It had been over six months since we broke up. In that time I’d moved job location, gone on several failed dates, and bought a brand new car.
Through mutual friends on facebook I knew that he’d been on a few holidays and was possibly seeing a pretty blond girl. I’m not sure who was winning.
I hadn’t seen him since our breakup, but I just knew it was only a matter of time. After all, we lived 15 minutes apart and worked identical jobs for the same company; just in different buildings.
On that average, September afternoon I was driving home from viewing an apartment, located close to the area we both lived and worked. I knew those roads like the back of my hand. I knew when I could speed up a little and where I could meander around the slow drivers to get in the right lane like it was second nature. I knew the order of all the traffic lights on my journey and how much time I had to get through each green.
I just don’t know what happened that day. It was like a sick joke, I wouldn’t believe it if someone had told me it happened to them. One minute I was driving through the high street past that pub we went for our first date, singing to familiar songs on the radio… The next minute I was in the middle of the road, using my airbag as a pillow with a familiar blue car entangled in the front end of my own.
We both slowly curled out of our cars and stared each other in the eyes, just 5 feet separating us. He headed towards me and I heard his voice for the first time in months. It stung my ears to hear the familiar tone; my eyes to see the movement of his lips.
His sheepish demeanour changed and he angrily asked me what I thought I was doing. Confused, I retaliated and asked him the same, an anger building up in my chest. Neither of us answered the other.
We were both unhurt and begun checking out the damage to our vehicles.
“It’s ok for him,” I thought to myself. “His old car could do with being written off anyway.”
I didn’t dare say it aloud though.
I rang for roadside assistance and he retrieved his phone so I figured he was doing the same. I just stood there, stealing awkward glances at him while I talked into my handset. His eyes bore into me and I could tell he was thinking I did this on purpose somehow. I could see the rage and irritation in his face. I can still read him. I realised he could probably still read me too so I swiftly ducked out of his vision and sat on the side of the road.
Memories of our break up clouded my head. I thought of all the tears and screaming matches from when I found out he had cheated on me. I recalled his apologies and how he had begged me to take him back. And then finally, how I had decided to give him another chance… only for him to admit that he didn’t want a relationship after all; thus breaking my heart all over again.
He hung up the phone and rapidly bounded over and began to berate me. He launched into an attack on how I was in the wrong and how much it was going to cost me to “sort this mess out”. I snapped and fired back at him, telling him how this was all his doing and he shouldn’t have been so stupid to make such a mistake. Neither of us was willing to admit fault. We were blaming each other.
And suddenly, I didn’t know if it was just about the collision anymore.