I couldn't do it.
I couldn't tell her all my life events. I just didn't have the courage to do so, and I've never felt more ashamed of myself. I had sat up all night contemplating how to start and what details to share with her, and I came to the conclusion that I couldn't tell her all of my life events. I just plain couldn't. But I did, however, have a solution. If I can't tell her all five of my life events, then I'd tell her three.
I figured I'd start with the passing of my wife. What Cynthia had told me was just as traumatizing as that, so perhaps (Just perhaps.) she'd find common ground with me there. I sure hoped so, considering it's been almost 10 years since it had happened and it still makes my heart ache. Then maybe I'll continue with the others from there, perhaps not going into too much detail on the event about when Xavier had found me, considering he had already told her and everyone and their cats about that.
Three events is all I need. Yes, that's exactly what I'd do. Still very difficult I admit, but a tad more tolerable. The day I had thought of this solution was the day I promised myself I'd go talk to Cynthia. But I actually didn't do it that day, or that night, or that week, or the next week. It had been almost three weeks and I still couldn't bring myself to do what I had planned. I immediately thought back to what I discovered about Xavier making me stay with Cynthia.
He wanted me to get help, to get better, and be less unstable, I had supposed. I'm still not entirely sure. But I bet I was his secret mental case, and sending me to the one place I wanted to avoid with someone so unlike me was the closest he could go without actually forcing me to stay at a mental hospital (Which I would have refused.). There was no way I wanted people picking at my mind telling me how to live, so I decided once and for all that I'd do what I could and tell Cynthia this very night what I had promised myself to tell her three weeks ago.
Let me just say that this was not an easy task. I lied on the white sofa in the small TV room of the hotel and tried to think. The hotel room had two small rooms. One with a couch, coffee table, lamp and television, the other with a queen sized bed, dresser, and bathroom. I lied on one of the pillows, thinking of how to start talking to Cynthia. I knew I had to wait for the right time, just as she was going to bed. It had to be quiet and I had to be focused.
I sighed to myself, not wanting to think of what her reactions would be. Just then Cynthia strolled in from the other room and noticed me lying there, with the TV droning on. She smiled at me, and I looked away to avoid her eyes. I couldn't bear to face her when I knew that I had to share my secrets with her later tonight. She rolled her eyes, taking my avoidance for my usual rudeness.
"Hey, I'm going to the library and maybe dinner later. Wanna come?" She looked towards me warmly, as always, ignoring my coldness. The thought of being near her when I had such serious things on my mind that all included her made me sick. I shook my head and turned away, avoiding her direction all together. "No, I'm fine. I'm actually really tired today, so I think I'll just take a nap."
She stood quietly a moment, and I could tell she wasn't happy with my response. "Alright then, I'll find you some stuff I'm sure you'd like." I could tell that she worked hard to keep the hurt out of her voice, and I winced. I knew there wasn't much of anything I could without sabotaging my plans. I let out a sigh, and she stepped out of the hotel room, saying a cheerful goodbye. I closed my eyes, still trying to think, doing the best I could to stuff down my thoughts. My efforts were of course, useless.
It was a little more than a month ago that I found out I was attracted to Cynthia. After she told me her life event, I felt like I had seen her as a real person, and not some yammering chatterbox who wouldn't stop pestering me. Inner turmoil is all I can think of to describe those first few weeks. I'm still fighting it, though not as hard. I wondered if she actually was attracted to me as well, or if she was just kind to everyone. Then I remembered my body shape, my facial and body scars, and just my face in general.
My outer appearance had been affected largely by my life and what I did to myself. I was ugly inside and out and I knew it. Of course she didn't like me, and what made me think she'd ever be stupid enough to love me? I sighed deeply at the thought, stroking my face. I blotted out the thought, hoping that maybe after I shared my events she'd look at me as a person, and not a fat, coldhearted jerk that snapped at her. Maybe she'd become attracted to the person instead.
Then I remembered how I am on the inside, and I realized that the person inside is no better. I had no redeeming qualities to me like she did. I almost cried at this, but I tried comforting myself with the thought that I could love her and I'd never hit her, and isn't that all a woman wants in a man? Nice thoughts indeed, but I knew better.