Tuesday, 12 November 2013

22.

Hi, my name's Gracie.

I always find Irish coffee helps my studies, the little things enrage and satisfy me, I'm working on a Shakespeare group performance involving lingerie and orgasm noises, I'm starting to enjoy red wine, Fleetwood Mac soothe my soul, I'm constantly confused by at least two people, cuddles on the sofa are all I need at the end of a long day, my workmates just 'get' me, I have a date tomorrow, I live at the Terrace Bar, I'm bored of my hair colour, I want NEED to see McBusted live, Remembrance Day means a lot to me, I haven't been home in a while, I'm applying for Masters courses, I've been smiling a lot more lately, and it's all because of you.

I do one of these posts every month (ish).



'Hey'; A truly terrible love story.

'hey'

Suddenly it all comes back. The speeding down the dual carriageway on a Tuesday morning, parking across the road rather than in the student car park, running to the reception area just for that fifteen-minute window between his lesson and mine, when we'd bump into each other and have conversations - conversations about nothing, endless 'what even is Sociology' and fake laughter, trying not to stare at his crooked and weirdly beautiful smile or nipple bar poking through his polo shirt. Sitting on the grass helplessly watching from a distance as he threw an arm around his petite pretty girlfriend's shoulders; 'oh, I so wish he would just dump her stupid skinny arse...' The drunk mess at that birthday party, sitting on his lap, just the one kiss; the tea leaves telling me he was lying, he wasn't what I wanted, things would go sour if I continued down this road. The disappointing night(s), clutching on to his bulky shoulders, breathing deep the smell of beer and Hollister Mens', thinking 'I swear, this is what I wanted...' The drunk phone calls at 3am that happened for months, him rambling down the phone about how much he missed me, how he wants to have 'that night' again; putting him on speaker so my friends could laugh along with me. He was the start of a bad pattern, a vicious circle of self-loathing and disappointment. I remember waiting in the corridor for him to finish lessons, driving him home feeling his hand on my bare leg, queuing for an hour outside Kings nightclub in the rain just to see him for two songs on the dancefloor, watching him kiss someone else a few feet away from me without even caring that he'd just lost his ride home, hiding from one another in Spoons before having that awful conversation when he said sorry and I said his haircut looked 'dumb'.
Waking up in the morning in his bed, and seeing him sat right on the edge with a phone against his ear, quietly muttering "yeah, see you later. Love you too."
Having to see his girlfriend, a girlfriend I didn't even know existed, every day in lessons and every night out in town. Him calling me while I'm out with my friends, my best girl picking up the phone and threatening to do unspeakable things to his balls should he ever contact me again.
Two years later. Why on earth would I even dare to respond? No good can come of this.

"Hey."
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