Sabotage Part Deux

Subsequent to a mangled French argument upon arriving back from my "sabotage" (refer to last post) moment, I decided to sleep on the couch. It doesn't make a huge difference as the apartment is a studio and I can hear SoCo breathing five feet above in the loft.

So, what did we argue about? About an hour after I took off, he found me sitting at a cafe sipping on a glass of red wine and inhaling a newly lit Camel light. He wanted to know what was wrong.

"Rien," I said. "J'avais besoin de promener. C'est tous."

If you know me personally, you already know that I have some trouble expressing my feelings. And, honestly, I never know what it is. There's this little bug inside of me that pinches at my nerves from time to time. I know that something is bothering me, but I can't exactly pinpoint the what it is, only the person I know who to lash out at it. And, that night, it was him.

We headed back to the apartment together without speakin, he on the left, me on the right, five feet of space between us. I jammed my hands into my coat pockets and took in a breath of tension.

The mood was awful in the apartment. The air was thick of unspoken words and when we talked to each other about what was on telly or what we were going to eat, it all seemed so scripted. Finally, he went to bed while I sighned on to skype to call family in Hawaii, across the U.S. and in Iraq.

Around 3 a.m., I noticed a missed text message on my cell phone as I searched for the battery plug to recharge my laptop. Scanning the text message, I knew that things were going to ignite: Are you coming to bed. I'm fed up. Then, everything went to hell:

“Teema?”
“Teema?!”
“Oui. What is it?”
“Are you going to come to bed?”
“Yes, after I talk to my sisters.”
“It’s 3:00 a.m. in the morning!”
“So.”
“You can’t talk to them tomorrow?”
“No. Don’t you understand the time differences?”
“What difference does it make?”
“3 a.m. here is 3 p.m. in Hawaii and around 7 p.m. in Kansas. Both my sisters are off of work and we can talk altogether.”
“C’est chiant! Why can’t you call early tomorrow morning.”
“Are you not listening to me?! I want to talk to them now!! I don’t talk to my family often because of the time difference. Your family is here. You don’t understand anything.”

The next day.

I woke up early to only one thought. I need to leave. I didn't say a word to him as I started collecting all my clothes and packing them into my suitcase. Tight lipped and nonchalant, I grabbed my cosmetic bags in the bathroom and started arranging my makeup, hair products and bath products into the blue and green striped Soho bags. From the corner of my eye, I could see him staring at me as I turned on my laptop that was on the kitchen table and typed in the address for yahoo farechase.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm preparing my stuff to pack in my suitcase," I said dryly, still typing in dates on the website.
"Why?" he replied slowly. "Where are you going?"

I looked up at him across from me on the other end of the table. Nothing came out for about two seconds. It was a moment that the good bug that had been sleeping on it's job finally decided to wake up and bite some sense into me.

"I'm leaving Friday or Saturday." He lost the biting battle.

SoCo quickly said, "I leave tomorrow for Berlin. I won't be back until Saturday afternoon. I won't be here to take you to the airport."

"I know," I threw back. "I can take the metro or take a cab."

It's Thursday morning. He left at 5 a.m. I finally understand what has been bothering the past couple of days. If I leave tomorrow, Saturday, next week or next month, it won't make a difference. I'm still leaving and this entire relationship will be over. I'll be in Hawaii. He'll be in France. Look at a map. There you go.

Isn't it easier to leave someone behind, to forget them, to keep the past in the past when you hate their guts? Won't it be a lot easier if I just pick up and go without saying goodbye? Without the whole mushy crap at the airport?

I think that a part of me wanted him to say, "please stay a little longer," "please don't go," I want you to stay." Or at least let me know what would happen after I left. Would we still be together? Would we try to make it work until we can finally live in the same city?

Well, he didn't say any of that, did he? Do you want to know what he said? Do you really? He said, "I'll remember our time together forever, thank you." Oh, wait, I'm mistaken. He emailed it to me.

What a bunch of crap!!

I'm leaving. On a jet plane. And I won't be back again.