Thursday, August 11, 2016

KSL's Mea Culpa

She had decided that she didn't want to see his face unless she had to.  Meeting would only mean she would have to look him in the face again, remember how attractive he was, maybe make a mistake.  Or maybe he would make a move and she wouldn't be able to resist.  Or, he wouldn't make a move and break her heart.  Meeting would solve nothing.

She messaged him, told him to give her stuff to Banana.  She couldn't meet him, she'd made other plans.  He said okay.  She closed the chat window, and busied herself with plans with other people.

She was determined to build a life with other people, without him in it.  She was doing a good job.  For half a week, everything was her new normal.  It was okay.  Passionless, but okay.

She posted a status about a joke she and Dusky had shared on Facebook, harmless fun.  20 people liked it...and one of the first to do so was KSL.

His profile pic...the picture she had taken of him of their first show together...stared her in the face.  He saw.  He acknowledged.  She had said horrible, mean things to him.  He had said horrible, mean things to her.  It should be over.  Why was he suddenly, for the first time, liking her social media posts?

A couple of days later, she posted a photo on Instagram and shared it on Facebook with her and the boys from the show.  They all liked giving her a lap dance at once, and they caught it one night.  It was blurry, full of underwear at eye level with her face.  It wasn't any big deal.  KSL liked it.

He was the first person to like her new profile picture.  He liked her photo of her time at the lake.  A show she attended that night.  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  This was pretty manipulative, even for him.  She posted an update, lame and contrived about her calling it a night early.  She waited.  Minutes later, he liked the post.  "God damn it." She said aloud in her apartment.  What was he playing at?  She decided to ignore it, like she hadn't noticed it.  She stopped posting things altogether.

Two days later, he messaged her.  "How was the closing weekend?  Did you get your stuff back?"  She responded mostly in kind.  He thanked her for letting her borrow her stuff,  and said: "It was kind of you to share some personal nostalgia with me."

"What else are friends for?  Thanks for taking care of it for me."

He started typing.  He kept typing for a long time.

"You *are* a friend to me. Truly. I know I haven't been a good friend to you. Hell, I haven't even been halfway decent. You go through enough shit without me unloading on you. What was the line? 'Vomiting all your shitty neuroses.'  Yeah. You don't need me doing that, nor do you deserve it. Just because I sometimes feel a little safer talking to you about things doesn't me license to open the floodgates of douchebaggery. I ask your opinion, request your counsel. I need to respect what you give me in those times, and not lash out just because I may not agree with your interpretation or if I'm particularly stung by it. That's not what friends do. So, for what it's worth (which I'm sure isn't much), I'm sorry."

She took a shaky breath.  She was glad he apologized, but she wasn't sure where it would go.  She decided to at least keep her wall up, but say what she needed to say.

"I appreciate your apology. For what it's worth though, it's not really your unloading but your approach to unloading that comes off as accusatory towards me. If you need to just vent, I understand that, but when it comes off as attacking me, then you aren't really venting anymore, you are lashing out. And as of late I haven't been extended the same courtesy. I'm sure you don't really care about the specifics, but I do appreciate your apology."

He responded that he hadn't been fair to her at all.  She asked, then what now? 

"I feel I owe you a drink or seven and some hang-time.  I need to make some time to meet with you."

He did owe her a drink or seven.  She'd bought him so many drinks, comforted him in his time of need.   Could she hold it together, stay strong?  Could she even really forgive him and forge a friendship?

"When are you free?"

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