Scar

Having spent the past several days in a depression that felt like ice in the bottom of my stomach, I decided I needed to get out. One benefit of living in the city is that there will always be an endless supply of friends ready and willing to go play. I sent text messages to everyone that might be interested, receiving an overwhelming response.

My married friend was in the mood to go out. He is a very interesting character, in the sense that he is straight. Straight and has sex with guys, but his wife is aware of it. Weird, but who am I to judge? We headed to a jock bar in Chelsea, I’m a sucker for buff guys. Before we went out I had started drinking at home, a great way to pinch a few pennies. I managed to only buy one drink once we were at the bar. Upon leaving it was incredibly early for a New York night and we had to find somewhere else to go. I became distracted by the neon lights of a diner, and the dance club we were walking towards couldn’t have gone further from my mind.

The evening ended unexpectedly with us back at my place. I’ve known Married Man for about five years now, back when we both lived on the West Coast. My phone kept buzzing the entire time we had the lights out. I assumed the friend I had forgot to define plans with, had become irritated or drunk. I continued to ignore the buzzing for the entire two-hour period. As we redressed I looked down at my phone: The Devil.

I felt my heart plummet into my icy stomach; I wanted to scream. Reading the message was unavoidable; I had to know what he had to say after three days of silence.

“Um, so you’re on a date?!?!?!”
“Wow, ok cool. I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m really shocked.”
“:( I miss you”
“I give up. I f**ked up. Grr.”

Reading this all I wanted to do was call him. I put the phone down, not sure it was worth investing anymore of myself into it. In five short messages it had become apparent that The Devil did feel something. I sent a short message back: “Yeah, you f**ked up.” My phone rang. I held my breath before picking up. He wanted me to meet him at his apartment. I wanted to go over. He says he’s sorry, but will he still be sorry in the morning when the only part of tonight left is the vodka on his breath? I’m left asking myself, have I had enough?

Against my better judgment I trudged down the street. I didn’t know what was about to happen. The Devil did his best to joke around with me as if nothing had happened. I’m not a fan of forgive and forget. I am on the other hand a fan of; forgive but never forget. We lay there, The Devil, telling me I had to forgive him. I couldn’t even fake the words for him. Even though he was telling me what I wanted to hear, acting the way I wanted him to act, I knew that he would eventually re-open the scars that were already forming.