BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

41

Sunday 06/10/1995

"Why?" 

"Yes, why didn't you tell us?" Under Tracey's and Daphne's heavy gazes I close the door behind me, through which I had slipped a moment ago.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now," I admit, overwhelmed and very caught off guard. 

"Yeah well, we're not actually." 

"I see," I mutter, still completely unhinged, my voice brittle, my eyes watery. Watery eyes currently are the biggest understatement of the millennium. I'm completely distraught, tears won't stop running down my cheeks, pouring out of my eyes, which by now must be very swollen and very very red. Needless to say that this is the worst, most inconvenient moment they could have chosen to demand any kind of explanation from me. But by the look of it, they won't yield.

"What happened to you?" Tracey looks so worried, Daphne too, it's these looks they give me only when they truly are deeply worried. And I hate it, I can't bear to tell them anything now, whether it be a lie or perhaps even the truth. Of course they are worried, who wouldn't be if they where in their places. If they had to stand by and watch as their friend looses her mind. Who wouldn't want to help?

If only they could do something to help. It's only going to get worse for them if I tell them. They're going to get sucked into the drama.

"It's nothing," I mumble into my palms, which now are pressed up against my face as an act of helplessness. That was about the most counter-productive thing to say. I can see it coming, only truth could help me out of this situation. But I refuse to divulge any, no, I won't tell them the truth, not today, not ever. For the sake of their peace. 

"Are you kidding? It's nothing? We may not have said something until now, but Y/n, it's been going on for weeks. There's something seriously messed up." It's nothing new to me, I was aware they noticed, just not realising how closely they were paying attention. "We know how tough things have been for you without Astoria, still, but something tells me this goes beyond your heartache. What are you dealing with here that makes you feel so awful Y/n?" 

"We are trying to help you, whatever it is."

Their words don't particularly help me with getting a grip of my emotions and tears, their looks even less so. They're warm, soft, genuinely caring.

"I don't know what to tell you," I sob, starting with a bare truth. 

It really is the truth. I wouldn't know where to start, and I haven't thought of convincing lies yet. Their urging almost makes me want to take telling them the truth into consideration. Because it would be so much easier right now. But only in the first few moments of telling them. After that things would only be getting more and more complicated. There's already too many people involved. 

"The truth," Daphne sighs, holding out her hand to me, "we don't have to stand around here for this, let's make ourselves comfortable, you should calm down and then you can explain to us what's on your mind, alright? How's that?" 

I nod, since I don't have a choice other than to agree. I couldn't deny them the talk that they want. They need clarification. I'll see what I can give them.

The "it's honestly nothing new or special" that I keep trying to force out as we walk over to our beds gets stuck in my throat ruthlessly. Thus silence remains, but it's far from comfortable. It too is expectant, unpleasantly loud, laced with the questions they threw at me moments ago. I need to come up with something, or, maybe that won't be necessary after all.

"It's Astoria," I sob, finally reaching my bed, collapsing into the pillows, "I can't get her out of my head. Every time I see her, I can't shake the feeling that not everything's been said. As if I needed to tell her something very important, maybe that I love her, still, and that I want her back. As if it would change anything. She probably knows it herself. She doesn't care." 

Tired, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands to finally get rid of my tears. Yet I feel even more like crying than I did before. What I said was by no means a lie. I do feel miserable because of Astoria, so miserable that my heart physically hurts whenever I think of her. Such that I'd like to carve it out myself, simply to flee the agony. The agony, the terror, that haunt me since the day she left me. 

Still it wasn't the right answer, not entirely. "I know that you want to help me," I begin, allowing my thoughts to speak for once, "and appreciate that, more than you know, really. But you have to understand that you can't do that, not with this. You can't help me with Astoria. As much as I'd wish you could. I have to get over her, I have to do it, not you, not anyone, I." 

 To avoid facing them, I bury my face into a pillow. Pathetic and cowardly. I know. They both stay quiet, as if they wanted to give me more room to speak my mind. I'm sure that's exactly what it is that they want. They want to know everything. They know there's more. "I'm just scared," I whisper, lifting my face from the pillow, "so scared that I might not make it. That I might never be able to move on. So much time has passed, you know? While everyone else, she included, was out there having fun, being alive, I was inside, wretched. I can't even breathe right, my heart is beating out of tune. Five months, I've been dead now for five months."

"You are not dead sweetie," Daphne shakes her bright blonde head vigorously, "you mustn't ever give up, you can do this." 

I can hear in her voice that she knows as well as I do that it's much easier said than done. Fear is woven into her voice too, helplessness, desperation. I know how hard she tried to hide it. But it's there. Unmistakable, undeniable. The question of what is wrong with me. The concern about why things aren't working out for me. The doubts that keep growing in our heads.

All three of us lie still and quiet, as if asleep. But no, we're wide awake, occupied with a thousand queries, a thousand thoughts to ponder. The answers are not yet forthcoming. 

There they are, lied to, left thinking they would know everything. And there am I, who more than anything wishes I could of told them the truth, the whole truth, not just parts of it.

I wish I wasn't a liar.

. . .