Day Four

I realised that Jez had SMS'd me earlier and asked if I was still out. I wonder whether it was out of concern for my safety or something else.

Safety. A sober Derek drove four of us home. We left Croydon at 1:00 am. I stayed up because I was determined to blog. Breaking Dawn breakfast isn't tomorrow. It's Monday.

Something else. I drank less than the volume of liquid I'd be allowed to carry on an airplane. The type of recklessness that takes place in bars or clubs or vodka bottles is not the type I'm after.

I feel kind of silly. Well, who wouldn't at this time of day, fighting sleep only to record in writing two little pieces of the colossal puzzle of themselves they've put together.

I had a sudden realisation.

If you draw a line representing the duration of our relationship, and place a dot on each day we spent time together, there would be a scatter of dots around both ends, and a shitload of them in the middle.

Back when we used to keep a date journal, I paid attention to the lengths of the intervals between each entry. There were on average one entry per week. Two at the most. Gradually, the intervals shortened, until they didn't exist anymore.

During a couple of months, Jez and I saw each other seven days a week. I stayed over on Friday nights. Some saturdays. When I found out that I couldn't go to camp with my friends, I camped in his room for five days straight. Being inseparable doesn't necessarily mean being unseparated. Not that I was aware of it then.

This is all very embarrassing. Embarrassing because I had the nerve to go to such lengths to deceive both my parents and his. Embarrassing because I permitted myself to do things my conscience struggled against. Embarrassing because I might not be sinking in misery now if I had any self-control then.

It was reckless and irresponsible. When two people share the same home, it's natural for them to spend time together everyday. We were getting ahead of ourselves. We hadn't reached that stage, yet we wanted to live like we had. We forced everything else to accomodate what we wanted. We neglected our families, our friends and ourselves for each other. I should have forseen the consequences. I should have known that we had made a ticking bomb.

On many Friday nights I dreaded going home with Jez. I loved the satisfaction of knowing that we could be together til morning. I loved the warmth of his bed. I loved the warmth of him. But I knew that it was the wrong place to be. I never stopped myself because I craved Jez more than I wanted to be responsible.

I remember days when I'd sit blankly at home, wondering why I have so few close friends and realising that having spent all of my spare time with Jez, there was never room for anyone else. I never tried to change, because I thought it was a fair sacrifice.

At times when I felt miserable, I went to Jez. He made me forget everything else.

It was already too late when it finally hit us. We gave up sleepovers. We spared more time for our families. But there was no reversing a bomb that had already gone off. It was a brave attempt. An idealistic plan that failed abysmally.

It failed because we had already formed the habit of always having each other around. Breaking that habit did funny things to us. The relationship started to feel out of place. I became moody. Jez became elusive. More problems stemmed from this one, and they never stopped until we did.

I can only speculate, but I'm certain that I've pinpointed the beginning of our demise. It wasn't when we broke the habit. It was when we formed it.

I think back to the earlier months. They were blissful. I remember the time when I stuck post-its all over Jez's room, hiding them inside drawers and under book covers, laughing at him as he tried and failed to find them all. Every one of them read "I ❤ Jez". I remember when I was sick and he appeared like magic on my doorstep with Deathly Hallows and chicken soup. Later on, it became a sad memory when I realised that was possibly the only time he showed up at my house without being asked to. I remember going swimming with him, nervous because he had never seen me in a bikini despite the fact that he knew every part of my body. I remember when we had dinner and Umi and forgot to eat because we never ran out of things to say.

Memories are dangerous.