Dumped, Actually(62)

‘What?’ I spit at him.

‘Are . . . you . . . mental?’ he repeats slowly, so I can understand.

‘No! I . . . am . . . not,’ I reply, parroting him.

‘Really? So, you thought that it was fine to ask a woman to marry you when you’d only been seeing her for three months?’

‘Yes!’

‘Three months.’

‘Yes! What part of that don’t you understand?!’

He blinks a couple of times. ‘Jesus Christ. I’ve had things in the fridge for longer than that, and I didn’t ask them to marry me.’

‘But . . . I . . . ah . . . wh?’ I stammer, unable to get any words out.

Samantha looks up at me again, distraught. ‘Don’t you see, Ollie? Don’t you see how it was all too fast for me?’

‘Gh . . . mh . . . I . . . eh . . .’

‘It was all too much! I liked you . . . Maybe I was even starting to love you, but you came on too strong. Too fast. I felt . . . trapped. I felt rushed. I just couldn’t do it any more.’

‘But . . . But I loved you. You were the one.’

‘I know, Ollie.’ There’s sympathy in her voice now. I hate her and love her for it in equal measure. ‘And I’m sorry. I really am. But it was too much. You were too much. You were just so . . . so . . . needy.’

I stare at her, bottom lip trembling. ‘I am not needy!’

And then it all flashes in front of my eyes . . .

My relationship with Samantha. The one I had with Yukio. And Gretchen. And Lisa.

‘Dumped Actually’. Erica. Vanity.

All of it.

‘Oh fuck me,’ I say in a rush of breath. ‘I am bloody needy!’

Well, of course I am.

I’m pathologically needy.

I’m a people pleaser. A man constantly in need of affection and attention.

All the things I’ve done in the past few weeks to open my eyes to the kind of person I am have crystallised in this one moment of absolute clarity about my break-up with Samantha.

I look at her anguished face. ‘Oh bloody hell, Sam. I’m really, really sorry.’

A weight I didn’t know was there is instantly lifted from my shoulders. The truth of it. The clear, honest, horrible truth of it, is there for me to witness for the first time.

And bizarrely, the understanding feels wonderful. Wonderful to have an answer at last. Wonderful to know why it all went wrong. And most of all, wonderful to realise that the woman I’d fallen in love was absolutely worth it . . . even if I wasn’t.

It’s not you, Samantha. It is most definitely me.

I look at Riley and point to Samantha. ‘Give her a hug, mate.’

He stares at me for a second, before nodding, and wrapping his arms around her.

There’s still pain in my heart as I watch him do this. But it’s muted now. It’s less.

I feel like I’m closing the door on something in my mind and in my heart, and the relief is quite palpable.

Mixed in with this sense of relief is a heap load of gut-wrenching guilt, though. Guilt that I put poor old Samantha through all of this.

I then let out a gasp as I realise something for the first time.

‘Dumped Actually’.

I’ve been writing about Samantha in ‘Dumped Actually’ all of this time, and I’ve made her out to be the bad guy. I’ve written about her like she was the one to blame for all of my heartache.

And she’s probably read it.

‘Oh my God,’ I exclaim to the heavens as Riley continues to hug his girlfriend. ‘Samantha – I’m so, so sorry for all the things I’ve written about you!’ I blurt. ‘I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t thinking straight. I haven’t been for a very long time.’ The deserved shame in my voice makes me want to vomit. I am an awful human being.

Riley gives me the dirtiest look imaginable. ‘Yeah, well. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to hug her like this because of you. She’s been humiliated, thanks to your bloody stories.’

‘I didn’t mean to do that!’ I wail, almost feeling like I could burst out crying.

I think I’m fully realising how impactful ‘Dumped Actually’ has been. All this time I’ve been concerned about how it affects just my life . . . and I’ve completed ignored how it could negatively affect the lives of the people I’ve been talking about. I don’t ever remember mentioning Samantha’s surname in the articles I’ve written, but anyone who knows that she dated me would know it was her in an instant.

Oh God.

‘Sam . . . I’m so sorry,’ I repeat. I could say sorry a thousand times and it probably wouldn’t be enough. ‘I was hurt . . . and in pain . . . and I haven’t been thinking straight.’ Now I’m the one putting his head in his hands. ‘I haven’t actually been thinking straight for a very long time . . .’

Sam regards me at first without much compassion, but as she watches me trembling on the verge of tears again, I can see her face softening somewhat.

Sam looks at her boyfriend. ‘Riley? Can you . . . Can you go and let Paula know I need a few minutes off? She can handle the store for a bit.’ She then looks at me. ‘I think I need to sort something out with Ollie . . . once and for all.’

Riley nods, gives me a look of a million daggers and makes his way off to inform Paula (or JanJane, as I inexplicably dubbed her) that their boss will be a little preoccupied in the immediate future, talking to the man who has trashed her character online.