Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Why am I the way that I am? That said, how can I possibly be any different?

The morning that I woke up with Marco, I felt different. A little weird. A lot freaked out. Why? Because in spending the night with him, even mostly in innocence, I felt I was betraying Jess? That I still love that man and despite it all, want to believe things will work out? Or because this was Marco, my lovely Marco that I’d known in one way for so many years and was now faced with the prospect of seeing him in a whole new way?

You’re right.
You’re right.
You’re right.

It’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot to think about. I think too much.

And so, I started to pull away. When he woke up and didn’t find me beside him, it was because I was in the bathroom, yet again. Repeating the antics from the night before, yet again, but on a whole new level.

I am a very stupid girl. But Marco, he’s one smart cookie. It took him all of a few seconds to get it.

What did he do with this newfound information? Well, he was pissed off. He’d come all this way to see his friend, and in her place was a cold fish. He shouted his mind, threw in some profanities for good measure, and stormed off back home. I haven’t seen him since.

No, he didn’t do that. Not any of it. He was wonderful. He took a deep breath (I’m guessing), took a step back (I imagined), and gave me my space (this I saw). He let me be, let me think my crazy thoughts, and didn’t for one minute make me feel bad for thinking them.

At night, he was ever the gentleman. He let me talk, paid me full attention, and didn’t make any moves. I took some of the edge off, let him talk, paid him full attention. I didn’t initiate anything because when we were like this, just like this, it seemed that everything was right with the world. I felt at peace.

It didn’t last.