"I miss his hands around my waist." I wrote it down a few weeks ago on my phone after an accidental scroll through my camera roll ending up on a photo of him. Yes it was accidental because I was looking for my photo of my social security card that somehow always disappears between selfies and avocado toasts. Whatever. I've been writing down those little thoughts I get. Things I get mad at, questions that pop up, things I miss. It makes it easier to not think about it. Think about him. But that day, fuck. I really missed his hands around my waist.
A week later I'm crashing a birthday party at a bar. I knew he'd be there, but I tried not to think about it. When I see him sitting on the couch in the corner I ignore the impulse of walking up to him, grabbing his neck and kissing him like I would've done two weeks ago. Instead I smile and raise my hand in a lame wave. Ugh, kill me now. I walk over and put my jacket down next to him and I think I accidentally flash some boob. We hug and talk, but our words don't mean shit. There are so many things I want to tell him. That I miss talking to him, that I saw a really funny video on facebook I know he'd die laughing to, that I bought a new jacket, that I still have his contact solution in my bathroom, that I had broccoli in my sallad at lunch. You know, important things. But we talk like strangers. Ten minutes later he leaves and I go to the bar to order a shot because I know how to deal with things.
One shot ended up being like... 4? Plus many beers and a couple of strong gin and tonics. Somewhere in between the drinks I'd texted this guy that I'd been talking to and around 2am I get in an uber to go to his place. Again, because I know how to deal with things. I didn't even consider the fact that he might be a murderer, cause all I wanted was someone new. I got there drunk and with no care in the world. He was cute and tall, offered me a beer and talked to me about film and music like every other guy in this city. I didn't care for his taste in either so I zoned out and looked around me as he tried to impress. "You've ever been to Hawaii?" I interrupted him when I noticed a small ugly poster of some Hawaiian volcano above his head. "Yeah, I'm half Hawaiian so I have a bunch of family there." He was proud of it. "That's cool." I didn't give a shit. There was nothing that made me think twice that night. Nothing that made me nervous or uncomfortable. I didn't care. It was just liberating to know that the dude sitting in front of me clearly wanted to bone me. But I didn't want to get to know him. So I talked about myself and he didn't seem to mind. After a while I got bored though, so I kissed him. He lifted me up, put me down on the bed, pulled my shirt up and my pants down.
I woke up slightly drunk and with a congested nose. I probably hadn't slept for more than an hour because of his fan hitting me right in the face. Hence the congested nose. He was breathing heavily onto my neck and all I wanted was to get the fuck out of there. My phone was in my bag on the other side of the room so I had no idea what time it was, but prayed for not too early. I lifted my head from the pillow and looked for my underwear. The bright morning light and my leftover makeup made my eyes itchy and I could still taste his tongue in my mouth. It made me nauseous. I missed my makeup removal. I missed my toothbrush. His arms were too heavy around my waist and his chest too hot against my back. I tried to move as slow as possible without waking him up, hoping that if I'd ever pull off a hit and run it'd be now. But of course he woke up. My anxiety/disgust overwhelmed me as he kissed my shoulder, my earlobe, my forehead and I wondered if it'd be rude of me to tell him not to? But then he said that I was cute so naturally as a semi-broken, compliment-needy young woman I slept with him one more time before leaving. I got dressed as fast as I could while he was watching me from the bed where he was laying naked on top of the covers. I'm constantly surprised by the love and pride guys have for their dicks, btw. Like, it's not cute at all? Anyway. I gave him a quick kiss goodbye, lied about texting him later and walked out on the street.
When I got out I realized that his apartment was one block away from the one where I've been waking up basically every weekend for the last six months. I laughed and cried at the same time at whoever who is in charge of my life and decides to give me no chill at all. Give me a break, please. As I started walking towards the subway I prayed that I wouldn't run into him, but then again considering how life was going for me I wouldn't have been surprised if he walked out the door fresh out of the shower. Anxiety started to tickle my throat so I desperately tried to focus on the stain on my jeans, but it was hard because there was a big aching growing thing in my chest that felt a lot like tears and it wouldn't leave me alone. When I got closer to his building I crossed the street to the opposite side and stared into the ground as I walked as fast as I could. Yep. Those were tears.
I bought myself a coffee and sat down on the benches outside the coffee shop to smoke and give myself a second. Could I have looked any more depressing? Greasy hair in a top bun, disgusting last nights makeup, large coffee in hand, a Marlboro between my fingers and an aura as black as my outfit that had questionable stains all over it. I really hoped he wouldn't be in the mood for coffee that morning but still, I was having coffee at his coffee shop. Self-destructive? Me? Get out of here! I just couldn't get myself to go on the subway. The time was 10:32. I gave myself 5 minutes of crying into my coffee, then I had to pull myself together and go home. During those five minutes my congested nose turned runny, an old cute woman asked if I was okay and my pack of cigarettes went from two to empty. I missed him more than ever and it bothered me. But I got up, disappeared down to the subway and went home to shower, brush my teeth and change. And as I chose between blue denim or black wool I came to a very important realisation. His hands were no longer the last ones to have been around my waist.
I celebrated with a cheeseburger at brunch.