THURSDAY, MARCH 21, 2013
MORNING
I don’t lose. He should know this about me. I don’tlose games like this.
The screen on my phone is blank. Stubbornly,insolently blank. No text messages, no missed calls.
Every time I look at it, it feels like I’ve been slapped,and I get angrier and angrier. What happened to mein that hotel room? What was I thinking? That wemade a connection, that there was something realbetween us? He has no intention of going anywherewith me. But I believed him for a second—more thana second—and that’s what really pisses me off. I wasridiculous, credulous. He was laughing at me allalong.
If he thinks I’m going to sit around crying overhim, he’s got another think coming. I can live withouthim, I can do without him just fine—but I don’t liketo lose. It’s not like me. None of this is like me. Idon’t get rejected. I’m the one who walks away.
I’m driving myself insane, I can’t help it. I can’t stopgoing back to that afternoon at the hotel and goingover and over what he said, the way he made mefeel.
Bastard.
If he thinks I will just disappear, go quietly, he’smistaken. If he doesn’t pick up soon, I’m going tostop calling his mobile and call him at home. I’m notjust going to be ignored.
At breakfast, Scott asks me to cancel my therapysession. I don’t say anything. I pretend I haven’theard him.
“Dave’s asked us round to dinner,” he says. “Wehaven’t been over there for ages. Can you rearrangeyour session?”
His tone is light, as though this is a casual request,but I can feel him watching me, his eyes on my face.
We’re on the edge of an argument, and I have tobe careful.
“I can’t, Scott, it’s too late,” I say. “Why don’t youask Dave and Karen to come here on Saturdayinstead?” Just the thought of entertaining Dave andKaren at the weekend is wearing, but I’m going tohave to compromise.
“It’s not too late,” he says, putting his coffee cupdown on the table in front of me. He rests his handon my shoulder for just a moment, says, “Cancel it,OK?” and walks out of the room.
The second the front door closes, I pick up thecoffee cup and hurl it against the wall.
EVENING
I could tell myself that it’s not really a rejection. Icould try to persuade myself that he’s just trying todo the right thing, morally and professionally. But Iknow that isn’t true. Or at least, it’s not the wholetruth, because if you want someone badly enough,morals (and certainly professionalism) don’t come intoit. You’ll do anything to have them. He just doesn’twant me badly enough.
I ignored Scott’s calls all afternoon, I turned up tomy session late and walked straight into his officewithout a word to the receptionist. He was sitting athis desk, writing something. He glanced up at mewhen I walked in, didn’t smile, then looked backdown at his papers. I stood in front of his desk,waiting for him to look at me. It felt like foreverbefore he did.
“Are you OK?” he asked eventually. H............