I Miss You
Chapter 9: (that) I Can't Explain
He kisses her softly on the lips and she feels nothing. She knows that he hopes that she will ask him to stay, but she will not. She does not love him. He realizes that she is no longer paying attention to him and resigns himself to leaving. There is no use sticking around when she gets like this. He gets up and grabs his coat. "Happy Valentine's Day," he says, as he closes the door behind him.
She is snapped back to reality with the gentle slamming of the door. She is not sorry that he is gone. It's not like she is too attached to him anyway. Just the most recent in the long line of guys she has dated and broken up with since October. In high school, she had never thought that she would be one to engage in meaningless relationships; she had believed that a relationship was not worth it if there was no feeling behind it. Now she knows that too much feeling can be a bad thing as well. So she enters into the superficial relationships, holding them at arms length while fruitlessly searching for something she cannot name. She does not even know to describe it. All that she knows is she has not been happy for a long time.
Where did she go wrong? John is a nice enough guy. But too serious. And too short. He is not funny enough. He does not make her laugh. She feels nothing when she is around him. John is not Tristin. It all boils down to that. For the past four months, she has been unconsciously comparing every subsequent guy with him. And no one measures up. Not even close.
Funny how you never realize what you have until you throw it all away, she muses bitterly.
Not true, a tiny voice long suppressed cries out.
Great, now I'm having conversations with myself, she thinks.
The voice persists. You can never appreciate what you have if it comes too easily. The twists and turns make life and love more meaningful.
Rory rolls her eyes. Since when did I start spouting really bad philosophical quotes? she wonders.
Since you broke his heart, and yours along with it. You just didn't realize it at the time.
It's not my fault I wasn't ready, she counters.
But you were. You just didn't know it. You're making excuses. You did what you always do. You ran. Ran from him, the one person you can never put behind you.
She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind from the schizophrenic thoughts. When had things gone so horribly wrong? She told him she only needed time. So why had she started dating? That definitely was not the understanding. And why hadn't she called him?
You ran, the voice whispers tauntingly.
That's ridiculous. I love him. Why would I run from him?
How the hell am I supposed to know? Why does anyone do the things they do?
Real helpful, she tells herself sarcastically.
If you want help, help yourself.
Oh, just leave me alone, she growls irritably.
Make me!
"Shut up!" she says aloud. She realizes that she is probably a step away from the loony bin and laughs over the absurdity of it all.
Slowly, the smile fades from her face. It is Valentine's Day. How is she spending it? She is talking to herself, in her empty room, laughing over the fact that she has probably lost the love of her life. She is overcome with an overwhelming sensation of self pity and helplessness.
She wishes Lane hadn't told her of her encounter with him in December. Then at least she could have disillusioned herself with thoughts of him faithfully waiting for her, not knowing or caring that she was the one had messed up. But she knows that isn't the case. He thought she had moved on. So he had comforted himself with a slutty blonde. She doesn't want to know now many more blondes or brunettes or red heads have comforted him since.
Be fair! The voice rears its annoying little head. You know it isn't like that.
Oh, do I?
That's not who he is and you know it. He's the easy target because you don't want to accept responsibility for your actions.
I'm getting really sick of you, she warns.
Then do something about it, the voice challenges daringly. Look at yourself. Are you really happy with your life?
She ponders, really debating the answer.
If you were, you wouldn't even have to ask, it pipes up.
I know, she admits.
Now we're getting somewhere, it says with relief.
I'm not happy. There, I said it. Are you satisfied?
No. Are you?
Well what do you want me to do about it? she asks in exasperation.
What will make you happy?
Coffee.
Be serious!
Tristin, she amends.
Then go get him back.
It's not that easy.
Why not? it asks, diplomatically.
I wasn't faithful. I'm not even sure where we stand with each other anymore. I don't know if he still loves me or if he's moved on. And I'm still not ready for marriage.
You're lying.
I honestly don't feel ready. I can't lie about the way I feel...especially to myself, she says pointedly.
Why aren't you ready?
I can't explain.
Try.
I want to see the world. I want to be independent. I want to answer to no one but myself. I want to stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower and ride a gondola through the canals of Venice. I want...
Whoa, hold up. That's plenty right there.
A light bulb suddenly clicks. "Study abroad!"
Huh?
I'll study abroad for a semester. I'll come back with new perspective. I'll either be ready to marry him or I'll be ready to say good bye. Either way, it's better than this.
With a newfound goal, she sits at her computer and starts pulling information.
***
She receives the acceptance letter to the Harvard Study Abroad Program three months later, at the end of the semester. It has been seven months since her last birthday. Seven months since the last time she saw or spoke to him. She hears rumors, snatches of gossip about him. Only recently has he begun to start dating again. Funny, since she has stopped. She refuses to partake in the cold, emotionless act of dating guys who mean nothing to her. So she doesn't.
She leaves for Italy, her first choice locale, in September. She can't wait. Time to start living again, she tells herself resolutely.
The tiny, once annoying voice cheers her on.
9/21
Chapter 9: (that) I Can't Explain
He kisses her softly on the lips and she feels nothing. She knows that he hopes that she will ask him to stay, but she will not. She does not love him. He realizes that she is no longer paying attention to him and resigns himself to leaving. There is no use sticking around when she gets like this. He gets up and grabs his coat. "Happy Valentine's Day," he says, as he closes the door behind him.
She is snapped back to reality with the gentle slamming of the door. She is not sorry that he is gone. It's not like she is too attached to him anyway. Just the most recent in the long line of guys she has dated and broken up with since October. In high school, she had never thought that she would be one to engage in meaningless relationships; she had believed that a relationship was not worth it if there was no feeling behind it. Now she knows that too much feeling can be a bad thing as well. So she enters into the superficial relationships, holding them at arms length while fruitlessly searching for something she cannot name. She does not even know to describe it. All that she knows is she has not been happy for a long time.
Where did she go wrong? John is a nice enough guy. But too serious. And too short. He is not funny enough. He does not make her laugh. She feels nothing when she is around him. John is not Tristin. It all boils down to that. For the past four months, she has been unconsciously comparing every subsequent guy with him. And no one measures up. Not even close.
Funny how you never realize what you have until you throw it all away, she muses bitterly.
Not true, a tiny voice long suppressed cries out.
Great, now I'm having conversations with myself, she thinks.
The voice persists. You can never appreciate what you have if it comes too easily. The twists and turns make life and love more meaningful.
Rory rolls her eyes. Since when did I start spouting really bad philosophical quotes? she wonders.
Since you broke his heart, and yours along with it. You just didn't realize it at the time.
It's not my fault I wasn't ready, she counters.
But you were. You just didn't know it. You're making excuses. You did what you always do. You ran. Ran from him, the one person you can never put behind you.
She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind from the schizophrenic thoughts. When had things gone so horribly wrong? She told him she only needed time. So why had she started dating? That definitely was not the understanding. And why hadn't she called him?
You ran, the voice whispers tauntingly.
That's ridiculous. I love him. Why would I run from him?
How the hell am I supposed to know? Why does anyone do the things they do?
Real helpful, she tells herself sarcastically.
If you want help, help yourself.
Oh, just leave me alone, she growls irritably.
Make me!
"Shut up!" she says aloud. She realizes that she is probably a step away from the loony bin and laughs over the absurdity of it all.
Slowly, the smile fades from her face. It is Valentine's Day. How is she spending it? She is talking to herself, in her empty room, laughing over the fact that she has probably lost the love of her life. She is overcome with an overwhelming sensation of self pity and helplessness.
She wishes Lane hadn't told her of her encounter with him in December. Then at least she could have disillusioned herself with thoughts of him faithfully waiting for her, not knowing or caring that she was the one had messed up. But she knows that isn't the case. He thought she had moved on. So he had comforted himself with a slutty blonde. She doesn't want to know now many more blondes or brunettes or red heads have comforted him since.
Be fair! The voice rears its annoying little head. You know it isn't like that.
Oh, do I?
That's not who he is and you know it. He's the easy target because you don't want to accept responsibility for your actions.
I'm getting really sick of you, she warns.
Then do something about it, the voice challenges daringly. Look at yourself. Are you really happy with your life?
She ponders, really debating the answer.
If you were, you wouldn't even have to ask, it pipes up.
I know, she admits.
Now we're getting somewhere, it says with relief.
I'm not happy. There, I said it. Are you satisfied?
No. Are you?
Well what do you want me to do about it? she asks in exasperation.
What will make you happy?
Coffee.
Be serious!
Tristin, she amends.
Then go get him back.
It's not that easy.
Why not? it asks, diplomatically.
I wasn't faithful. I'm not even sure where we stand with each other anymore. I don't know if he still loves me or if he's moved on. And I'm still not ready for marriage.
You're lying.
I honestly don't feel ready. I can't lie about the way I feel...especially to myself, she says pointedly.
Why aren't you ready?
I can't explain.
Try.
I want to see the world. I want to be independent. I want to answer to no one but myself. I want to stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower and ride a gondola through the canals of Venice. I want...
Whoa, hold up. That's plenty right there.
A light bulb suddenly clicks. "Study abroad!"
Huh?
I'll study abroad for a semester. I'll come back with new perspective. I'll either be ready to marry him or I'll be ready to say good bye. Either way, it's better than this.
With a newfound goal, she sits at her computer and starts pulling information.
***
She receives the acceptance letter to the Harvard Study Abroad Program three months later, at the end of the semester. It has been seven months since her last birthday. Seven months since the last time she saw or spoke to him. She hears rumors, snatches of gossip about him. Only recently has he begun to start dating again. Funny, since she has stopped. She refuses to partake in the cold, emotionless act of dating guys who mean nothing to her. So she doesn't.
She leaves for Italy, her first choice locale, in September. She can't wait. Time to start living again, she tells herself resolutely.
The tiny, once annoying voice cheers her on.
9/21