Wounds made me doubtful. I noticed a pattern in the lies and my ears became more sensitive to the elusive halftone pitch change they brought along for warm company. The harsh realisation what I considered sacred would be botched for profit made me sick, it stuck a needle in my brain that gave it no rest and I could not believe anything from then on. The words "I love you" rung empty in my ears and I observed the happiness of others as a mirage, encouraging it as I thought it's the better part of the whole fiasco.
I got stuck. The desire to move forward and the push back of my doubts rooted me deeply in a place too similar to hell to be bearable. "I love you" bore no urge for reciprocation in me, but it caused ogling. I could not allow myself the pleasure or the hope, I didn't have the five cents to buy the promise anymore. We spun around for months and I pretended to reciprocate- playing true while plagued with jealousy and fear and it made me utterly tired and miserable. I could not recognize myself in my actions, it felt as if I was slowing evaporating, losing colour and depth. A risk was necessary. A lighting had to come down and split the ground in half, reveal the demons and consume them. I was out of better ideas. I needed to create my own deus ex machina.
I decided to be horrible on the spur of a drunken moment. I channeled our greatest fear we both shared and depended on the luck of the draw. I approached the nearest fake happiness I could find- another stupid drunken soul I was familiar with, wasting away under the pressure of disappointment.
- I know your unhappy. - great opening on my part. - Your friends over there believe you're just having a blast, but I've seen you dragging around secretly miserable all year, I'm sick of it. You're wasting your time this is not what you need and you know it. You are wonderful, bright, a good friend, you deserve to allow yourself happiness.
I said many things passionately, many of them actually meant for me and I sealed my monologue with a kiss. So stupid. A kiss never healed anybody, a kiss can only bring about disease-literally and metaphorically. Like I occasionally do with my mistakes, I decided I could ignore this and throw it in the bin with the rest and recycle. I only missed one detail- in a twist of fate we were seen by the only person who should have never seen us. It was a meaningless bold inebriated move and I felt it was unjust to be punished for it, though on any sober moment I would be on the other side.
Peculiar enough, if you are discovered as guilty of a crime, you can be overcome by anger, and so did I and I ran off in the small hours of the night, my partners screams following me closely. He wasn't far behind. I couldn't deal with his disappointment, I had nothing to ease his pain and to satisfy his questions- for the first time I did something stupid and that was the whole story I had to tell. Nothing more and nothing less, it was the absolute product of my dissatisfied self who passed it's boiling point. He caught me again in that moment and the banalities followed timely "I knew it, I knew it! I was always worried about you two!" Yes, yes, it's the fear in its rawest form, isn't it a monster? "Leave me alone, I cannot explain anything, I feel nothing for him." It's sometimes disconcerting how similar dramas are spread out between people, space and time, you always know exactly what's going to happen, because you've seen it so many times. A part of me felt like the I was driving the commute.
I ran off again, and though he was a much better runner, I somehow won the race to the cab. I slammed the door and disappeared in the dark night, leaving both of us alone, drunk, and angry. I arrived home for a reasonable fare, I took the elevator up and rushed to my room belligerent, I slammed myself on my bed and tried to shun my fears from overcoming me again. I also knew he would come to me soon and I stood breathless in anticipation. So he did, he did come and he was shattered. I had long ago stopped trusting happiness- it is something people fake too well, and though I had learned to see through it, I knew it had man shades and shaped and levels. However, suffering was something I could never misjudge, and his was true and deep, he was shattered. We just lied there for hours, he- exhausted, I- simply waiting to react to a development. I managed to strike up the conversation again at dawn, I couldn't wait any longer for the initiation to come from elsewhere. I started this and I needed to take matter back into my hands and try to heal what was broken. I felt strong in that moment, I felt like I was the storyteller writing the end and it was quite surely going to be what I decide it.
- Do you still want me? Make a decision, but be sure it will make you happy, even if it is that I leave immediately.
- I don't want you to leave...but I keep seeing your lips touch his...
After all my sacrifices for him, all my self-inflicted torture through fear and doubt, I knew, I recognized his sacrifice and pain, and weighed in what the softness of his voice carried. My love was reborn from ashes. My doubt fell off like the old skin of the snake and I came out bigger, stronger and brighter at the other end. The luck of the draw.
