First of all, I stopped coming to the pub on Fridays.
Gwen told me that you'd asked where I was. I was so happy that you cared enough to wonder. By the fourth week, you stopped inquiring after me.
At that point, I still saw you every Tuesday when we all met up for takeaways. That was the next to go.
I told everyone I'd taken up painting. I had. They were all glad I was doing something other than moping, not that they told you that. You just nodded in acknowledgement and checked your phone to see if Vivian had texted you.
The classes were fun, and I met a tall, broad-shouldered blonde called George. When I first saw him, I thought you had followed me there. He looked like you, so I said yes when he asked me out.
The others were overjoyed. You were apathetic.
I saw you on Thursdays when the group went bowling. One Thursday, it was 'Bring your Partner' night, since we all had a significant other now.
It was awful.
I had to watch Vivian fawn all over you, and, to make matters worse, watch you encourage her.
George was sweet, but any idiot could see I was in love with you, so we broke up that night after we left. We're still friends though, and he came round a lot to check I hadn't done anything stupid.
Sometimes I forgot to eat, and he'd have to cook a casserole and leave it in the fridge. I'd always been skinny, but now my ribs stuck out worryingly.
I went to my doctor for a standard check-up, and he threatened to send me to a specialist on eating disorders. I managed to subdue him by promising to make an effort to eat more.
After that fateful bowling night, I stopped going out, using the breakup as an excuse. Gwen visited often, bringing movies and popcorn, which made me feel so guilty for lying. I didn't want to admit the real reason though: it was too pathetic.
However, my lie was uncovered when George came round one night while Gwen was in my flat. She freaked out and left, and called me later, telling me that I was better than this. That sleeping with my ex because I missed him was a mistake.
I explained.
At first she didn't believe me, but once I admitted that I was pining for you she did. Then she told me that she'd spoken to you before she called me and that you had been furious.
I tried to call you to explain, but you didn't pick up, and I couldn't tell you everything in a message.
The doorbell rang, interrupting my pacing. I considered ignoring it, but thought it might be important.
It was you.
I was so surprised I nearly shut the door and locked myself out of my flat, but I managed to control myself and invite you in.
We sat down on my sofa, after I moved all of the stuff off it.
I felt uncomfortable, so I asked you if you wanted some tea. You said no, but in a meaningful and quite aggressive way. I didn't understand.
You looked at me as if I was supposed to tell you something. I remembered that I'd been trying to call you before you surprised me by turning up.
I said that I wasn't sleeping with George, that Gwen had misjudged the situation. You didn't reply. I said that he was helping me through a difficult time. You looked pained, and frowned. I was about to continue, and confess my unrequited love for you, but then you opened your mouth to speak, so I didn't.
You asked why I hadn't come to you for help. You sounded so betrayed. You told me that you would always be there for me, and I could tell you anything. I smiled bitterly at that, and you noticed. You wanted to know what it was that I thought I couldn't tell you.
I was annoyed by this point. I thought you knew, and you were just torturing me by making me explain.
"I love you!" I shouted, standing up from the sofa and turning away.
You inhaled sharply, and asked if that was why I had been avoiding you. I nodded. I heard you stand up, and I waited for the sound of the door slamming shut. It never came.
Instead, I felt your hand on my shoulder, turning me round to face you. I resisted, not wanting to hear you quietly letting me know you didn't feel the same way. You gave up, and I heard your footsteps retreating. I closed my eyes, thinking I would never see you again. They snapped open when I felt your warm hand touch my cheek, and you smiled softly at me.
As your lips brushed mine, I pulled back. You felt wounded: I could see it in your face. That was all the confirmation I needed. I tugged you nearer with a shaking hand on your neck, our lips touching again in a fierce kiss, teeth and noses colliding as we tried to get impossibly closer.
One of your hands snuck under my shirt and traced my ribs. You gently untangled your lips from mine in order to admonish me for not eating properly. In my emotionally unstable state, that made me cry. Worriedly, you asked what was wrong. I explained that it showed that you cared. You sighed, irritated because I didn't yet understand.
"Of course I care: I'm desperately in love with you!"
I sobbed with happiness, and buried my face in your neck. You cradled me lovingly, and suddenly I couldn't believe this was happening. Then one of your hands touched the bare skin of my lower back, and I knew it was real because your palm was sweating slightly.
Our embrace soon became a roving mess of hands and lips, and all barriers to the sensation of bare skin on bare skin became very unwelcome. Our eagerness made it difficult to get our clothes off without injury, but we managed it somehow.
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