All previous portions of this tale are password-protected. Email me or comment to get the password. Thanks.
I am sleeping fitfully, if at all, next to BV. I am wired from caffeine now, and descending down from everything else.
I am a little freaked out about getting a UTI as we’ve not been safe in anything we’ve done tonight. I get out of bed to use the bathroom, to find my backup cystex which can stave off UTIs for me. Mostly, I try not to disturb his sleep.
Unusually, he’s sleeping with his back to me and we’re not touching, which is good, as it enables me to get up and down without bothering him. although he is tossing and turning, too.
Around 10, I wake him inadvertently. I am coming out of the bathroom and I see him get out of bed, pick out a fresh pair of boxers from his dresser, and walk into the living room.
He’s cranky and depressed. He’s devastated that his friends acted so poorly, he’s shocked they haven’t yet apologized, and he feels like he backslid this entire weekend when he should have been studying.
All of this is tumbling out of him as he walks from room to room getting dressed. I grab a sundress from my bag, along with tinted moisturizer, and quickly throw myself together.
He walks in to brush his hair as I finish and he says with both admiration and a little surprise: “I look like hell. You look good . . . and normal. ” And I did. I looked exactly the same, despite the past 16 hours or so.
I feel mostly fine to be honest, but my hands are shaky. I asked him if they looked shaky to him, and he said, yes, but you’ll be fine around 3. [As usual, he was right.]
He says he is going to study, as he’s still incapable of eating, but we’d meet up around 3 when he finishes to grab food.
He asks if I am going to be downtown then, and then asks with attitude if I will be at CHB and I tell him with insult “no.” He’s asked me over the course of the past two days several times about my CHB visits. He worries about the money, not realizing I am often there at happy hour — and later if I am not buying my own drinks.
I tell him I am heading home to check in on the dog. (Who was fine.)
After we both have our respective bags — my weekend bag, his school bag — he wraps his arms around me, kisses me on the lips, and then we head out.
He’s so depressed he’s just kicking himself and he is very apologetic for how horrible it was. As we’re in the elevator, I turn to him to say Bon, the great parts . . . were really really great, and I had a great time. He nodded, not believing.
We stop first at the parking level and we wish each other farewell, while I continue down to the lobby. I first pick up the envelope from the front desk and the guy kinda smirks at me. I realize now that he watched us arrive at 730 in the morning, watched us in the elevator just now, and now it’s 1030. And he knows BV. His smirk . . . not unwarranted.
Rather than grab a cab, as I cannot find one at, not even at the Chic Hotel, I camp out at my favorite coffee shop, located across from BV’s building, until it’s time for the bus.
As I am there, I am becoming keenly aware of the fact that I don’t look entirely normal. I am still at little shaky, even after the coffee and heavy cream, and I am completely exhausted.
As I wait on the corner, I hear PR’s sports car, and I hope he does not see me as he waits at the light across from me, and then zooms up the street on which I am waiting.
The bus seems to take forever, but I just timed it poorly, so nervous was I to miss it.
I just wanted to get home, check on the dog, and unwind.
I realize, suddenly, that I can’t find any money, so I pop open the envelope, which gives me enough for bus fare, dog food, and breakfast at the market.
The overwhelming thought in my mind is how much BV actually loves me. I am beginning to unpack the past 24 hours and I know how much he loves me. More than I thought he did. More than I love him. He listens, remembers, and cares about everything I’ve ever said to him.
I’ve not taken him too seriously. He’s ten years my junior. He’s a playboy. He’s a recreational drug user. He is not “relationship material.” But I have loved him since our first real date, when he cried talking about his grandparents.
I know his heart. I know his mind.
I said to him repeatedly, [Bon], everyone who knows you, loves you. Not everyone who meets you, but if they know you, if they get who you are, not who they think you are, they love you.
He is the loveliest man, with a heart so big he gets it crushed.
He said at one point on our drive back into town how he can’t be in a relationship right now with all the school and chaos and uncertainty blah blah blah. I was only half-listening to him because I was trying to get us home safely and also because it was a mantra he was telling himself. He wasn’t saying it to me.
As much as I want to deny it, we are still in a relationship. We are still connected. We still love each other.
I called him around 320 to check on him. He did not answer, so I shot him a quick text. Our long separation and our heated argument made me realize how important it is to him that I check on him regularly. Whether (or mostly not) he responds, he needs that connection. He looked for messages from me that never came, and he was hurt by their absence.
Because he was so upset when we parted — with himself for a lost weekend he can ill-afford while in school, with his friends for wounding him so badly — I wanted to be sure to be there for him, after the time he said he’d be studying until.
I did not hear from him on Sunday. I fell asleep repeatedly throughout the evening. I was just as exhausted the next day, even after a solid night of sleep, and I fell asleep sitting up working, and then napped in bed.
I was awakened at 5:23 in the afternoon by a call from the Bon Vivant.
He sounded great — clear eyed, clear mind. He asked me, first, so, should I be worried that we had unprotected sex? You said you’d slept with someone else, and I just need to know. I told him it was fine. It is fine. He felt better, and said he knows he trusts me, he’s just anxious. I told him to get tested if he wants, but I was clean the last time I was tested and the person in between we did not do anything that would have caused transmission of anything. Which is sad, but true.
He repeated he’d not been with anyone since we split. Again, I don’t believe him.
Anyway, our conversation continued with him telling me he had *still* not heard from the host and hostess. Which we both found shocking.
He said: “I bet they told everyone we were the weird ones, but that was so fucked up.” I told him how sorry I was it all went down like that, but we each agreed that the time together was excellent, despite everything else.
He reminded me he’s leaving next Tuesday [for a month!], but assured me I would see him before he leaves. I invited him to a show Friday night and asked his email address so I could send him my resume for his comment. I’d spent hours on the phone with friends pitching them, and I thanked him for “caring enough” to confront and inspire me.
We ended our call after 12 minutes, confirming we’d see each other soon.