I’m Sorry

“I’m sorry.” “I’ll make it up to you.”

I hate these phrases.

“I’m sorry:” The expression used when someone thought they would want to do something and then decided they didn’t when the time came.

“I’m sorry” is for absence. A baseball game. An awards ceremony. A birthday. A graduation. An entire childhood. An adolescence.
A casual hangout for drinks. A dinner date. Someone is left waiting. A pair of hands and a cold glass, both collecting sweat. Something else was more important.

“I’m sorry” always comes back to a choice. And when the time came to do what was promised, a decision was made that something else was more important.

It could’ve been work. It could’ve been a better party. A more exciting and rarer opportunity.

Or it was the addiction. Mind erased. Passed out. Incarcerated. Putting the high before everything else.

It could’ve been a more charming smile. A more exciting suitor. A few less chains and a few less burdens to deal with. Their demons still a mystery. Their mystery still a marvel.

“I’ll make it up to you” is the inverse of “I’m sorry.” Where “I’m sorry” is the retroactive expression when someone changes their mind now about something they agreed to earlier, “I’ll make it up to you” is the predictive expression used when someone thinks they will change their mind later regarding something they said “I’m sorry” about today.

Hint hint: They won’t. They didn’t want to do it today and they won’t change their mind on the imaginary day they promised to “make it up to you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” then an “I’m sorry” again is misery. It’s a cycle of trust and betrayal. Trust and betrayal. Even when we know, time after time, we still want to believe. They wouldn’t say it if they didn’t mean it. But it’s an empty promise.

The “I’m sorry” and “I’ll make it up to you” isn’t for you. It is to make them feel better about their own discomfort by comforting you. Then they can feel at peace with the hurt they cause.

“I’ll make it up to you” hurts the worst because “I’ll make it up to you” inspires hope.

That’s the bitch – hope.

Hope is not based in reality. Hope goes against reality. But hope keeps me going.

I don’t want my realities, so I hope.

Once she gets sober and healthy we will be happy.
Once she figures out he only hurts her she’ll see I’m worth it. I’ll keep her safe. And we will be happy.
Once she sees how much I love her she will love me back. And we will be happy.
Once we get through this fight, once we get these last venomous words out, we will be better. We won’t hurt each other anymore. And we will be happy.

I’ve prayed for such simple luxuries. I’ve watched others take them for granted; abuse their gift of happiness.

I know there’s always a choice. I lay awake and wonder, will I still be the choice she makes tomorrow? Or will something else be more important? Is our love strong enough to make her stay? Or will the thrill of something new steal her? The high of something new.

Always the goddamned high.

I wish I could be so powerful. To make her hands tremble and her knees weak. Butterflies every time I look her way. It always starts that way. It’s always passionate. Is it real passion or just a fiery need in each of us to feel love right now?

I read somewhere that “the spark” between two people is the immediate recognition of one’s dysfunction in the other.

The need to be desired. Oh, the sex between the two of us who need to feel desired. Intense. Violent. I fucking love you. I fucking love you more. Just tell me one more time. Just shove me against the door. Just choke me a little harder. Hurt me, baby. Make it hurt. Strangers in the morning. No why’s for our love. Just love for love. It’s just so fucking good to be loved.

The need to be desired and the need to control. I fucking love you. I fucking love you more. I can’t give you all of my love anymore. Not yet. I don’t have everything I need just yet. What is it? What can I do for you? I need your love. It’s like chasing a dangling carrot.

“I’ll make it up to you” is the language of manipulators. To keep you around. To keep you hopeful. Manipulators thrive on hope. Then more “I’m sorry’s.” More “I’ll make it up to you’s.”

Hope. Hurt. Repeat.

All there is to do is build up the walls real, real tall. To keep her at arm’s length. Then it doesn’t hurt. If you don’t hope you can’t hurt. Abandon all hope. We are all sacks of flesh meandering amongst each other. We piss, shit, eat, and fuck. And we do so indiscriminately.

And then it doesn’t hurt as much. It almost doesn’t hurt at all. I speak to each body until one of them comes home and then leaves. Then I can do it again. And again. Look Ma, no more tears.

Then one stands out. One who’s dysfunction sees itself in me. And she has a face. And she smiles. And her eyes sparkle. This fucking bitch.

I have to have her. I won’t quit until she is mine. We push and pull, touching each other once and then drawing back from the sparks our fingers emit. Afraid of the electricity and what it means. And hope returns. We know with hope comes the hurt. We’ve been burned before.

So I close my eyes and pull her close and press my lips against hers. Lightening cracks and a single bolt sends heat through our connected bodies. Maybe she will be mine, I hope.

I hope. And I brace my weary soul for more of, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

If you enjoy my musings on life and relationships make sure you check out my novel, Hang-Ups and Hangovers. Buy now.

About the Author Kyle Milligan

I'm Kyle Milligan, I write New Adult Books that don't suck. i.e. The Hang-Ups and Hangovers series. I like to write about the challenges of being a single twenty-something in today's hookup culture. My blog offers Dating Advice For Men.

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