Rohan made Pamela very angry today.
She received a message from him in the morning, one that he spent several hours working on. Perhaps I should have discouraged him from sending it, but I thought he deserved the chance to prove himself. Pamela disagreed.
In the message, he told Pamela that he loved her and asked her to put her faith in him. He empathized with her feeling lost and not knowing what she wanted from him, but he begged her not to live in fear when happiness can outweigh the pain. He asked for her trust and promised that he would not give up.
I was with him when he sent it, full of hope and hurt, and I was with her while she read it. She felt the hurt, too, but that feeling was quickly overwhelmed by anger. She got up from her desk, snatched her coat and keys, and left at a run. I followed with some misgiving.
“What the ever-loving hell?” she demanded the moment he opened the door.
He was glad to see her, despite her anger. “Pam—”
She pushed past him, pulling out her phone to read his words back to him. “ ‘I know you’re confused and you don’t know what you want’?” She whirled on him. “I’m confused? Rohan, I know exactly what I want. I want you to get your head out of your ass.”[1]
He closed the door, resigned to listening to her tirade; he knows her well. I, too, stood back—the stream of anger was far greater than anything I could stop.
“You’re the one who doesn’t fucking know what he wants. When you’re here you tell me every damn thing I want to hear, and then you go off on your own and you’re not sure. Twice now you’ve done that to me. I am not going to let it happen again. I deserve better.”
“You’re right,” he said quietly, but his agreement only seemed to make her angrier.
“You’re damn right I am. I am not the one who is fucking confused. How dare you say that to me? Have I ever been unsure about what I want?” A bubble of harsh laughter accompanied these words. “Have I ever left you at all unsure about what I want?”
He stepped towards her. “You want me,” he said, and he reached for her.
She caught his hands, holding them away from her, now using her anger as a shield. “Don’t touch me.”
“Pam, I’m sorry,” he said, leaning closer to her.
Tears were gathering in her eyes now. “I hate you,” she whispered.
“I know, and I’m sorry. Do you want me to keep saying it? I’m sorry.” He kissed her, very lightly, and held her gaze. “I will do better. I promise. I will do better.”
I could feel all of Pamela’s uncertainty and hurt, swiftly subsiding beneath longing and hope. She wanted so desperately to believe him, to fall back into the way things were. I could feel that he was filled with tenderness and love, well aware that he had damaged her trust, and wishing to mend that damage.
Still, when she gave in and took him into her arms, it felt like defeat.
I had to leave them in privacy, but I did not do so gladly, as I have in the past. It felt as if I were abandoning them—both of them—in the dark.
The worst of it is, I cannot blame Rohan. I want to, but in the end Pamela chose to take him back. He truly believes—for now—that her best chance for happiness is to be with him. I only wish that I believed as he does.
The moment that I can, I will return to see the results of today’s events. Will Pamela’s trust be repaired? Will she be happy? Or will she remember the reasons for her choice to end the relationship, and regret what has happened? At this point, I can only guess. I will write again tomorrow.
[1] This would seem to be a metaphorical phrase, as it is physically impossible—in a few different ways—for a human to get his head inserted into his sphincter.