Last night, I texted Frank and told him I needed a break from the relationship. You know, like a coward.
I want to break up with him (debatable) but I also believe that a relationship of a whole year, three months, three weeks and as of last night two days (Counting the hours is beneath me) can't just be ended without a fight. I just don't know what kind of fight it will be. Will he fight for me? Or will he fight me?
The conversation involved a lot of waterworks on my end, because, yes, it is hard to lose someone you love. I still believe it was the right thing to do and I made it very clear to him that a girl can only put up with plucking flower petals wondering 'He loves me, he loves me not' for so long. He said he would do better, I said 'Sure. I can't wait, but we're still on a break'. Then he begged me not to tell our friends, including Lily, which is stupid since she knew about the break before he did.
I said I wouldn't tell his friends about the break, that it was just between us, then I left him on read when he texted goodnight. It was awesome!
Now, my goal is trying to explain to both Steph and Lily that I spent the night with an Arsenal player three years ago when we were in Europe. The response is shock on Lily's end, though she does try to hide it well, and an eye roll from Steph, because, Steph.
"I'm surprised it took you this long to figure out," She says nonchalantly over Facetime.
"I kind of…forgot," I respond with a weak shrug.
"Forgot?" She prompts.
There's a crunch in Lily's end as she shoves a bunch of chilli crisps into her mouth.
"Okay, I didn't forget forget. I remember I spent the night with someone-"
"Had sex, you mean," Steph interrupts.
I glare at her, grumbling the affirmative. "And I remember he was a white dude with an accent I couldn't place. He dropped me off, gave me his number, told me to text him once I was in my room-"
"And did you?" Lily interrupts.
"Did I what?" I counter.
"Text him once you were in your room!" She says loudly.
"Well, no. I figured he was just being polite," I respond with another weak shrug.
"Oh my God!" Lily exclaims.
"I want to kill you right now!" Steph adds, equally loud. Glad to have her back.
"You could have been dating a footballer!" Lily cries.
"Who fucks right!" Steph adds.
"Not a bare minimum guy!" They finish together.
I am properly chastised, and I'm debating on asking them if they rehearsed that line. My cheeks are flaming from embarrassment and my throat is doing that weird burning thing it does when I'm about to cry.
"So what's the plan now?" Lily asks.
"Yeah, what are you going to say to him?" Steph follows.
"Say to who?" I ask.
"The footballer, dumbass! What's our game plan here? Are we flying to Europe to watch his next game?" Steph asks.
"Woah there, Stephy. He was a one-night-stand from three years ago. I'm pretty sure he's forgotten about me too," I say.
"He's still a better choice than Frank. Bite me, you know I'm right!" Lily yells, then promptly shoves more chilly crisps into her mouth.
"You should stop before you choke," I tell her.
"All I'm saying is, you have his number, right? Text him. Worst he can do is say no…and block you for being a groupie," Steph says.
I narrow my eyes at her. "Oh yeah, because it won't matter how embarrassing that would be, just a chip off the mountain that is my dignity," I respond, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"That's the spirit!" Lily says.
"And to be fair you lose that dignity everyday you don't drop that bare minimum guy," Steph adds.
My inner know-it-all voice responds to that with a hearty 'Here here!' but I cover her mouth with duct tape and stuff her in a closet.
"We are on a break as of last night," I say proudly.
Steph yawns loudly and even slaps her hand against her open mouth for impact. "Oh really? And how long is this break going to last?" She asks.
"Just until he gets his shit together," I say, suddenly defensive. I brace myself for impact.
"Right," Steph says. "because I haven't heard that before. Look, Kay, I love you, so I'm going to tell you something hard to hear. You are in denial,"
'Isn't that a river in Egypt?' I want to ask, but I shut my mouth anyway.
"You're turning a blind eye to all the ways this guy breaks your heart and it's like you look for a new, unbroken piece to give him so he can break that too. Being with him is not healthy for you, Kay," Steph says.
That weird burning thing at the back of my throat is more annoying than ever, and I know that if I even attempt to get a word out, I will cry.
"I'd rather you be happily single than miserable with someone, Kay," Lily says.
If I could yell at them, I would. I would tell them that they don't understand, that love has sacrifices, that—
There's a knock at my door. I take out my earphones and raise an index finger at them, gesturing 'Give me a sec' and I make for the door.
Away from the scrutiny of my friends, I think I may survive a short conversation without bursting to tears.
When I open the door, I wish I hadn't. Frank is standing there, hands shoved into his back pockets, tropical button down shirt (that I really should burn when he's not looking) and a smile on his face, as if he wasn't causing me inner turmoil.
I slam the door in his face.
He opens it slightly, poking his head through the little space he created. "Hi there," he says.
"We're on a break," I remind him. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him, to show him I mean business.
"Which," he opens the door and let's himself in, "is why I came over."
"It's not a good time," I say. "I'm busy,"
He gives me a once over and my hand itches to slap him. I really hope he's not here to lure me to bed. I glance down at my shorts and tank top then glare at him accusingly.
"Something wrong with my dressing?" I ask him pointedly.
He vigorously shakes his head. "No, no. It's just, you look good."
I flip my hair over my shoulder. "What do you want? And can it wait?" I ask impatiently.
He grins. "It's cute when you're mad. You look like a kid," he says.
"Get out, Frank," I say.
"You don't mean that," he says, his annoying grin still in place.
"Oh yeah?" I ask, raising my voice. "What clued you in? The fact that I told you I want a break from you? When I literally told you to get out? Or hey, would it be much better if I just told you to LEAVE my house?"
"Okay. I'm sorry," he says.
Those two words; I'm sorry, mean so little to me now when they come out of his mouth. When we were still in Uni, one of his guy friends once bragged that the best way to prevent a break up is to apologize to your girlfriend, even when you have no clue why you're doing it. From then on, Frank threw out apologies like dirty socks. That's what I became to him, a statistic. One of the numbers among so many.
"Why, pray tell, are you sorry, again?" I ask, fisting my hands at my sides. This is not good. I never wanted a physical confrontation. The terrible thing about breaking up in person at my house is that so many things could go wrong; from desperate break up sex (where I'd end up feeling guilty and have to repeat the cycle) to parts of my body found in the garbage (I'm no stranger to the rapidly rising rate of femicide in the country).
He tugs at his hair with a broken expression on his face. I used to think he was the most handsome guy in the world. The hottest too. Now, not so much.
Tears spring from the corners of his eyes and that's how I've fallen into his trap again. My inner know-it-all, who has managed to escape from the closet and rip off her duct tape rolls her eyes and mutters, 'here we go again.' I ignore her, but I couldn't agree more. Because as I watch and listen to Frank talk about how hard life is away from home (seriously, grow up, you've been away from home for four years already) and about how selfish I'm acting by taking the Rutherford job when I could have taken the offer in Nakuru and moved in with him, I inwardly roll my eyes thinking, 'here we go again'.
When I have to close my laptop and say goodbye to my friends, Steph has already hung up and Lilian is giving me that look.
When Frank grabs my waist and kisses me, the thought is still on my mind. When he takes off my top and pushes his hand into my shorts, it's still on my mind. When he tires himself out and collapses on my bed, it's still on my mind. When he pulls me in to spoon, and mumbles in my ear that he loves me, it's still on my mind.
Here we go again.
***********
I can't sleep. It's too hot in here. Frank is lightly snoring next to me. Too noisy too. I gingerly take his arm out from above my stomach and place it in the little space I have created between us.
He stirs, but does not awaken. I quietly hop off my bed and glance at him one more time. He hasn't noticed my absence, his annoying snore has not broken rhythm. I take out my night robe and head to the living room.
My phone rests on the coffee table that also serves as the everything table. I rest my feet on it as I scroll through my Instagram reels. For some unfathomable reason, any reel concerning Indrek Ivanov has been added to my FYP. Weird.
I begin to mindlessly scroll through the reels while I go back to the night when I met him. I remember how he made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe for a moment. How he smiled so warmly at me. How his eyes never drifted off, only staring at me. How caring he was; that he even insisted on getting in the cab with me, to make sure I got to my hotel safely. How he kissed me and said, "Call or text me once you're in your room. You have my number, don't you?" How I nodded like an idiot that I would text him, then talked myself out of it when Grayson texted that he wanted to get back together.
Oh God, I feel like such a fool right now.
I'm stuck in a relationship that's bleeding away my happiness while he's probably giving all the attention he gave me to somebody else. Someone who actually deserves it.
I wipe my eyes for the ghost of any tears I might have. I have cried enough in the last forty hours to last me a lifetime.
Against my better judgement (if it was a person it would be battered and bruised at this point) I look up Indrek's number on my phone. I've got thousands of contacts (okay, fine, three hundred and six) but only converse with about twelve, including my inner circle of three—mum, Lily and Frank, Steph is a maybe—so it's not hard. It is especially easy when I'm sure I don't know any other Henry than the one saved as 'Henry Rockstar'. Ah, the joys of drunken youth. In addition, it helps that his number is the only one with what I assume is an Estonian code.
I pull up a chat box on WhatsApp (it's free, enough said) and write, Hi. Short, simple and utterly disastrous! Hi? Yeah, what about hi, I finally got to my hotel room three years ago, thanks for dropping me off, xoxo
No.
I stall by looking up the time difference.
Turns out Estonia is only one hour behind. I've only stalled by one minute, which I fear I must blame on the building's crappy wifi.
Fun fact, Tallinn, the Estonian capital, is only fourteen and a half hours away. By plane. That took less than two seconds to find out.
I decide not to send the message, it was a stupid idea anyway. I can already hear Steph calling me a coward for it, but hey, at least I'm alive.
I start to clear out the two words when the thought occurs to me, 'what the heck'. I type 'Hey Henry' and sit back with a stupid smug for a count of ten. Yeah, that feels okay.
I clear it out and tap the exit button when I see my message sent, and two grey ticks on the bottom right corner of my bubble.
No. No no no. No!
I shriek and drop my phone. It's quickly back in my hands and what I see on the screen makes me shriek louder. Blue ticks. As in; read!
If this were a movie, what happened next would have made me faint.
Typing…
I think I'm okay. I don't need to shriek again.
"Kayla?" The unmistakable voice of Frank asks.
Okay folks, you guessed it. I shriek a third time and drop my phone.