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It's been three months since I've talked to him. Three months since I've looked at him. Three months since I've felt his touch.
Three months since he broke my heart. No, broke is not the word. Tore up. Shattered. Demolished. Those words would be more fitting. It's been three months, and I'm still not over him. Three months and I still find myself thinking about him almost constantly. Three months and I still wait for his phone call, every night at exactly 9:43. Three months and I still fall asleep crying every night.
You must be thinking that I'm just plain pathetic now. If you we not reading this, you wouldn't know it though. To everyone on the outside, I am the same Sam I have always been. I make stupid jokes, and read big books, and say "I'm fine," when I'm totally not. Oh, you may think I'm fine. I may look fine. I may act fine. But I am, in no way, fine. I miss everything I use to have.
I miss walks in the park, and 3 a.m. trips to WAL*MART. He never seemed to mind my obsessive compulsiveness. My dire need for new sponges in the wee small hours of the morning. I miss the way he would move my hair back off my face. Not to be cute, not to score, but just because he knew how much I hated it there. I miss the way he would call me beautiful at the oddest of times. Like just after work, when I was covered in grease, and my hair was a mess. Or after watching Leila the time she had the flu. I was covered in baby puke and he still looked at me the way he always did. That's what I miss the most. That look. The look that said it all. The look that made me feel like I could do anything, like I was the most important person in his life.....like he wanted to be with me forever....
I sit down in a booth at Gio's. I can't believe I'm here. This was his favorite place to eat. We came here at least three times a month. Always this booth too. The host knows us. Not like knows, but, because we've been coming here so long, he knows us. He knows our favorite booth, the third on the right, the farthest away from the smoking section, and right under the speaker. He seats me here and as I'm thinking about our booth, I almost start crying. I look up at the speaker and remember why this is our booth.
The second time we came here was for our one month anniversary. He insisted we sit here, and by the end of the night, I knew why. He had taken every song we danced to on our very first date, and put them on CD. The day before our anniversary, he came here, to Gio's, and requested that they play it when we we're here. The more I think about it, the more I want to cry. I loved him so much. Wrong. I love him so much. He doesn't want me anymore. He has someone new, and I bet she's great. He's moved on, but that doesn't change how I feel. I still love him with all of my heart. My torn up, shattered, demolished little heart.
When I get out of my little funk, my small thinking spell, I realize there are two drinks already set on my table. A cherry coke, and a mountain dew. I feel the lump in my throat grow even bigger. I can feel it coming. I close my eyes tight. "No, not here. Not now," I think to myself. I don't cry in public, especially at a place that holds only good memories. It does no good. I'm past the point of no return. I stand up quickly and almost run to he bathroom. I lock myself in the stall I always use. As I pull out a seat cover, with tears streaming down my face, I realize I've made another mistake. The tears flow down my face like ink from a spilled bottle. This is the stall where I wrote my first graffiti. "I love Kevin Jutney," written in my swirly handwriting, with a red sharpie. It sounds dumb, but this only makes me cry harder. I silently thank whatever higher power there is that I am a silent crier.
Once my tear ducts have officially stopped being so uncool, I stand up. I don't know how long I've been in there, but it has been quite a while. I throw the seat cover away, and dig in my pocket. I find my mini black sharpie and, in very small letters, write "still...." under my previous vandalism. On my way back to my table, I see someone sitting in my booth. I silently curse my now dry tear ducts. They probably think I just bailed. I walk back to my booth to get my jacket. I keep my face down, because I get nervous talking to strangers. I let my hair fall over my face, and once I'm close enough for the person in my booth to hear me, I ask for my jacket.
I hear a little cough, but nothing else. I look up slightly, and almost explode. All at once I get a billion feelings flowing through my veins. I can't remember where I am, or what I was doing. I can't speak, I can't think, I can't move, I can't breathe. I am obviously dreaming. Or maybe I have cried so much that I've become dehydrated and this is a hallucination. Suddenly, I am falling. My brain tells me to catch myself but I can't make myself move. Just before everything goes black, I feel strong arms wrap around me. I am pulled close to a muscular chest. I take one breath. I am awake long enough to notice he still smells the same....
When I wake up I think it was all a dream. I keep my eyes closed, trying to keep the image of his face, the feel of his arms, and the smell of him right in the front of my brain. I know as soon as I open them, they will all be gone. I hear some muttering. I'm getting uncomfortable, but I'm afraid to move. Afraid to loose having him so clearly in my mind. Sighing, I open my eyes. I almost scream. Where I expected to be my bedroom wall is the profile of a person I know...or knew... quite well. It's dark and we are in his truck. He is sitting in the driver's seat. I'm sprawled out across the front seat, with my head on his shoulder. He is on his cell phone. Probably talking to his new flame.
He looks down at me and notices I am awake. "She's awake, call you later," he says quickly and almost throws the phone while trying to close it. I just look at him. I try to cement this look into my memory. He's looking at me all concerned. Like I matter to him. Quietly, he whispers my name.
"Sam...?" I don't say anything. I close my eyes and try to cement that to my memory too. The way he says my name. He says my name again. Still quietly whispering, but this time he sounds...diffrent...I want to believe that it sounds like he's really worried about me. Like he's about to cry.
"Sam...?" I open my eyes and look at him. My eyes trace over his strong cheekbones. Over his almost perfect lips. I move on to his nose. I linger on the crook in it. I think about the night he got that. I can't help but go back. We are at the fair. We have been together almost 7 months. He leaves my side for two seconds, and some bum sat next to me. When Kevin came back the bum was trying to grab my ass. Kevin shoved him and the bum punched him. Right in the face. It broke his nose. From the crook, I move to the light purple circles under his eyes. Those are new. He only had those during exams. When he had missed sleep. Why would he have them in the middle of summer? My eyes followed the circles to his eyebrow. I want to look at his eyes, but I'm afraid of what I'll find. I know it won't be what I want to find. I know it won't be the look that says more then any amount of words can. He says my name again. This time...it sounds kind of like a whine. Like a wounded animal whine.
"Saam." This time, I don't know where the tears come from. They spring to my eyes before I can stop them. He's looking at me, but I still don't dare look into his eyes. I don't know what to do. I sit up and hug my knees.
"Who was on the phone...?" I say. My voice sounds far off, small, and feeble.
"Your dad...I thought they should know that I had you....that you were safe.....that they didn't have to worry..." he says. His voice sounds like it did when his parents split up. Like every single word hurt him. Just talking about it hurt him. I want to hold him. I don't know what's wrong, but I know I want to help. I know he's moved on, but I can't stand that voice. It makes me want to hold him. Take all the hurt away. Just make him happy, no matter what the cost. I am still crying, but I barley notice. That's when it happens.
He reaches across the cab of the car. Somewhere in the back of my mind I notice his hand is shaking. He moves my hair out of my face, and slowly wipes the tears away. I can't explain it, but I snap.
"Why Kevin?! Why?!" I scream. We are only a few feet from each other, but the words tumble out at a uncontrollable volume. "Why did you do this to me? I just want to know why! I gave you my heart. My heart, Kevin! I gave it to you. I trusted you to take care of it, but you DESTROYED IT!" I can't make myself stop screaming, so I take a minute to calm down. My eyes are shut tight, but the tears just keep flowing. They are squeezing out of my eyes like jelly out of an overfilled donut. I'm shaking, and for the first time in my whole life, not crying quietly.
Kevin doesn't say a word. For a moment, I think that he was never there. I feel a movement in the car, and without warning, feel his arms circling around me. He pulls me to him, and I fight it. All this time. In these three months since the worst day of my life, I have never been angry at him, but now it's boiling inside me. I shove against him, I punch his chest, I try to get away from him. I spent three months wishing I was in his arms, and now that I am, I only wish I was somewhere else. I give up the fight. I don't know why he's holding me, but he is, and nothing I can do will change it. His cheek is pressed to the top of my head. He did this all the time when we were together. This thought makes me really angry. I hate him right now, but I'm STILL thinking about what he used to do. My hair is getting wet. I don't understand how this could be. I slowly pull away from him and this time he lets me go. I finally look into his eyes. They are the same shade of green they have always been, ever when a film of tears cover them. As suddenly as it has come, all the anger melts. I look at him and, still crying, whisper quietly,
He grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. I watch his jaw lock up as he squeezes his eyes shut. This does nothing for him either, because the tears still leak. As I watch him, I want only to fix this. His beautiful face should never look so pained.
"Sam...I...I screwed up....I don't know what I was thinking.....I wasn't thinking at all.....I miss you every god damn day.....I wake up thinking your still mine....and remembering your not....I know you're....I know you're over me.....but Sam.......Oh, god Sam.....I'm still in love with you.....I'm sorry.....God....I'm so sorry I hurt you.....I will never EVER forgive myself for that......I'm not trying to win you back Sam.....I don't deserve you....I never did.....But...I just want you to know.....to know that....I know I screwed up, and I regret it every day....and that I always have, and always will.....love you more then anything in the world....."
I sit there stunned. My tears have stopped. I look at him. His body shakes with sobs, and I can hear the air ripping at his lungs. He hasn't answered my question, and I have more that I want to ask, but none of it even matters anymore. All that matters is that he loves me...and I love him. His knuckles are white as a sheet, and I pry them from the steering wheel. They lie limp in my hands. I silently put them around my waist, and circle my arms around his neck. He squeezes me tight and I can't breathe. This time, it's a good thing. I hold him, and whisper into his ear.
"Yes, you screwed up. I don't know what you were thinking either, but it doesn't matter anymore. I'm not anymore over you than you are over me. I still love you just as much as I always have. I have spent the last three months thinking of nothing but you. Wishing you still wanted me. I-"
"I do want you...." He interrupts. I continue, "I fell asleep crying every night. I don't care why you did it, I don't care about anything, except that you still love me."
"I will always love you, Sam. Always," he says into my shoulder. I look up at him, praying this isn't a dream, and the look is in his eyes. For a moment I think I'm going to cry because I am so happy, but then his lips meet mine. I know this isn't a dream. You can't dream a kiss like that.
I break the kiss first. I look into his eyes. I want to tell him how much he means to me. How much I missed him. How much I love him. I open my mouth, and he puts a finger to it.
"I know, Sam, and I feel exactly the same way," he says quietly. I guess I have a look, too.
It's been three months, and I have him again. It's been three months, and I have my happily ever after back.