Chapter Thirteen
What did he mean, ‘he was so confused at the moment’? What was there to be confused about? He clearly did still love her. He clearly did still miss her. And he clearly did still think about her every day. It was nearly six months since they’d finished, for goodness sake! If he hadn’t moved on and forgotten about her by now, then why didn’t he just come back? He had asked to marry her at one point! That meant forever. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.
Maybe that was why she found it so difficult to move on, she mused. Because at one point she had said yes to his proposal, and she had meant it with every inch of her being. She had wanted to be with him forever. That was why she couldn’t let go. That was why, all these months later, he was still the first thing she thought about in the morning and the last thing she thought about at night. That was why, with each email that he sent her, she harboured that tiny modicum of hope; that one day he’d be back, that all would be forgiven, that he couldn’t live without her, that they were destined to be together.
Sasha, then, started to understand when they talked about souls who wouldn’t let go. Ghosts that hung around after the physical body dies. Souls that can’t move on to the next life, because a loved one is still clinging on.
That was why Sasha couldn’t let go of Kirk. Because she knew his soul was still with her. The emails that kept popping up showed her that he hadn’t moved on.
So it was a big shock that night when she came across photos of him on Facebook with a new girlfriend.
It was one of those horrible, unnecessary Facebook stalking sessions. The sort where she clicked on names she shouldn’t have, reminiscing about old times. And there he was, his name. Too tempting not to look at. His profile was pretty public – she could view all his photos. And there, on his timeline, was a photo of him next to a pretty girl, the two of them grinning happily, both wearing sunglasses, both looking like they were at a festival. Her mind lurched in shock as her finger kept scrolling down his profile, looking for further confirmation that this was what she thought it was.
And there, like a kick in the stomach, was a photo of his new girlfriend lying sprawled on a bed, looking up at the camera, looking at him, smiling.
Sasha’s heart hammered in revulsion. What! How could this be? But he was emailing me just the other night, sending me loads of songs? Reminiscing about our time together? Opening old wounds? He’d been giving her hope that he missed her and still loved her, when he was rolling around on some hotel bed with some new bird.
Her anger was hammering; hammering through her blood so hard that she could actually feel it pulsating. It felt as if she had a ton of surplus angry energy pumping around her body that she needed to get rid of somehow. The only outlet she could think of that would appropriately expel this angry energy was actually to email Kirk herself. To write down all the insults and complaints that she could think of; in the hope that pressing ‘send’ would make her energy disappear over the internet towards him. She wanted to email him, to call him all the names of the day, to accuse him of stringing her along; of sending her constant reminiscing emails when actually, all along, he had already jumped into a new relationship with someone else. Not even a casual fuck-buddy set-up – but a bona fide publicly-pronounced relationship. Declaring a relationship on Facebook was making as public a statement as possible.
She had tracked back through his photos. The first photo of them had been posted three months previously. That was only three months after he had split up with her. So three months later, he was going public on Facebook in a new relationship? Please. That meant they’d got together even before that. A huge possibility that there was overlap between the two of them.
Sasha felt sickened to her stomach. To think she had held on to hope, when all along he was screwing someone else.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Kirk, I am in shock. I have just seen on Facebook that you’re in a new relationship and have been for months. WHY have you been emailing me and stringing me along if you are seeing someone else? PRICK.
Sasha pressed send on the email before giving herself any more time to think about it. Rather than the anger dissipating, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her heart only hammered harder; her adrenalin only soared further and she couldn’t help but picture Kirk’s response when he opened her email and read the contents.
She expected a reply of similar angry proportions from him. She expected him to retaliate; to fire back angry insults. But instead, there was nothing. No reply. His silence spoke volumes. He silence said that he didn’t give a flying fuck.
Instead, his reply came the next day. Rather than an angry response, he replied with calm decorum; a tone that spoke from the moral high ground. He was the calm and sorted therapist; she was the fucked-up and insecure patient.
“I emailed you those times over the last few months…” he said, “to tell you about my dad and his health difficulties. I thought you would understand my situation because you had met my dad and you knew how unwell he was. I was confiding in you as a friend. I am sorry if you mistook my emails as ‘stringing you along’ or as signs that I wanted our relationship to continue. I should not have emailed you about my dad – I’m sorry.”
Sasha stared at the screen in shock. His email was like a slap across the face with a dead fish. He might as well have said;
• You’re deluded
• You’re reading into my emails
You’re mistaking my chat about my dad as thinking I want to be back with you
• I’ve moved on
You’re pathetic
Sasha’s cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. Not only was she annoyed by his attitude and his implication that she was deluded, but she knew that he was lying. If he had really wanted to confide in someone about his dad’s ill health, he could have talked to his sister, or a friend, or another therapist. He had no need to discuss it with his ex-girlfriend. And furthermore, he had no need to pepper his emails with songs and photos that reminisced about their relationship.
Lying prick, she thought scathingly. Again, she emailed him.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Yes. You’re right. You shouldn’t have emailed me about your dad. Nor should you have sent me so many songs and photos reminiscing about our relationship. Would your new girlfriend like to know how much you’ve been emailing me?
She knew it was a mild threat; a mild blackmail. But she couldn’t help herself, so angry was she at his holier-than-thou attitude.
But the holiness continued. Again he waited another full day to respond, as though he had much better things to do with his time than attend to an angry ex-girlfriend. Sasha imagined him sitting on his moral high horse, trying to think up some non-committal statement, like a dodgy politician trying to body-swerve awkward questions.
“I’m sorry you’re upset. I won’t contact you again. I would ask you not to contact me either. I am in a committed relationship with Denise.”
His words came like a bullet to the heart. Cold. Formal. Patronising. A complete change from his late night email of songs and reminiscing comments. She half-expected that the late night emails were when he was drunk; the cold formal emails came in the sober cold light of day.
Closure. If ever there was definite closure, this was it. It was definitely over. It had come from the horse’s mouth. There’d be no more emails.
Or would there?