on the cold

I start a fight cause I need to feel something, and you do what you want because I'm not want you want.- Taylor Swift (Cold As You)
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I set myself up to fail.

I should have known that no matter how cute the dress, regardless of the meticulous detail paid to my hair- nothing about me was going to make you act any different.

But I tried.

It was almost like watching from outside of myself; these words coming out, asking you to come back to my place with me- the horror when you walk away from me, the heat on my cheeks as a I try to deal with the combination of embarrassment and whiskey floating around inside me.

This isn't what I wanted that night to be, but things never go as planned when it comes to you and me, and you would think that I would stop planning for anything at all.

And it's when she shows up, that something clicks with me. I can't look at her, I'm just looking at you, standing perfectly still, and I feel myself mirroring your actions, the stare back, as if we are unsure of who will back down first. In my periphery, I see her glance back and forth between us-

I'll come back later?

the quiet suggestion to her voice breaks me down even further.

Can we talk outside for a second?

I ask, he follows, and as we step into the warm air away from the low buzz of the bar, I try to figure out what I want to say to him- if it's worth saying anything to him at all.

You can't just do this,

I tell him, trying to keep my voice cool and calm.

I loved you. I loved you, and you broke me, and I just- I don't get you.

He looks back at me, and the lack of emotion in his eyes only boils my own higher- if he could know how much I felt- would it help him to feel something, too?

He shrugs.

I'm sorry.

No, you're not sorry,

I am combative, I am angry. I am fed up with someone who can't ever own up to the many mistakes he makes, even if that means qualifying myself as a mistake.

So punch me, go ahead-

He leans forward, motioning to his cheek.

I know you want to.

I look back at him in disbelief, and for a flitting second, I really do consider knocking him cold to the ground.

No,

I decide, shoving him back, closer to a car, as I move forward, locking eyes with him.

I won't hit you. I won't give you that satisfaction, you don't get to feel better about this.

He looks a little surprised, I think- the first flicker that he is even cognizant of the situation in front of him.

I can feel the tears about to come but I'm not ready for them.

Don't ever talk to me again, don't ever come near me. I want nothing to do with you.

I turn, walking away with as much dignity as I can into the crowds of people milling around outside. I don't turn back, because I don't think I'm strong enough to keep walking if I do. I wait for the darkness of the park to envelope me, and let go-

letting the waves of whiskey, wind, and night wrap me up and remind me:

I was never as cold as you.