Number Three - The Final Chapter

After our night of interrupted debauchery, things weren't quite the same between Number Three and me.  However, the relationship continued for some months after.  We talked on the phone now and again, and I even came to visit her on Valentine's Day.  Not really knowing what was a proper gift, I bought her some sort of stuffed animal, which seemed satisfactory with her.  She made me a mixtape.  (you see kids, there used to be things called cassette tapes...if this actually needs further explanation, you're waaay too young to be reading my blog)  About half of the songs on the mixtape were about breakups.  Although I was assured that this was unintentional, it ended up being kind of prophetic.
After Valentine's Day, we didn't talk for a while.  I became a little disgruntled.  Not only doubt the reality that I had a girlfriend, now she'd decided not to talk to me for some reason.  So, I decided to roll with things and go about my business.  Then, after some time, I found Number Three's cherished Star Trek watch behind my couch/fold-out bed one night.  Apparently, it had been lost at some point in our hormonal frenzy of New Year's Eve.  At first, I wasn't quite sure what to do with it, since we weren't talking, but then I did the right thing and brought it over to her.  I don't remember staying for very long.  We talked briefly, and made out a little before I left, and that was about it.  There was definitely still some attraction there, but I wasn't sure about anything else.
A few weeks later, Number Three called me.  She told me that she didn't want to see me anymore.  Being a dope, and not recognizing the signs at the time, I was somewhat shocked at this development.  I managed to keep my cool, and accepted it as best I could.  After a few moments of talk, she made some sort of sighing sounds.
"It's okay, don't cry."  I said, still trying to hang onto the supportive boyfriend role.
"I'm not crying, I'm relieved."  She said.  We exchanged a few more meaningless words, and then she hung up.  I never saw or heard from her again.
I'm still not entirely sure what she meant, but it was probably the most brutal ways to end it.  It was bad enough that I was dumped over the phone, but you just don't tell someone you're relieved that it's over!  I would never do that to anyone.  Unless they were mentally unstable, and I was calling the correctional facility to tell them I was relieved they were getting the help they needed, but I digress.
Since this was the longest relationship I'd been in (grand total, roughly 6 months), this was pretty devastating to me.  I had a brief period where I was inconsolable, and constantly thinking I saw Number Three in crowds and passing cars and such.  It's kind of stupid behaviour to still want to be in love with someone who hurt you so much, but I'm sure I'm not alone in this type of thinking.  It took a while, but I moved on, although I haven't been with anyone else since.  Sometimes I wonder what happened to Number Three.  I wonder what might happen if I saw her again.  Would I still be angry, or would I end up falling for her all over again, and tear off my clothes in a fit of passion and...actually, never mind.  She looked okay, but I'm sure I can do better.
There is one surviving picture of myself and Number Three.  I had forgotten all about it until going through some old photo albums recently. (you see kids, there used to be these things called film cameras...)  I'm still not sure why I never threw it out.  I suppose it serves two purposes:  it's the only physical proof that I once had a girlfriend, and it also serves as a reminder of the things that can go wrong.  I make a point not to look at it often, but when I do, that shudder I get looking at Number Three keeps me in check, and motivates me to do better next time, whenever that is...