For the six months I was away, Brooke and I spoke every week. We spoke on the phone, we FaceTimed, we texted–we were sort of together without any of the official labeling. The more distance we had between us and the longer I was away from her, the more I wanted to be with her, the more I needed her. My feelings grew tenfold while I was gone.
But I never told her.
Instead, I played the game like a pro. I knew how to ignore her just enough to have her keep on running back to me. I didn’t know how to open my heart to her. I didn’t know how to treat a woman right. I would ignore her phone calls on purpose to keep her wondering what I was doing. I would call her late at night when I was drunk. I would lie to her and tell her I was at a bar with my friends when I was lying on my couch eating popcorn and watching a movie on Saturday night. The games should’ve ended. I loved her. But I couldn’t let go of my former self. I couldn’t let go of the asshole I once was.