December 1999
I hate you. I truly hate you.
You gave into them, even when you said you wouldn't. You broke your promise. I remember one of the nights we spent together in the first months of our relationship. We were in bed during one of those random yet blissful times we found a space to be ourselves, and while you were asleep against the moonlight shining through the window, I brought my knees to my chin, unable to sleep, unable to clear these negative thoughts swimming through the channels of my mind. I knew going into this that it would only be a matter of time before something, or someone, causes our demise. But I had always been able to keep that in the back of my mind, some dark corner where it wouldn't see the light of day. Until that night.
I had my gaze fixed on the alarm clock next to my side of the bed, waiting for the moment when the numbers would change to 2:31 when I felt your hand crawling up my bare back. I closed my eyes to take it in when I heard you whisper, "Is everything okay?"
I looked over at you; your eyes weren't quite open the entire way, but you were still able to see everything I was feeling. You propped yourself up on your elbow and said in the most soothing way, "Talk to me."
My voice nearly failed me. "How long do we really have?"
You led me to the warmth of your body, kissed the crown of my head and told me, "I will never let anyone come between us. I promise you." And as I rested my head against your chest, your heartbeat beginning to serve as my soft lullaby, I trusted you.
You promised. You lied. It's how things always go, but I honestly never expected that from you. I hate you.
No. Maybe it's not you. Maybe it's them. I hate them.
They're the ones who took you away from me. They're the ones who claim to be my friends, but when it came to being with the one I loved, they wouldn't have it. Of course you would pick Grace over me; I wasn't an idiot. Once I realized that you couldn't hold true to your promise, I knew with whom you were going to side. Jack feigned disgust, and although you bought it, I could see through him. I wasn't worried about him. But he got to you, and you ran. Back to Grace, back to life before me, before us. I should have realized that there couldn't be two women in your life.
If you ever found out how I spend my nights without you, you would realize how pathetic I have become. I can't bear to look at Stanley anymore. On some level, I believe that he still does love me, even if he doesn't necessarily show it. And because of that, I am grateful that spending time with him is a rarity. But there are nights when even knowing that he's in the same building is too much for me. I leave without him noticing I'm gone, and I go to the places where I feel most like myself.
I go to the places you used to take me.
Right now, I'm walking the paths in Washington Square Park, so far from the uptown dilemmas and headaches that I've become so accustomed to. I remember living downtown with my mother when I was young, right after my father passed. We found an apartment overlooking Washington Square; you could see the park outside my bedroom window. I was never allowed to play there; my mother never trusted the city, and we only went to a select few places.
I wonder what she would say if she found out that this park is one of the spaces I feel safest.
You took me here the first night we spent together. What we were doing was already risky, with Stanley being in the picture, and you thought if we went downtown, no one would recognize us, and we would be able to walk the streets without worry. You took my hand and lead me through the park. You made me laugh. You whispered in my ear all the things you knew I wanted to hear, and you truly meant them. And before we left, you took me in your arms and brushed your lips against mine as we stood underneath the arch. If you stand on Fifth Avenue a few blocks away, you're able to still see the arch, and for a moment, I wondered if you would be able to see this blatant act of love as well.
Ever since that night, I've been attracted to Washington Square, and although I never said it out loud, you knew. Even though you took me to other places—small independent bookstores, coffee shops that didn't belong to a large franchise—you brought me back here at least once a week, reenacting the moments we shared the first night. I never told you, but I used to deliberately pass by on my way to work. There were some days when I told the driver to go that way—the office wasn't that far away, anyway—and I would think of our nights together as a sort of pick-me-up to use for the rest of the day. Now, whenever I pass by the arch, whenever I come near Washington Square, I can only think of you.
I can only think of the memories that, even now, are beginning to fade in my mind, no matter how much effort I put into keeping them as vivid as they once were.
I can only think of that last night we had. I didn't even get to say goodbye to you.
When I think of that last night, I think of them. I think of the way they took you away from me, how cold they were, how they didn't care that it hurt me. These people I was so willing to call friends. Facing Grace at work has turned from something I looked forward to every day to something I would do anything to avoid. I can tell Jack wants to apologize, but I think he realizes that his words won't be able to undo what happened. I want things to go back to normal between he and I; I miss him.
Although not as much as I miss you.
Maybe I'm going about this wrong. Maybe I should have been strong enough, secure enough, to defend our relationship. I thought that they wouldn't take me seriously; I've built up a certain reputation with them, and as much as I want to break through that and let them see the real me as this façade crumbles, they wouldn't let that happen. You were the only one who knew the things I kept hidden from them, and the probably wouldn't have believed you if you defended me.
But I shouldn't have had to rely on you to defend me. I should have spoken up. I should have let them know that any perception of me, of us, of our intentions, were wrong and set them straight. Maybe then they would have opened their eyes and realized what you and I had. This was my fault.
I don't hate you. I could never hate the one that brought me so much happiness. I love you too much to turn on you like that. After all of this, I still love you.
I don't hate them. I can't fault them for the reaction they had. After all, we lived in this secrecy and anticipated some sort of fallout eventually.
I hate myself. Because of me, we had to hide away from everyone and take refuge downtown. Because of me, we had to make everything harder on ourselves because we had no other option. Because of me, they found out the way they did, they reacted the way they did. Because of me, I didn't get to say goodbye, and you no longer stop by the office. Because of me, I no longer see you, and my image of you, along with the memories we shared together, are beginning to fade with time.
It would be wrong to place the blame on you, on them.
It's all because of me.
I have no one to blame but myself.
