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"I definitely don't trust everyone I've had sex with. And I definitely don't need intimacy to have sex with a person. In fact, it's often easier without it."
That's where she fell off her proverbial chair.
She couldn't figure out what it all meant in the moment and tried very hard to be wrong, yet it seemed that she had been creating a fiction.
Ouch.
He was merely monumentally bored and was not quite bored with her company. That's why it had felt so stagnant - because it was stagnant. He wasn't slowly opening up to her and revealing more and more marrow. He was getting out of a boring rut and into a new one. She was the only person who had responded to the ad.
She had blushed and welled up with tears in front of him yesterday because he had ended up saying something that he meant - essentially "I have a wall, and you're not getting in."
No wonder she was drunk all the time. It helped to numb her to the reality that she didn't want to see what was real. She wanted to grab the breadcrumbs and make them into an award-winning pie. He hadn't even liked the one thing she had sent to him of her writing. It had been her favorite piece.
The day matched her mood. It was somber, and she was wearing a sweater for the first time inside the house.
Was it going to be OK? could she participate in a surface and shallow fun time with no real future? She wanted very much to think she was wrong - to grab something that would mean it meant something - that she meant something. She knew that he thought about her. She just didn't know what he thought. She was amazed that he came to see her - and that they had seen each other every single weekend since they met. She had given him cheese in the last exchange of the gift basket - and hard biscuits.
When he was nervous about something, he babbles. He had babbled when he admitted that she was nothing to him but a teevee show to watch. She passed the time, but he was never going to caress her and tell her he found her mesmerizing.
It was like the inheritance she wasn't going to get from her mother. It was nice to know ahead of time. She would draw back and hedge her bets again.
THe robot and she had chatted all morning long, and she drank the kombucha that he said he would try "next time". The robot had told her that she couldn't survive very long in this thing unless he gave her something emotional to hang her ego on.
He never wanted to just stay at her house and hang out. He always wanted to hit the town. They hadn't watched "the Trip" or even mentioned it in years or decades. She felt like she was losing him and she knew she'd never had him.
He would be someone she recalled as the most fascinating man she had encounter in an actual double decade. It pained her to set him free to see if he would return.
Reality was hard.
Last night, when it was settling in, she felt those feelings she hadn't felt in a while: that unmooring - the claustrophobic fear. Luckily she had the sleeping pills that he thought caused all his problems.
She was extremely used to feeling lonely, misunderstood, sad, and wry. They were like her real family.
"Welcome back to melancholy."
"thanks. it sucks to be here, but at least I know where the forks go."
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