I faked an injury so he would talk to me

I got messed around by men pretty badly when I was in my early twenties, and the repercussions of this were that for most of my late twenties I, myself, was not very nice to the men I used to meet through friends, at parties, pubs. I found myself being hostile in order to keep men at arm’s length, and it was only after several years of therapy that I realised this was what I was doing. And it seemed as though I’d already pushed away the man of my dreams.

Vincent was an amazing human being. He was kind, funny, intelligent – a little arrogant perhaps – and I was so scared by my feelings for him when I met him through friends that I chose to focus on his arrogance, and declared that I despised him. It sounds like a Jane Austen novel, I know, but it’s true! It wasn’t long before my friends, my family, everyone who would listen, knew how I felt about arrogant Vincent – not my real feelings, of course, but the ones I was using to deflect them.

Unfortunately, Vincent knew too. He’d been so friendly when we first met, but after a few months of my coldness, he stayed well away and it was then that I realised how I truly felt. But too late – it wasn’t pride; I was far too cowardly to own up to my problems and tell him how I felt. So I let it go, and hoped I’d meet someone even half as great as I knew Vincent to really be. But inside, I was pining; desperate for a second chance to make things right. But I never even saw him anymore and my friends, tired of how I treated him, gave me no opportunities to repeat my disgraceful behaviour.

Eventually, about twelve months passed. I hadn’t seen Vincent in all this time, and I supposed I’d moved on, although I wasn’t seeing anyone else. On a shopping excursion to the city, I entered a bookshop, and low and behold, to my astonishment, a few aisles over spied Vincent! All the old, warm feelings that I had tried so desperately to suppress bubbled to the surface, and I knew I had to act – but how? It didn’t seem likely that he would even give me the time of day if I just ambled over to say hello, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. But if there was one thing I knew about Vincent, it was that he wouldn’t turn his back on someone in distress. Even if that someone was evil old me.

Creeping over to a step that was within a few feet of him, I suddenly let out a pretend yelp of pain and half fell to the floor. To anyone who had seen, it looked as though I had tripped on the step and twisted my ankle. As strangers came running from all directions, Vincent helped me off the floor and offered to drive me to the nearest emergency room. Suddenly feeling very foolish, and not sure what to do next, I muttered that I would be alright, but Vincent insisted.