I’ll Be Back

That’s what My Mr. Grey said to me, right before he got into the Batmobile and slowly drove out of sight: “I’ll be back.” Then, he checked in every one-hundred miles, until he was five hundred miles away and said “Back home. Miss you x”

Five hundred miles.

Four hundred and eighty-nine miles if you want to get really exact about things.

The number worked well, because I had approximately five hundred and eighty-nine questions that I wanted to ask him. I didn’t ask any of them; instead, I just said, “Have a safe journey,” then held the tears at bay until I’d walked back into The Flat and locked the door behind me.

Why was I even crying? We’d essentially been on three dates, if even that. He wasn’t even going to be gone for that long. In a few weeks’ time, he’d be right back, and we could slide right back into bed together again. I couldn’t wait for that. But those unanswered questions? They worried me.

I was smitten with Grey from the very first “hey,” and I didn’t want to run the risk of losing him to someone else. I couldn’t have swayed that decision either way – and I know that now. Back then, though? I was young, dumb, and didn’t have a clue. I thought that we had to play games in love, and stay totally cool about dating. I wasn’t meant to tell a man what I wanted; I was meant to wait for him to tell me. It didn’t matter that I wanted to ask Grey if we could be exclusive because the thought of him fucking someone else in the same way that he’d fucked me, made me want to commit homicide; I couldn’t do that. My only source of dating education had come from Sex and the City (is that obvious?) at that point, and they were all playing games all over the place.

So, I kept my mouth shut, text back when I was text to, and didn’t tell that amazing man that I wanted to be his girlfriend. On the outside, I was as cool as a cucumber. The coolest cool person that ever lived.

On the inside, though, I was losing my damn mind. I used to get a little crazy when I liked someone back then, you know? I still do a bit. But the thought of him fucking someone else consumed me from the second his car drove out of my line of sight. It’s all I could think about. I was getting shag flashbacks… but it was some other women in my place. Even my fantasies were jealous.

I didn’t even know that I had something (or someone) to be jealous of.

Grey text me every night that he was gone. Barely any texting during the day, mind you, but he was busy and I’m not totally insane. He called me a couple of times, too. It was like he knew that I was going a bit mad without me having to tell him. All so, so positive.

So… why did I feel like things were too good to be true? What made me pace the floors of The Flat so much that one teeny-tiny patch of the carpet was starting to run threadbare? I wanted to be like the proverbial cat that got the cream, because I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, hadn’t I? I wanted him, and I got him.

Why was there a feeling in the pit of my stomach that warned me not to get too carried away, then?

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Skate Parks & Spliffs.