"That doesn't matter!" She protested. "As long as two people love each other…"
"Anita." I interrupted gently. "I don't love you that way."
She stared at me for a second, the wounded expression on her face striking directly at my heart. God, how I hated doing this. "But you do." She told me. "You do love me."
"No." I said, shaking my head. "I don't. And I don't think you love me that way either."
"How can you say that?" She asked, raising her voice for the first time. Her eyes were now beginning to leak a little moisture down her cheeks. "After all we've done together, after all we've shared? How can you say that?"
"I'm sorry Anita." I told her. "I'm sorry for what I'm telling you now and I'm sorry that I ever initiated our relationship in the first place. I shouldn't have done that."
"Yes!" She yelled. "You should have! What we have together is beautiful! You're not going to let a little age difference keep us apart are you? Billy, we're meant for each other!"
"No." I said firmly, raising my voice a little. "That's just it. We're NOT meant for each other. I'm a kid in high school Anita. I should be dating girls my own age. You should be dating men your own age. While I've been having a relationship with you, you haven't been dating anyone or gone out anywhere. I'm screwing up your life Anita. And it has to stop. Both of us need to move on."
"You're not screwing up my life!" She protested. "Is that what you're worried about? You've improved my life. I used be so lonely Bill and then I found you. You're everything I want. Just because you're younger than me…"
"Anita," I interrupted. "I AM screwing up your life. I never intended for what we had to be a permanent relationship. I was stupid and thought that there were no consequences to what you and I were doing. I figured, hey, here's a cool older woman for me to screw and she's willing to do it again and again. But there are consequences Anita, there are. More than I imagined, more than you can imagine. We have to move on now, get back on track, don't you see that?"
"No." She told me. "You ARE the track that I want to be on. I DO want a permanent relationship with you."
I sighed, not relishing what I had to say next. "But I don't want a permanent relationship with you." I said.
More tears came down. "How can you say that?" She repeated.
"Because it's true." I said. "I don't love you. I'm sorry to have to say that and I know I'm an asshole. I entered into this thing without considering there might be emotional involvement. If I would have known that I never would have started anything. I'm ashamed of myself, deeply ashamed that I took advantage of your loneliness, ashamed that I didn't see this sooner. I'm an asshole Anita and I admit that freely. I'm trying to get better, trying not to be an asshole anymore. I don't like being an asshole. But before I can do that I have to be even more of an asshole and put an end to our relationship. Now, today."
She stood up and began to pace nervously, continuing to wring her hands. She chewed on her lip for a moment. "So you're saying that you want to see other people?" She asked. "To date others for a while to help strengthen the relationship?"
"No Anita." I said. "That is not what I'm saying. I have been dating other people the entire time we've been seeing each other. There is nothing in this relationship to strengthen. I started it only for sex, don't you see that? And sex was all I ever wanted. I'm sorry. My behavior was horrid, worse than horrid. I had no right to do any of that, but unfortunately I did. I'm trying to change now and I can no longer continue to take advantage of you. We have to stop."
"I don't want to stop." She told me quietly, stopping her pacing and turning towards me.
"We have to Anita." I said.
"Maybe I don't mind being taken advantage of." She said, desperation in her voice. "Did you ever consider that? Maybe I want you to continue to take advantage of me if that's what you were doing. I can live with that Billy."
"No." I said firmly, wondering how, in my supposed maturity, I'd managed to miss how deeply she'd felt about me all this time. God I was an idiot. "That won't work. I couldn't live with that. I couldn't keep doing that to you. Despite the way I've acted, I have a conscience. My conscience will not allow me to do that."
She let loose a sob. "Billy, we can't just stop!"
"We have to." I insisted.
She began crying freely now, her chest hitching up and down, tears coursing down, sobs pouring out of her mouth. I stood and put my arms around her, letting her put her head to my chest and cry on my shoulder.
"I'm sorry Anita." I whispered to her. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
Her tears slowed down a little and suddenly her hand was around mine. Before I knew what was happening she'd pulled it under her shirt and placed it on her bare breast, allowing me to feel the familiar flesh. I tried to pull it out but she held it firmly with her hand.
"Anita." I said sharply, "Let me go."
"Just one more time Billy?" She pleaded, her free hand sliding down and tugging at the buttons on my jeans. "Just one more time?"
Again my teenaged body had ideas of its own. My teenaged body thought that one more time was a fine idea. Despite all that had just happened and had just been said, my dick stiffened up at the thought. My adult mind was appalled by this.
"No!" I yelled, slapping her hand away from my crotch a little sharper than I'd intended. I jerked my other hand free of her tit and stepped away from her.
The look in her eyes would haunt me. It was anger, hurt, and desperation. "Please?" She pleaded.
"I have to go Anita." I told her. "I'm sorry for everything."
I opened her bedroom door and headed for the living room. As I left she called my name again. I looked back at her.
"I'll be here for you when you want to come back." She said. "I'll always be here for you."
I swallowed nervously. "Goodbye Anita." I finally said. "And I'm sorry."
She remained in her bedroom as I made my way out of her house. The children gave me worried looks as I left. As I closed the door behind me I could hear the sound of her sobs coming from the bedroom.
I only picked at my dinner that night, scraping much of it down the garbage disposal when I did the dishes. My mother expressed concern but I explained my loss of appetite away by proclaiming I felt like I was coming down with something. She felt my forehead, in the way of mothers, and told me she hoped I felt better soon.
"Me too." I said sincerely.
After the last dish was done I went upstairs to my room. I opened my closet and removed a copy of the World Almanac, that great repository of usually useless but occasionally helpful factoids. I paged through the index until I found the page for the section I wanted. I turned to the page.
UNITED STATES AREA CODES read the heading. They were arranged alphabetically by state. I flipped to California and scanned down the column until I saw Berkeley. 415 was the code. I memorized this information, carefully put the book away, and then headed downstairs.
Mom and Dad were both watching television, or at least sitting in front of it. Dad was correcting some papers for his classes at school. Mom was working on some paperwork for her job. I figured they were well occupied so I headed for Dad's den. I called information for the 415 area code and asked for the phone number for the UC Berkeley bookstore. This was the first time I'd called information after being recycled and it startled me a little when the operator actually read off the number to me instead of having a computer do it.
"Did you get that Sir?" She asked.
"Uh, yes." I said, "Thank you very much."
"Your welcome." She said cheerily. "Is there anything else I can help you with."
"No thank you."
She hung up and I dialed the number she'd given me. A man with a decidedly feminine voice and trouble pronouncing the letter S answered the phone. Ah, California.