Sorry, part two: Third time lucky?

Links to the rest of this story: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven My third "encounter" with Sorry began over a year later. My friend had been teasing me about him, telling me that he'd been to visit her, how good he was looking those days... Of course, I took the bait, as she knew I would, and called him to see how he was. "Well, er, actually I'm moving out," he told me. "I've got a place across town, so I'll be leaving today." Across town? It might as well have been miles away for me, being sixteen with no transport except the city bus routes (which at the best of times were unreliable!). My first thought was that I'd lost him. He'd grown up, flown the nest. I was still living at home with my overprotective parents; still studying at school. But after a few weeks, he called me back, asked if I wanted to meet up for old times' sake. Just the two of us. We walked and talked until it began to go dark, then we sat together on an old wooden bench by the edge of the woods, watching the mists draw in mysteriously and listening to the owls. I remember how romantic it seemed there, huddled together against the chill; those soft kisses on my neck which sent shivers down my spine; our mouths meeting each other hungrily... It should have been lucky for us, that third time, happier than ever before. But, damn my teenage years! Being the eldest child, my parents felt the need to experiment with discipline, ordering me home so early under the threat of dire consequence. No way was I allowed to stay out overnight, or to visit Sorry's new home across town. I don't blame them for that, after all, they thought they were trying to protect me. Still, it came between us through sheer frustration at having barely any time alone. I curse that fateful day we split up that final time. At the time, I had a babysitting job, my only means of earning extra cash at the time, and I'd had to cancel our date that night. I called Sorry to explain but he was understandably upset, as I was equally frustrated. Though I can't remember how exactly the argument had started, I can remember how it ended: "So, you're telling me that if we don' have sex, the relationship is over?" I'd asked. He ummed and erred but I got the drift of what he meant. Three months of lusting and longing and we still hadn't hit the mark. And out of sheer frustration, I ended it for him, and hung up the phone. I waited for him to call me back, but he didn't. I thought he didn't care, but I was wrong. The trouble was, I didn't find that out until years later. It took a few days to get the stubbornness out of my system before I called him again to apologise. His housemate answered the phone, told me Sorry wasn't there. "He's out with his new girlfriend," explained Jack (again, not his real name!). Sorry's new girlfriend turned out to be one of my school friends. "Two can play that game," I thought. So in revenge, I asked Jack to meet me for coffee. From then on, my world became very dark...