Written in 2015. 

This story is very close to my heart, so I beg you to be gentle with your comments. I can handle constructive criticism, but if you're going to simply bash the content and the characters of this one, I'm going to be very upset.

Thinking of you

I try to distract myself. I sit on my bed and try to read a book, watch a movie even, but I just can't.

I can't stop thinking about him. Every tiny detail reminds me of him. I go to make myself some tea and see the box of tea I bought last week, with him. I decide to drink some of the fig flavoured tea and again I'm reminded of him simply because I know he doesn't like figs.

I know, it was my idea to take a break and I've even thought about breaking up, ending things with him before, many times actually. In my head, I always thought he would be the one to cry, to get hurt and I was right.
However I didn't expect it would be so hard for me, too. I didn't know it would be so hard to be without him, to not text him the second I got home, telling him how my favourite pale blue pants were full of dirty splatters from the rain and reading his compassionate respond. I didn't know I couldn't even stand a few hours without hearing from him. Without knowing what he was doing, how he was feeling.

Because that's what I'm asking myself. How does he feel right now?

I suspect the worst, imagining him crying, curled up on his bed. But I refuse to think about it too much, I don't want to dwell too much on the details.

Is he trying to distract himself like me? Is he playing some video game?

Has he told his friends? What are they thinking of me now? What does he think of me? Does he hate me? No, I know he doesn't hate me. He always loved me more than I did him. And that's why, I can't be with him anymore, because I don't deserve him, him and his love. I can't give him what he deserves, can't return what he has given me.

In a way, I'm not good enough for him. Despite what he always told me about being way more attractive than him and how lucky he was to have such a beautiful girlfriend when he was only average. How I was the best thing that happened to him.

Except I'm not. I think I proved that today. I broke his heart, I'm pretty sure of that. But I never meant to, I never wanted to hurt him.

My mind slowly wanders back to this afternoon. I can't believe we sat there and discussed us for almost three hours. He didn't shout at me, didn't even raise his voice one time. He wasn't angry at me, just sad. And desperate.

It started with a simple question. "Do you want to move in with me?"
I looked deep into his green eyes as his face was hovering above mine and tried not to shrug, tried not to seem indifferent, tried not to avoid his question like I normally would.

He had demanded honesty, I should tell him the truth. He was right, he deserved that, even though I knew how badly it would hurt him in the end.

So I took a shaky breath and said: "To be honest, I don't really know if I want that." 
My voice was merely more than a whisper, but the impact was all the more powerful.

He sat up on the bed abruptly and I followed, my lacy kimono sliding of my right shoulder from the movement.

"Do you love me?" he asked then and I hesitated. I wanted to look away, anywhere but at him, but my eyes were fixated on his face, my heart was beating frantically in my chest and with every second I didn't say yes , I felt his fear grow.

I stuttered, sensing that I had to say something, anything, that I couldn't just sit there, staring at him. It would destroy him.

"Do you love me?" he questioned again, with more force and emphasize this time, his gaze boring into mine, as if trying to decipher my thoughts that were racing in my head.

"I'm not sure if I really do." I admitted in a small voice, barely audible. I stared at my toenails that I had painted a bright blue yesterday.

I tried to say more, to justify my choice of words, but he held up his index finger, interrupting me "Wait," he breathed and I heard the strain in his voice, I knew then that this would end badly.

He covered his face with his hands and I heard him sob quietly. It was the second time I saw him cry in our three years of relationship, sadly the first time was also because of me.
The sound was shattering my heart. But I sat there, helpless, torn between wanting to comfort him and fearing he would push me away, not wanting my compassion.

Hesitantly, I reached out and brushed my fingers through his short brown hair.
"I'm so sorry." I whispered, tears forming in my own eyes. "I never wanted this, I never meant to hurt you."

I leaned forward to kiss his cheek, he let me, but then pulled away and lifted his forehead. He looked at me again, eyes full of anguish and fear. "Have you ever thought about breaking up with me?"

I looked ahead, at the window. He had pulled the shutters all the way down, casting his bedroom in a dim light, but there was a little crack of light where the window was slightly ajar. I stared at this small spot of golden orange light.
"Yes," I told him, my voice cracking at the single word and tears finally running down my cheeks.

I remember the look on his face, the quiver in his voice as he said "So you don't love me".
It wasn't phrased as an accusation, it was simply stating something he thought was a fact but at the same time hoping I would deny it.

"It's not like that," I responded helplessly, the evident hurt in his eyes breaking my heart and sending fresh tears to my eyes. "I just feel unsure of our future. I don't know if I can give you what you seek. I'm not sure if we will last." My voice broke several times as the tears began to run like a river.

He stood up and handed me a package of tissues. I took one and patted the inner corners of my eyes. The hanky turned black from my mascara.

"And I know," I breathed a couple of times, trying to compose myself enough to finish the sentence "how serious this is for you, how invested you already are in the idea of our life together, of us raising kids together."

"You told me you wanted kids," he said, slightly irritated.
"I do." And it was the truth, I really want kids. "But I just don't know if it will be us having them together." Again, I didn't dare to speak louder than in a whisper.

He moved across the mattress and sat next to me. "Did I do something wrong? Is it because I could be unemployed in a month? Are you fearing I couldn't earn enough money for us?" I shook my head, more tears falling from my eyes, I couldn't seem to make myself stop.

"It's not because of you," I stated lamely, like they always do in the silly movies.
He sighed deeply and touched his face to my bare knee, I felt his stubble scratching gently against my skin.

"But, I must've done something!" I heard him say as I stared at my toes again.
"You did nothing," I assured him. "On the contrary, you're always wonderful. It's me who's the problem." I blew my nose in a very unladylike manner and reached for a fresh tissue.

"Why?" He demanded. "Why is it you?" His voice also dropping to a hoarse whisper. He was keeping his distance now, not touching me any more.

"Because I don't seem to know what I really want." My voice cracked yet again, making my words sound strangely strangled.
I leaned back and let myself fall back on the pillows behind me, reaching for my third handkerchief this day.

The sheets rustled as he pushed them to the side and I felt the mattress shift underneath me as he moved towards me.
Bracing his arms on either side of me, he hovered over me and stared deeply into my tearful eyes, his own large and sad.
His gaze wandered lower, to my lips and I knew he wanted to kiss me, maybe he thought he could make it alright, make my doubts disappear with just a touch from his lips.

His eyes locked in on mine again and his face came nearer.
Closing my eyes, I let him kiss me.
Hesitantly his lips brushed mine, gentle and soft, as if something might break if he pushed any harder. I could almost taste his desperation on his lips, feel his torment in his kiss. He put all his love into that kiss, all his need for me and his tenderness was so achingly beautiful that I almost cried again.
His mouth pressed against mine a little harder before he finally pulled back and looked at me again.

"I love you," he whispered against my skin, his warm breath fanning over my cheek.
I couldn't bring myself to say it back, I had done it hundreds of times before, but it didn't feel right in this moment. Not when I had just told him how torn I really was.
Instead I just looked at him with sad eyes as the seconds ticked by slowly. All I could do was wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry." I sobbed for what felt like the hundredth time. He held me as I cried again.

It seemed like hours until I could breathe normally again, or maybe they were just minutes, I didn't really know, but when I was calm enough to look up at him again, I felt that my eyes must've been red and puffy.

I opened my mouth to speak but my voice was just a croak, clearing my throat and taking a deep breath, preparing myself for what I was about to do, I tried again.

"I think I need a break." I managed and he looked at me in confusion. "From us." I added and gestured with my finger between us as he still watched me. And that's when I saw his blank expression shift and turn into one of shock right before me as he registered what I was getting at. The pain in his features was evident, I could nearly breathe it in and it was painful just to look at. "I need to figure out what I want."

I remember how he then buried his face in my stomach and sobbed and cried yet again, mumbling 'Why are you doing this to me?' into my shirt over and over again. I felt my chest constrict in pain and I couldn't help the sobs escaping my lips. It was as if I was hurting myself.

He moved away from me, sitting on the very edge of the bed, way away from me.

"I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I just—"

"That's not helping." He interrupted me and I shut up instantly, feeling oddly rejected by his harsh tone, he rarely ever got mad and although I knew I deserved it, I felt bad being scolded. So I bit my lip and began to stand up from his bed.

"I think I should better leave," I mumbled. "I get it if you don't want to talk to me anymore." I made my way across his bedroom to the chair in the corner and was about to grab my clothes as I heard him speak up again.

"Please stay, don't leave yet," he said quietly. I turned and found him looking at me pleadingly. "Can you come back here, please?" He patted the mattress next to him. "We have to find a solution for this."

I sighed. "Okay, but just let me get dressed first, please?" 

He nodded and I pulled on my jeans, then slipped my shirt over my head, feeling his eyes on me the entire time, waiting for me to come over to him again.

I complied, sitting back down next to him. In earnest, I didn't want to talk anymore, I just wanted to go home and a headache was already starting to build behind my eyeballs. But I pulled myself together, I wanted to hear him out at least.

"I should have never asked. This is so fucked up," he murmured under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Whether he was impatient with me or just trying not to cry, I couldn't tell. He was quiet for a long while and I almost thought he was trying to ignore me, when he suddenly spoke up again.

"So this break... you were talking about. How you want to do this?"

I shrugged my shoulder a little, I hadn't thought about this part yet, I had been so focused on how to break it to him. I looked at him helplessly with wide eyes.

He regarded me with a look I couldn't quite decipher. Was it desperation or frustration? "How is this supposed to work?" he demanded. "No texting? No calls? Do you really think you can pull this off?"

I shrugged, I realized then and there what this really meant and a lump was slowly forming in my throat, nearly suffocating me and making it impossible for me to give him an answer, even if I had wanted to.
When I remained silent, he continued: "Honestly, I don't think I can, I can't just ignore you for God knows how long. And you can't either, I know that. You've gotten used to it, to me. You'll feel miserable."

I shrugged yet again "Maybe," and stood up from the bed. Suddenly feeling restless, I walked over to my bag, sitting on the same chair that my clothes had been lying on a moment ago. I reached for my mirror and checked my make up, my mascara looked smeared and my face blotchy, but I had nothing to fix it. I looked back at him and caught his gaze with my own. We sat there for a few moments, staring at each other wordlessly.

"It stopped raining," I said eventually. "I should be on my way before it starts again."

He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and began to stand up and reach for his clothes.

"You don't have to drive me this time, I'll walk." I really didn't want to burden him anymore than I already had this day but he was already standing and fishing his shirt from the pile of clothes at the end of the bed.

"It's rainy." He observed and pulled on his pants.

"It's not that bad," I replied, which was a lie, it had been pouring pretty badly before, I had heard the rain tapping against the window. "I think it's only fair if I get a little wet... maybe I deserve that after today." I tried to joke, but it seemed too soon, too fresh for jokes, I didn't see him smile.

Instead, he turned around and faced me, eyes fixed on my face. "Listen," he began, "I can't just let you walk through that door and leave, I just can't, okay? I'm afraid I'll never see you again if I do..."
His voice broke and he swallowed hard, eyes ablaze with determination and I knew, I couldn't decline a ride to the station. So I finally complied.

We drove to the train station in silence, neither of us daring to say anything or maybe it was because we had no clue what to say anymore.

"Just let me get off here," I said as we reached the parking lot, breaking the silence. "You don't need to come to the platform with me."

"I wasn't planning to do it anyway," he replied and again, I felt rejected by his choice of words.

"Okay," I mumbled and reached for my seat-belt. I unbuckled myself and turned back to him to say good bye. I shrank back a little when I found his face just inches from mine.

He looked deep into my eyes, as if he was trying to suck me in one last time, to etch every curve and line of my face into his memory. It was as if he didn't know when he would see me again.
And maybe he was right about that, I didn't know when I would be ready to face him yet again.
Instead I just looked back at him silently, clueless what to say or do to help and ease his pain.

After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned forward, ever so slightly, hesitating and waiting for me to make a move, to close the distance between our lips.
Without ever making a conscious decision, my eyelids fluttered closed and I tilted my head to the side, touching my lips to his waiting ones.

The kiss was soft and lingering, filled with melancholia and regret.
I thought for a moment, I could feel his lips tremble underneath my own as he pressed them a little firmer against mine. There was such an yearning in his touch, the way he inhaled my scent and cleared his throat as I finally pulled away.
I opened my eyes and glanced back at his, that were shimmering with tears, mirroring my own.

"Bye," I said, trying not to choke on this single syllable as I gathered up my bag and pushed the door open.

"Good bye," he replied in a hoarse whisper as I got out of his car and stepped into the cool damp air.

I look at the clock next to my bed. 2 a.m. My head still aches and my eyes feel heavy from all the crying I did today.

I guess I should better sleep, it's already late. I wonder again, what he's doing right now. A picture of him all alone in his large bed, crying himself to sleep and wishing I were lying next to him, passes through my head.

I close my eyes and try to snuggle deeper into my own pillow, try to shut of my mind, but the tears slowly trickle down my cheek and into the soft fabric beneath me.
I didn't expect to miss him this much.