Proof of love

Frank was never very tender or caring toward me, neither during sex nor as a friend. Or to put it in a different way, he didn't express positive feelings for me. He once said we were pretty good friends, a long, long time ago he implied I he thought I was "drop dead gorgeous," he once said "these are perfect" when he squeezed my breasts, twice he told me he loved the noises I made when we had sex....

I often told him what I liked about him, how much I cared. I suppose this is typical.

I can enumerate the times when he said something even vaguely positive because I have used them to reassure myself that he cared. But even as I did I knew it was useless. It didn't work when Ted was cheating on me, why would it work when every other word Frank said and every blow-off contradicted it?

The problem with magical thinking is that it ceases to be magical when you realize that it really doesn't work. You can step over cracks, and it does nothing to reassure you, it doesn't stop bad luck. It's just that walking on the cracks may invoke it. Frankly, you may as well walk on the cracks.

After Frank and I had sex the first time he sat naked on my couch and looked at me and said, "I should tell you..." and then to himself, "motherfucker, just say it."

I just looked at him, pleased to have him there, I didn't want to press him.

Later I asked him, but he claimed he didn't remember that exchange.

I imagined, like any good, romantic girl would do, that he wanted to tell me what he felt for me; that treating me badly was his way of dealing with his feelings for someone he couldn't have. Maybe he thought I'd never leave Ted for him, and maybe he was right. So, I chased him and he hurt me to punish me.

See, I really couldn't stand the idea that he really was indifferent to me and I was just someone he talked to on IM when he had nothing better to do and that now I'd provide an easy lay for him too.

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