30 Kylie
So, packing again, just cleaning up my hotel room, getting ready to go home, to go back to the way things were before my past wandered back into my life and applied shock therapy. My idiot's supposed to be the romance therapist. That makes me laugh; it's a good, bitter laugh, thick with the history of pain. But I don't want her back. I decided to go home. I need to go home. I know I was giving mixed signals, I was telling her that I loved her and that I didn't want her in my life. And that's the truth. I love her. I will always love her, but I can't change my life for her. I don't know who she is anymore, and I will not make the effort to find out. I'm going home. I'm doing fine in my life. I don't need the crazy ups and downs of a relationship; I don't need any of this! It doesn't matter that I want it. I've calmed down, I have a real job; I was able to survive without her even enjoy myself without her. I had almost forgotten about her, but then came the wedding, and now my brother's dead. Is it her fault? Is it my fault? Was it my fault for that one time long ago when I seduced his girlfriend? Did that give him this grudge and send him on this road? Am I on the wrong side? Is Phoebe the scourge of the universe and he was rooting out evil? Sometimes I feel like Phoebe is the scourge of the universe, that she made my life hell, that the unbelievable pleasure wasn't worth the pain when she was gone, and it's most definitely not worth how I feel now, no pleasure this time, just more bleeding from a wound that I thought was healed. But she's not enough for me anymore. I can see that she's weak now, that she can't take care of me, but I don't need taking care of, maybe we could go out for coffee, no, you're going home. There's nothing left, your old life was shattered into sand, I want to be her possession. . .
I don't want to cry, but my eyes are burning. I don't want to cry! I haven't cried over her for years, but I'm crying now. Dammit. I'm crying now.
It was so different then, we were both so different then. Everything was easier, we didn't think of consequences or repercussions. We didn't worry about if we drank a lot tonight we'd have a hangover in the morning. Things would work out; we knew it. Life couldn't touch us; we were the ultimate hedonists. We found our pleasure where it was available, and that was with each other. We didn't worry about anything stupid like a relationship, it was too complicated, too difficult, so we disguised our less animalistic needs with a nominal desire for incessant sex. I don't know when it changed, when we started being jealous and defensive. I had always been the type who was stuck on the outside, crushing desperately over girls I could never have. The first time I decided to take my fate into my own hands was with my brother's girlfriend; I had been crushing over her since before he started dating her. I sounded her out, playing the experimental horny teenager façade. It was never anything but sex for her, it was never anything but sex for anyone I had been with. That was my method, and I thought I was getting what I wanted. I couldn't expect anything more, even though it wasn't enough. It wasn't any different with Phoebe. I assumed that she didn't want anything else. I was used to one-night stands. I was used to being left behind. I never expected her to stay. I never expected it to be as perfect as it became. And I never ever expected her to leave because she was afraid I would find someone better. I was sure she was going to move on and find someone that she wanted to be with. Because no one ever wanted to be with me, not for longer than a night. And she left, just like I knew she would. And I was the most miserable person in the world. Because she had given me everything I ever wanted, and I won't ever be satisfied with anything less.
Why am I not begging at her knees? Because I've never begged for anything. I've always been the seducer, I've been the one who never gets what she wants and is satisfied with it. I've been able to bear anything, and I'm way too proud. I don't let people see how I feel. I don't want her again. She was afraid last time, but when have I ever not been afraid. I don't think I could deal with having what I want and being scared of losing it, not something that good, not love.