«Maybe you should start thinking about letting it go?» Oliver suggested, obviously tired of the subject.
«Naw, mate! Don't say that. She was it, you know,» I protested in despair. And I meant it. Amanda Kinnings had been It. She was, tragically, the love of my life. And I'd gone and lost her.
«Yes, I know,» said Oliver, as if talking patiently to a child who just wouldn't grasp the harsh reality of the world, «I think you've mentioned it before. I'm just saying, despite Amanda being «it», maybe you need to let «it» go and find a... «it»-replacement or whatever. Or just have nothing at all, have it be about you!» the forced – and false – optimism made it's way into my head, and I was determined to let the illusion hang around for a while. Anything not to face the emptiness Amanda had left.
«About me,» I said, listening to the words as they made their way out of my mouth, making the optimism they were representing seem more real than they were. I realised I was willing to delude myself if it meant not having to face reality. And besides – weren't all great people a bit... on the edge?
«About you!» Oliver repeated happily, «I have great confidence in having it be about you for a change!»
«It would be for a change, the last two years have been all about everyone else!»
«Very true, very true, when did you last do something for yourself?»
«I can't even remember!» I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air to show just how little my life had been about me. It was complete bullshit, of course. Oliver and I both knew it. Amanda and I had started climbing because I'd seen a documentary about it. We had moved to London because I'd gotten a job here. I'd gotten the job here because Amanda had introduced me to my present boss. I'd go on, but the lenght of the list would depress me. To face facts head on, it had always been all about me. I'd been happy about it at the time, thrilled really, but as it turns out, what goes around comes around. What a fucking cliché. Amanda's way of letting it be all about me had led to everything in my life having to do with her. And my way of letting it be all about me, which many people would consider to be a bit of a bastard trait, had led everything in Amanda's life having nothing to do with me. It was the ideal situation for her and a shit situation for me. The bastard trait had turned out to be in her best interest. At least in retrospect. Who would have thought I'd be the one to walk away from our relationship being the good guy? Not me, that's for sure! Also for sure, I would definately be the only one to believe so now.
We had been the dream couple, Amanda and I. At least, it had been a dream situation for me. Unfortunately though, being a dream couple made our breakup into a dreaded nightmare. At least, it's a dreaded nightmare for me.
The breakup in itself hadn't been so bad. I had been having my morning coffee, wearing nothing but boxers and a worn-out t-shirt which I'd gotten when I gave blood once. I had told Amanda to «stop writing your never-gonna-happen book and come have sex with me instead» the previous night. It had been a joke, of course, but a terribly bad one, I'd realised in later contemplation. Actually, I'd realised it when she wouldn't have sex with me, but I'd have come to the same conclusion from thinking. Either way, I hadn't meant it (that her book never was gonna happen, that is, not the suggestion of sex, I'd definately meant that), so it wasn't mean, but there was nothing funny about it either, it was just plain pointless. It might have been funny if she'd just gotten a deal, then it would be all laughs because it was so far from reality. But no one had given her their word that they would publish her book yet, so there was a possibility that my not-so-funny-after-all joke would turn out to be reality, which would make it all even worse. When I realised this it was the first time I really wished for her book to get published.
Anyway, that's why I was wearing the t-shirt which proved that I had given blood, it made me feel better about myself. It even proved more than what was true. «Bloodgiver» was written all over it. Not «Once-upon-a-time bloodgiver» or «Previous bloodgiver». It just said «Bloodgiver». For all anyone knew I was giving blood every bloody day (ha, ha, bloody day, get it?). Amanda knew I didn't give blood every day of course, but still, it's the thought that counts. So there I had sat, having my morning coffee and in a blissful state of being happily unaware of what was about to happen. Amanda had walked in, her red suitcase in hand, and simply told me she was moving out.
«What?» I had asked, smiling slightly and innocently. I could feel a lump of black gathering in my stomach though.
«I'm moving out,» she'd repeated. She sounded casual, but I could see the determination in her eyes.
«Yes I heard you,» I had said and stood up, coffee cup still in hand, «but what are you talking about?»
«It's over. We're over. I'm leaving you. I've had enough. I need something real, you know.»
«When did you even pack your suitcase?» I'd moved closer to her, and moved the conversation away from what she was saying.
«Tonigh, while you were asleep.» It had been a fair enough answer. Nothing much to go on really, so I gave up my rather weak attempt at avoiding the subject.
«You can't move out just like that,» I'd said patiently, putting my coffee cup down on the counter without taking my eyes away from her.
«Of course I can, I'll keep to the contract and pay my part of the next three month's rent, but I won't live here,» her words had been hurried, practiced. She had been watching her hands, which had been clutching her red suitcase.
«Contract?» I'd asked, momenteraly distraced and confused, «what contract?»
«The contract we signed nine months ago, John,» she sighed, forgetting to be nervous in her frustration, «the contract stating that you need to give three months notice before not paying rent anymore.» I'd remembered the contract. I'd also remembered her laughing while signing it, pointing out it's pointlessness as neither of us would be moving out without the other. I had scowled at her, but figured that now was not the time to pick a fight. Taking a deap breath, I'd tried changing the subject again. «And where will you be living? You only packed a couple hours ago, this obviously isn't a project you've got going for long.»
«I called Jenna last night, I'll be staying with her» At this point, I had sent Jenna some very dark thoughts.
«Amanda,» I'd calmly and seductively said and moved even closer to her. I'd opened my mouth, but realised I hadn't thought of what to say. So I'd closed it again, caressed her face and repeated her name. Her eyes had closed, and she'd whispered «yes?» Fuck. I didn't know. Amanda what?
«What are you talking about?» I'd said. It was a stupid question, I knew perfectly well what she had been talking about, and I'd already asked it. I just didn't know what else to say, so I had asked her what she was saying, which really wasn't a great idea, as I didn't really like hearing what she was saying. Amanda had given me a sad look, and then she'd opened her mouth to keep talking about leaving. «Would you like some coffee?» I'd asked then, to prevent her from saying whatever it was she was about to say.
«No, John. I would not like some coffee.» She'd said calmly. And then she had left. I had just stood there. What else was I supposed to do? Run after her like some romantically convinced tosser? No thanks.
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