or that something’s wrong. I touch the screen and I freeze. I might have erased that number from the phone’s memory but I still remember it by heart. That’s not just a random number; that’s your number.
What could you possibly want ten months later? I am thinking that you probably need the jacket you left in the closet and that hilarious neon fluorescent lamp of yours that you turn on every time your friends are over to create a better atmosphere; but my theories are not even close.
I read all six of your texts. I give myself a minute to absorb the facts and I read again. It all comes down to a messy, yet clear message. You don’t know why you’ve texted me after so long, but you are back in town and you think you miss me, so you would like us to meet.
Um, no.
It took me a lot of time but you are out of my system now. That toxic, pathetic, sick thing we had is finally over; I am over and done with it. I don’t want back in; not even if it’s just an innocent coffee and I don’t see how you want me back in your life now. You were the one who left me — in case you’ve forgotten.
You were the one who wanted to chase his dreams and have fun with girls and fool around because you were young and I was the one keeping you from everything; I didn’t fit into your picture at all. So, what’s changed now and how come you miss me and want us to meet?
There’s a knock on the door and before I know it you are there smiling with a bunch of pink roses in one hand and wine in the other; “we’d been together for five years and you still don’t know that I hate pink” I’m thinking, but I choose to keep the thought to myself. I just say a “thank you”, instead. Shit! Shit! Now what? Why are you here? What should I say?
I take a deep breath and I try to get myself together. I will let you say what you have to say; I can do that at least, though I am still disgusted at how you broke it off. So, I sit and I ask about your life in London. I knew it wasn’t for you; too cold and cloudy for your taste. You are into summer bliss, endless partying till the morning and then swimming and diving till the sunset. Yet, somehow, you thought I was the one who wouldn’t survive in London.
“I miss you”, you say, “I want you to let me fight to get you back, to get us back. What I did was stupid. I panicked and I just ran”. Oh, so I guess it took you ten months to realize the stupidity of your actions, then. And now I am supposed to, what, accept your apology and rush into your arms weeping, thankful that you’ve come to your senses?
That might have been my reaction five months after we broke up, when all I did was go to work and then back home to watch a movie, get a glass of wine, smoke and wonder where you might be and what you might be doing. Not anymore.
Now, I am just over you.
You are sitting there and I feel nothing but pity. Unfortunately, news travels fast; and when you have common friends, it travels even faster. I knew all about your little games with other girls. I don’t recall you missing me then, or am I wrong?
You say you are back now, you say that everything is out of your system and you finally realize that I am the one for you. But I… I’d have to be pretty crazy and completely self-destructive to let you back in.
Plus, you forget a tiny (pretty huge) detail. I am with someone else. I am moving on. Wait, no, I have moved on. And you are nowhere to be found in my future. Thank you for your interest, thank you for screwing it up with me, thank you for returning to the good, old girl who used to forgive all of your mistakes — but I am not that girl anymore.
Besides, I hate pink and you don’t even know! Five years and you didn’t bother to note that down. You knew nothing about me. Well, the new guy knows everything and I am so in love with him.
I’ll let you guess who I’m going to choose…
Author: Georgia Efstratiou
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