I've got about five years worth of entries defining, mocking, praising, and otherwise analyzing my relationship with Aaron. To recap it would kind of be an insult the Aaron era, but I'll give it a go insomuch as how it relates to this story.
The first page on my current physical journal is dated 2005 and contains the following sentence: "I had a fleeting but haunting thought: Aaron and I are more like siblings than a couple." That means it's been two years since I've questioned my love for him, and the reason I never explored it further has to do, without any doubt, primarily with the fact that I haven't been interested in anyone else. [But why couldn't she just be alone? the reader wonders. She will get to that at a later date.] Aaron and I had a great relationship on paper. But when you start to look at the imbalances and inconsistencies--the fact that he was following me around the west coast and would have continued to follow me anywhere because he says he loved me that much when really, he just didn't have any reason to find his own passions because I had enough for both of us--it's obvious that we are too young to be as committed as we were. The truth was, he loved me too much and I didn't love him enough. He became my responsibility: I was in charge of the money, of our future, of whether or not we were going out or staying in, of every fucking thing and I never want that kind of responsibility again. He, on the other hand, was the sole handler of my emotional stability; I hope he never has to be the bearer of that burden again. Five years with the same person is a miracle no matter what the age or situation, and the fact that ours ended amicably is telling of how great our relationship was. I think our breakup best defines the relationship:
Having been gone for two 4-day weekends in a row, Vegas and then Redding, Aaron was understandably antsy for attention and affection when I got off the plane from Redding. I'd already made up my mind to break up with him and was planning on waiting a week to get things in order, but as soon as I saw him waiting for me in the car I knew that I had to break up with him that night. I had already warned him that I was exhausted and wanted to go to bed immediately (i.e., no sex, thanks). Normally very respectful of these desires, or lack thereof, Aaron had unwittingly set the stage for the break-up. I came home and Aaron made me a big salad, told me not to go into the room, and I told him I needed a few minutes to get caught up on email (at which point I received the post-drunken-email response from Johnny). He told me I had a surprise waiting in the room: he had laid out this whole picnic, complete with wine, fruit, candles, music, everything for a sexy evening. I knew it was going to be the last time we ever had sex, so I went along with it, we did our thing, and after smoking a cigarette, I told him I really needed to talk to him about something. I mean, not the best time for a break-up talk, but after two years of thinking about it, it had to happen RIGHT THEN. Because it wasn't fair to drag it on any longer. I didn't want him to ask how long I had been thinking about it and for me to answer honestly. That kind of deprivation of truth is more hurtful than anything--I know, because he did it to be four and a half years prior.
What I said, essentially, was that I wanted a break, I needed a break, I needed to be on my own for awhile, I needed to figure things out for myself and not be so dependent no him.
What he said, essentially, was that I wasn't serious.
What I said, basically, was that I was.
What he said, basically, was if we just had breakup sex.
What I said, pointedly, was yes.
What he said, pointedly, was that he would move back to Peoria in a few days, would sleep on the couch until then, will take one of the dogs and the Vespa, and that will be that.
What I wondered, internally, was if I had really stayed with him after he cheated on me so that I could hurt him as he hurt me, another fleeting and haunting thought that had been bumping around in my brain for four and a half years.
What I wondered, verbally, was how prepared he seemed for this kind of news.
What he responded with, understandably, was that I had threatened it so many times he had to have a plan.
And that was that. He got drunk and slept on the couch. I got stoned and emailed Johnny. I never wanted this to be the reason Aaron and I broke up, leaving him for somebody else, and it wasn't, not really. Johnny was the catalyst, but I didn't love Aaron anymore.
The next few nights were rough. If that happened on Monday, then it was Wednesday when Aaron came barging into the room yelling at me that no one would ever love me as much as he does (true), no one would ever treat me as well as he does (true), all those phrases that we, as humans, are born with and must say at some point in our lives in order to actually be considered human, all the cliches that heartbreak forces out of us. I refused to respond to him, cowering under the covers, looking at nothing, pointing towards the door for him to leave. He apologized the next day when I didn't come home, via several voicemails, and I helped him move his stuff on Sunday. As soon as his uhaul drove off, I burst into and called Johnny and told him everything.