When In Argentina

Chapter One

How do you expect me to live alone with just me,

'Cause my world revolves around you

It's so hard for me to breathe

Jordin Sparks feat. Chris Brown “No Air”

November 2008

"You...You're breaking up with me?"

I stared at my boyfriend - my loving, supportive and caring boyfriend - of almost two years in absolute surprise. My eyes were wide with disbelief, and I felt a layer of moisture building up in front of my eyes. This was too surreal, I thought as his words registered in my brain.

"Dal, I think it's for the best."

FOR THE BEST?!

I blinked, still feeling completely paralyzed in front of him, both arms pinned by my sides. His eyes were serious, the golden color soft and innocent, as he watched me, and I felt my insides melt at the intensity of his stare.

My throat felt dry, and my voice seemed to have been stolen from me at that moment. I had too many things to say, too many things to ask, but unfortunately I couldn't encourage myself to say those words or ask those questions, thinking...no, knowing, I would not like the answers. My eyes still locked with David's, I wondered if this was all a joke. It had to be a joke. This could not have been reality. A week ago, I had a wonderful boyfriend who hugged me whenever I was in close proximity to him, or always gave my feet gentle and soothing massages when we were lying on my couch watching TV. A boyfriend who I had described as perfect to all my friends and family; a guy who, I thought, could do no wrong. The guy, I naively thought, who could be the one.

"Please say something."

How could I say anything at that moment? How could I even conjure a single thought right after he dropped such an unexpected bomb? Those few little words had in a blink of seconds altered my world completely. When your boyfriend of almost two years - two years of wonderful bliss - walks up to you one day and out of the blue sprang at you that he thinks the twenty-two month relationship he had been in should be broken, it took you a moment to register everything. It took me more than one moment to take everything in - I still thought I was asleep and in a cruel, world-stopping nightmare.

I wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel if he was real. If my fingers brushed against his day-old stubble-covered jaw and felt the prickly jolts on my fingertips, I knew that this wasn't a nightmare. But I couldn't move. All I could do was think back to the day we first met.

Set up by mutual friends on a blind-date, the first time we set eyes on each other had been at a coffee shop close to the university we both attended at the time. I had been running late that day, thanks to a busy work day at the restaurant I worked at. I had sauntered into the coffee shop, eyes bright and out of breath - I had practically run from my work to the coffee shop - swiping sweat from my forehead. I had regretted agreeing to the day and time at that moment - I had just come off a long shift and desperately waned to take a cleansing shower before meeting a guy, but, for some inexplicable reason, when I agreed to the date, I hadn't commented on the hour, the fact that I had to work simply slipping away from me. The moment I stepped foot in the coffee shop, I immediately felt self-conscious; dressed in work attire - black pants and a white blouse with an emblem of the restaurant sowed to the left side of the shirt - my hair pulled up in a tight ponytail, my face void of any make-up - at work they encouraged make-up, but it wasn't necessary – I didn't look like I was ready for a date. I would've dressed casually, since the date was set up at a casual place, but at least I would've taken a shower, put on some light natural make-up. At least I would've smelled like some fruity aroma, and not like food.

The coffee shop had been rather quiet on that particular day. Usually, thanks to its relative vicinity to the university, the coffee place was packed with one too many college students, all who choose that particular coffee shop as their destination for caffeine. My eyes had swept around the place, my gaze hovering over faces as I tried to remember Patty’s description of the guy. David, I had thought as my gaze surveyed the coffee shop, his name is David. My friend Patty had described him as rather short - only a few inches taller than me - a bit pudgy - but then again Patty considered everyone over a certain weight pudgy - with fair hair and dark eyes.

As I had surveyed the room, I realized how vague Patty had been with her description of David. First of all, the little shop had at least four guys with the same description. I had not known where to start, and at that moment wondered if I should walk up to all those four guys, one by one, and politely ask if they were David. The closest possible David had sat just a few feet from where I stood, nonchalantly sipping from a cup of what I had presumed was coffee, with his head bent, reading from a thick book. The next possible David had been sitting on the other side of the shop, at a table right beside the large floor to ceiling windows, chatting animatedly with another guy. I had quickly dismissed him as a possible David - if this guy was David there was no way he would come to a blind date with a buddy in tow.

The third David-candidate had been standing in line at the counter, an impatient look on his face, as the customer in front of him took her time ordering. For some reason, I quickly dismissed candidate number three as a possible David.

Candidate number four had been sitting at a table for two at the far end of the shop, his chin propped by his right palm as he stared outside the window at the busy street.

At that moment, I had considered just standing in the center and gather the attention of everyone by introducing myself, and asking who there was named David and was supposed to meet me for coffee.

However, I had been spared from that moment when David candidate number four turned his attention from the window and locked eyes with me. We had held each others gazes momentarily – I remembered feeling a pleasant shudder run through me - before he stood up and walked up to me, a gentle smile on his face.

To this day, I vividly remembered the way he had strutted towards me, a shy demeanor in his walk. He had run a hand in his short hair, and stopped in front of me. A small smile appeared on his lips as he had looked up at me and asked in a smooth voice; "Are you Dahlia?"

And the rest was history.

Back in the present, back from my short reminisce, I finally found my voice, although it was slightly hoarse.

"Why?" I sputtered.

David sighed and closed his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair - a move that once again reminded me of the moment we first met - and plopped down on my couch - an old, brown couch I had bought from a yard sale my second year of university. I followed him with my eyes as he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands.

"I told you already, Dahlia."

I shook my head. "No, you told me the sugar-coated version, the clean version of the real, abashed reason for deciding that you wanted to end things."

David lifted his eyes to me, and his face was void of emotions.

"You owe me that much David. After almost two years together, you owe me the truth."

He seemed to be contemplating what to say, or maybe he was hesitating confessing the real reason behind the break-up. I waited patiently. It was all I could do to keep myself from breaking down in a wail of tears. David's eyes had strayed away from mine and focused on the plushy beige carpet beneath him. It was a nervous trait of David’s. Whenever he felt uncomfortable or nervous, his gaze would falter and he'd focus on anything but the person he was supposed to be talking to.

"I," he started but stopped, and I noted how his voice had wavered, a choked sound leaving his throat. "I don't know what to say, Dal." David fiddled with his fingers, another nervous trait, and continued, "I didn't mean for it to happen. It just…happened."

I frowned at his words, but encouraged him to continue by being completely silent.

"I met someone."

I felt a soft gasp leave my lips as soon as he had uttered those three words. He had met someone? Where? When? How? And then I felt my stomach drop. Had he been cheating on me with this someone?

That thought seemed to bring a new batch of tears to my eyes, but I fought them away. Though the thought of infidelity shot through my head the second David confessed to have met someone, I knew better than anyone that David was not the kind to cheat.

David must have sensed my change in demeanor, my stiffening posture the moment he had said he met someone and quickly stood up. "No, Dahlia, no," he added softly, "I did not cheat on you. I swear to you on my parents’ life-"

I shot him a serious look. "Don't swear on your parents’ life."

He sighed, but continued. "I swear, Dahlia, I did not cheat on you."

Walking towards me, he stopped a few feet away. "It just happened. I didn't want it to happen. But somehow, it did. Being with her day after day after day, I soon found myself falling for her."

Those words stung. I felt my heart contract, and had to take a deep breath to soothe the sudden pang that stabbed my heart. "It wasn't as if I planned to fall for her. It wasn't premeditated. For months I kept telling myself it was just an attraction; that I was in love with you, that I wanted you. But, Dal, I couldn't help myself."

For months? I kept repeating his words in my head. "For months I kept telling myself it was just an attraction."

Months. Plural.

"I tried to stay away from her, but working with her made it almost impossible. I told myself that my relationship with her was strictly platonic and work-related, but every time I was with her, I started thinking more about her than about you and that killed my conscience. For the last three months I tried to convince myself that the attraction I felt for her was a momentary thing, it would soon fade, that I was meant to be with you."

I walked over to the couch in a complete trance. Plopping down on it, I brought my knees to my chest and rested my hands leisurely on them.

"Then whenever I was with you, I found my mind straying, and I found myself thinking about her. I knew then that I couldn't keep doing this to myself. Or more importantly, to you."

Finally, I felt a tear escape my eyes and roll down my cheek. "Dal, what you and I had, it was great and I do not regret anything I've done with you but I can't ignore what I'm feeling for her. I'm doing the honorable thing of ending this now, instead of sticking it out with you, lying to myself, and then have our relationship suffer."

He plopped down next to me but with a considerate amount of space between us. "I can't avoid this Dahlia."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. All I could do at that moment was let his words sink in. "Dahlia, these past two years have been great, and I've come to consider you as one of my best friends."

I looked at him, and saw that he was fighting off all sorts of emotions from his face. "And I hope Dahlia, that we could still be civil towards each other, and that someday when we've both overcome this, you and I could even be friends again, because Dahlia, even though we might not be together anymore, I still want you as a friend. I've known you for two years and in those years I've come to know how pure and gentle and caring you are as a person. I would want someone like you as a friend."

David reached out slowly and his hand hovered over mine, but he didn't touch me. He retracted his hand and ran it through his hair.

I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him we could try and work it out. I wanted to yell at him for being so careless for doing this to me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to grab him and kiss him so hard that he'd forget all about this new girl. I wanted to do a lot of things that I knew I was incapable of doing.

But after his explanation, I knew that David didn't belong to me anymore. His heart had not belonged to me in a very long time anymore.

Wiping away the tears that now were falling freely from my eyes, I sniffed and turned to face him. "I think you should leave."

David hesitated but didn't look at me. Instead he focused on the wall in front of him. After a few seconds of silence, he stood up and walked out of my apartment, out of my life.

A/N:

I've been working on this story for months. Since last December to be exact. Countless rough drafts later, I've finally come up with a plot that pleases me. When in Argentina will be a summer project. As in I'll try to finish it before Fall rolls around. Keyword being try. Seeing as I'll be extremely busy come July, I don't think I'll finish it before September. We'll see.

Read & Review :)

Peace and Dulce de Leche ice cream!