We jumped up and down on my mattress, like two toddlers. Beyonce’s “Drunk In Love” blasted as I tried to soak up every bit of what I knew would be our last moments together. That was one thing that I always loved about her, her youthfulness. Plastic 2014 sunglasses adorned our faces. The glasses were as cheap as I knew our night would be, once we fucked. It was the beginning of the year, but definitely the ending of an era.
It was only a few hours earlier that I had damn near begged her to come to Brooklyn to bring in the New Year with me. She didn’t feel like making the trip from Queens, but somehow I convinced her that I was worth it. We were worth it. We were worth spending the last hour or so of 2013 together over a hot meal and frozen drinks. I figured it was the least she owed me after a year and a half of uncertainty. According to her, her heart was in a “bind.”
During what was left of the night/early morning, we did what was inevitable. We fucked, which felt more like an obligation out of pity than something natural between two people who were highly attracted to each other. We both knew that was it and it was also the reason why she didn’t want to come over in the first place.
I woke up at the crack of dawn and prepared a lunch for her to take to a training that she had that morning. She slid through my cracked apartment door with her lunch in tow and that was the last that I saw of her physically. I was left to make sense of it all and to make peace with the fact that we had just ended something, that had no business beginning.