Tell me the truth.
5:51 p.m.

S.�

I don't hate you. I'm not even as angry as I was. If I didn't think that you're a basically deep-down good person who's just enormously screwed up, I'd be considerably more pissed off, but as things are, I'm just hurt.

I don't regret our relationship. It was not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it had lovely moments. Overall, it was good in many ways.

I don't even regret having slept with you, despite the fact that you're the only person I've ever been with. It was my choice, and I made it with my eyes open. It might have been wiser of me not to have done it, but I don't regret it; I accept the consequences of my choice, and I knew there might be some I wouldn't be thrilled about.

But the way you treated me hurts me and makes me angry.

Did you think I wouldn't put the timeline together? I know I may be naive, and perhaps even gullible at times, but I'm not stupid. You spent over four months patiently waiting for me to get comfortable enough to sleep with you. You slept with me a couple of times, then you damn near avoided me for three weeks, then you broke up with me.

Was it just the challenge? Or was it really as you said? � That you were just too wary still to be in a real relationship, too tender to give yourself over to the possibility of getting hurt, too scared of feeling something real for someone?

It's not that I ever thought you were in love with me. I knew you weren't. I knew you were still hurting too much from her to let go that much. And I went out of my way to make sure I didn't pressure you or make you feel as though you had to Fall In Love With Me.

But I thought you cared about me. Not in a huge, gigantic, all-consuming way, but I thought you liked me a lot and enjoyed being with me. Was it all just a game, just a way to pass the time? Did you just want to get laid?

I forgot that, among other hobbies, you are an actor.

I'm not blaming the demise of our relationship on you. I made mistakes, too, lots of them. I'm sorry I didn't let down my walls enough, either.

On the other hand, if I had let my walls down more, I would have fallen in love with you, and that would have made things even worse. As it was, I was beginning to love you anyway, even with my tight rein on my emotions. But I knew you didn't want that, so I exerted myself to keep from letting my emotions get out of hand. If you'd let me, I could have loved you.

And why, why, did you tell me you wanted to be friends, to have me in your life still? From any other guy, I would take that as it is meant: �I'm saying this so I can get out of here, and as soon as I leave, I hope I never see you again.� But you brought it up. You said it. I asked you over and over again if you were sure you wouldn't be uncomfortable around me, if you were sure you really wanted to be friends, and you kept saying yes. You said it so determinedly, so sincerely, that I decided to believe you.

I forgot again about the actor thing.

Now whenever I see you (and it's not as though we can avoid one another, as you room with Ann, who is one of my best friends), you make sure to stay as far away from me as possible, even if it means you have to sit on the floor, practically in the kitchen. You won't look at me.

Do you think I'm going to take it the wrong way if you talk to me or even if you hug me? Do you think I'm going to assume that just because you sat on the same couch I'm on I'll think you want me again? You can hardly stand to be on the same side of the house that I'm on.

Ann doesn't make it any easier. She idolises you as the Perfect Guy, and besides, you're realated, so she is protective. She cannot see any faults in you, and so she blames everything that was not utterly perfect in our relationship on me. ::I was too cold, I was too reserved, I didn't treat you well enough, I didn't care enough, I was wrong, I suck. You didn't break up with me, even in the smallest part, because you were too emotionally unready; you broke up with me because I am such an incredibly fucked-up bitch.:: It's hard not to be able to talk to her about you, the way I would had you been any other guy. But she only makes me feel badly, and I already feel badly enough.

I don't want to get back together, you know. I have no illusions about it. I don't bear you any ill will, either. I hope you're happy. I hope that you can break down your own walls and find someone to be with who makes you happy. I just wish you'd stop treating me like an embarrassing mistake you made. That's all.

I'm sorry for the mistakes I made. I own up to them. But I suppose you'll never know, because you continue to treat me as though I'm the Mortifying Secret We Don't Talk About. That hurts, you know.

I'm tired of trying so hard to reach you and being slapped down. You are, in many ways, an amazing and wonderful person. But you're also very screwed up. I wouldn't mind so much if I could feel that you had ever cared about me, even a bit, but with the way you've treated me ever since we broke up, I can't help but feel that you were putting on an act the entire time we were together.

Please just treat me like a human being again, instead of like some sort of secret guilt. And tell me the truth. That's all I ask.

�D.

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