Seven days (Day 6)

I wake up, exhausted. There's light shining through my curtains but it sounds like its raining. I was planning on going out for a run. I don't want to go anywhere in this weather but I have a schedule to keep. 

So he did message me after all. I read it once my eyes have adjusted to the world again. Why am I so tired? 

Even though its raining, I'm trying to think of ways I could go without getting too wet, or more to the point, without getting my new trainers and iPhone wet. 

I tidy my room as I wait for my housemate to get out of the bathroom. Once he is, I'm in and out like a shot, gym gear on and old trainers for the walk. It's not that warm out and there's a breeze that chills you to the core. 

I manage 5 miles on a random programme but I walk the last fifteen minutes and feel like a bit of a failure. I walk home, looking forward to my shower. The house is empty so I put on the radio, letting it play whilst I'm washing my hair. I put on a load of washing and paint my toenails as I wait for it to finish. 

I'm not going to make it to Camden and back in time for my wax appointment so I take the time to epilate my legs, paint my finger nails and relax. I'm not meeting him till five pm now anyway. 

I wear my new paisley dress with my blue converse (the ones I won in Bidding Wars) throwing a denim jacket over my shoulders as it's breezy out. The wax is painful and I end up with a lot less than I expected - can anyone say Hollywood?! A misunderstanding which I pay for in more ways than one. 

I'm waiting around forever because he's pushed the meeting time back half an hour and it's now that I realise I haven't eaten anything. I grab a portion of chips and walk around Brick Lane for a bit. It's getting cold so I decide to head towards the flat anyway, I still know the code to get in the building an if I need to I'll wait in the hallway for him. But as I near the block of flats he texts me that he's home.

Here we go...

We're drinking beer as he eats and already I want him. I'm sitting in the front room watching TV whilst he's in the shower. Now I need a wee. My left foot is aching, probably from all the exercise and running I'm doing now that I never did before. Shock to the body, I guess. He kindly performs some MAT on my foot and ankle, which makes a massive difference in the tightness I am feeling. Now the right needs some work :)

Turns out he's got the wrong date and the gig's in a month's time. I'm thinking I should go home but I don't, I stay because I miss him and this is an opportunity to not be alone. BUT, to get through tonight I've got to stop thinking about him as my ex and see him as my friend; we're just going out for drinks. It's hard.

Even as we're walking down the street towards a bar, I'm aware of the distance between us. We stop at traffic lights, waiting for them to change and we're literally people apart. A stranger looks at me and then him and I feel as though he knows... this is not an awkward first date, it's an awkward break-up get together.

When we get to the entrance of the bar, we're actually pretty hungry again. There's plenty of places to chose from but we end up in The Diner. It's here I let my guard slip. He lets on that he's been too busy this week to think about things - I don't say this but my mind is screaming:

I NEVER STOP THINKING ABOUT THINGS

Here's where we differ. Here's where I should pick up my big girl panties and move on, never to look back, but here's where the wounds of my heart start to weep because he's getting on just fine without me.

Dinner ends on a bum note but we walk back to the bar anyway. He asks me if I actually want to go in as we're waiting in the queue outside, and I'm torn between running home to cry or taking my friend's advice: Go out and have a fabulous time. It might be your last. 

We go in, have a couple of nice drinks, check out the dancefloor, have a laugh about him thinking a song was called "Niggas in France" when it was called "Better than Prince" and he puts his arm around me... it's a friendly gesture, it's a friendly gesture, it's a friendly gesture.

Drinks run low, the music isn't great, the night has come to an end.

He walks me to the nearest bus stop and waits with me for the bus to arrive. We hug goodbye. I don't want to cry, I just don't want to go. He's not the bad guy, he's just had a change of heart, which can't be helped.

I get back to an empty house again, which is fine because all I'm going to do is curl up and go to sleep. It's eleven thirty-four pm and I wish I was climbing into bed next to someone who loves me... one day I hope.