Colin's Long Walk Pt2

It was only upon reaching the door to the apartment that I had the world’s slowest realisation – that my keys were in the jacket that I had hastily left slung over Xander’s desk chair. There was an obvious problem involved with this. I could ring the doorbell to my heart’s content and Justin would be none the wiser, having been trained to be a heavy sleeper after months of living in a bedroom next to Travis. Travis of course was probably going to be out all night, which left me in the horrible predicament of sitting looking very lonely out the front of my apartment, or walking up the road and going clubbing.
Neither of these were particularly attractive perspectives, and although, as is the case with many newly-single people, I had a very strong urge to drink quite a lot of very strong alcohol, this was something that is best done in the privacy of one’s home with people who care about you and are able to call you an ambulance. If I was to attempt such a practice at the Commercial up the road...most likely I would end up being ‘taken care of’ by a man in his mid-thirties who was more than willing to have his way with me in my drunken state.
Faced with such a situation I did what many better and lesser men would do, I sat on my doorstep and cried. Not my finest moment; probably enough to top the moment of vomiting in the park after excessive drinking – although that is a different story that is best saved for another time. My saving grace of such a situation is that unlike the time in the park, there was no one around to look at me, and take photos to post on Facebook. I consider this to be a good thing.
But it was definitely one of those situations where life just gets too much – where you want to totally give up on men as a species, turn straight, marry a moderately attractive and slightly older woman and live in a sexless marriage with an ill-conceived child and a Labradoodle. Possibly I have given this concept too much thought.
It was at this moment, where, inevitably, things got worse.
“Forgot your keys?”
Xander had arrived. With an incredibly disgusting smirk on his face that I would have found attractive a couple of hours earlier, holding my apartment keys, complete with TinTin keyring, in front of me.
And wearing my jacket.
In this situation I was faced with four possible comebacks. There is the horrible prideful step of pretending I was okay, and refusing the keys in order to prove to him that I don’t need him. This would still leave me out in the cold however, so it probably isn’t the most successful option.
Next there is the simple idea of taking the keys, storming inside without so much as a thank you, and pretending that I never saw him and that he barely did me a favour. Tempting, since it both gets me out of the cold and still keeps my pride – mostly.
Options three and four involve hugs and pretending that all is well, or making a smart-ass comment about my jacket.
Naturally, I take option four.
“I also forgot my jacket, did you happen to see that anywhere...such as being worn by my recent ex-boyfriend?”
“No I didn’t see your jacket. Do you like my new jacket though? I got it last week.”
Smug bastard.
As much as it pained me, I had to say goodbye to my beloved jacket. You know that a break-up has gone into a strange place when the loss of a jacket merits more depression than the loss of the boy, but since a conversation with my newly created ex wasn’t at the top of my to-do list, especially while I was tear stricken, cold, and outside my apartment. So I reverted back to option two. I snatched the keys out of his hand, turned and went inside and closed the door behind me.
I then did something that was probably quite immature considering the situation, and I’m not entirely proud of either.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
I know, classy. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I felt that it avenged the loss of jacket even just a little bit. I then climbed the many stairs up to my very dark and lonely sounding apartment.