the boys i've loved and the end of the world

an excerpt #4

it was there the second i stepped into the room. the tension. it soaked the air, so thick i could have sworn i would have been able to press my fingers into it had i tried. it didn't take long for me to figure out why-- although i did see it coming.

i knew he would be here.

i found it cruel, cruel of whoever, or whatever, was in charge of fate, to bring us together again. not here. this, of all places, was the most haunted. when our eyes met, i knew he was thinking the same thing.

it took all i had to walk towards him, and it felt like i was stepping on glass shards the entire time. with every inch, another memory blasted itself into my mind. i could see the ghosts of us, i could feel his touches, and even now, they made my heart stop. which, more than anything, was what made it so terrifying.

and then, i was standing in front of him. he looked the same; a little sadder, maybe, but i suppose i was wearing the same broken expression.

he spoke first, just like he always did. "hi."

the single syllable jarred me. i let his voice wash over me like melted gold-- it was always one of my favorite things about him. after a few seconds, i managed to reply. "hi. i didn't expect to see you here." a lie, of course, and he knew it.

but he chose to ignore it. "how have you been?"

"good," i told him, and it was the truth: i had been good, great, even, but being here, with him, was starting to pick away at my progress. i could feel it decaying, and it had only been a few minutes. "what about you?"

"better, i've been better," he answered, and then he gestured to the seat next to him. "would you like to sit?"

no. but i did, and the fight within me died quickly as i registered just how close we were. closer than we had been in months. almost as close as we had been before. my heart pounded.

he could tell i was a disaster; i had always been bad at hiding my emotions. but i knew him, almost better than i knew myself, and i could see him cracking. every glance i cast towards him sent another fragment falling to the ground. he was already in pieces-- my handiwork, of course.

finally, he cut through the fragile silence. "i just, um... i guess i wasn't as prepared for, for... this," he said, slowly, as if he were handpicking every individual letter.

"yeah," i agreed, as carefully as him, "it's... it's a lot harder, than i, i thought it would be."

"does that mean that--" he stopped himself. i wanted to press him, tell him to finish it, but when i looked at him, his eyes finished it for me.

the hope.

does that mean that you still love me? he was asking. does that mean we still have a chance?

"no." the word tasted like acid on my tongue, and i almost choked it out, "it just means it still hurts."

"i'm sorry," he whispered, and i hated it. hated to see him like this, so quiet and cracked. hated to see us like this, the exact opposite of what we were. we became what we promised we never would: strangers.

"i know you are. and i-- i'm trying to forgive you, i am. but it's hard. and this, this is hard." the truth. it always seemed to come out so easily around him. i never understood it. "i want us to be able to be friends," i confessed, "like we were before. because i was your friend first. and i loved that." almost as much as i loved you, i finished in my head.

he ran a hand through his hair. "i don't-- i don't know. i don't think i'm okay yet. everything hurts still, you know? and there are days where i'm fine but then something reminds me of you or you show up in a dream and everything just hits me like a brick, that i had you, and now i don't, and i caused it--" he was rambling, and he knew it, but it didn't stop him, "i mean, even this, this is killing me right now," his voice shook, "and i don't know when i'm going to be able to look at you and--and not love you."

i said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. i knew all of this. he'd told me a thousand times; begged for me to come back, and each time, i said no. i had to. for myself, and for him. we were breaking each other.

"i just wish... i just wish i could do it all over again." his hand grazed mine, and i flinched. across the room, the ghosts of us sat together, fingers intertwined, heads huddled close together in a tender conversation. they had no idea of what was to come. i remembered how sweet it all was, and the taste seemed to wash over my mouth like syrup.

he touched my hand again, and i jolted away from the past. it was over, and i couldn't do anything to change it.

but i could do something now.

his fingers brushed against mine, and i faced a dilemma.

i could push him off, and walk away. close this door for good. i couldn't let it stay as it was; left slightly ajar, inviting him inside, but never completely. he always had to push a little. but i could also take the jump. i could reach out and take his hand, and we could try again. i could see it in front of me. i knew we loved each other. and sitting in the place where it all began, remembering how gentle and soft it had been, i wanted to believe that we could resurrect it. that we could learn from our mistakes, and we could make it.

but i also remembered what tore us apart. his arrogance, and my paranoia. his selfishness, and my tendency to go the self-preservation route. his secrets, and my hypocrisy. the lack of communication, and the distance. of course, always the distance.

i looked down at his hand, and up into his eyes.

"take it," he pleaded, his blue eyes glistening, "please. we can do it."

and i did. i let my fingers intertwine with his and for a second a warmth washed over me. i looked around, and i saw the ghosts around us. us, kissing in the corner. us, cuddled on a bench. us, happy, unbroken. and for a moment, i couldn't differentiate between my memories and the present.

which was the problem.

i pulled my hand back, ignoring the cold, sick feeling puddling in my chest. he looked shattered. "why?"

"because," i said, "because when we're here, we're haunted by what we were. all we see in this place is the beginning of us, the part of us that wasn't torn or broken or poisoned. and we can't go back to that. we just-- can't. you've hurt me too many times. lied to me, made me cry. and i've hurt you, made empty promises and then walked them back, left you behind while i moved on. we can't get this," and i gestured to our past, "back. it's impossible. we're broken. and we need to, we need to be with people who can fix us. and that isn't what we are for each other. that's just... that's just the way it is." i stood. "i'm sorry, i am. but we can't keep falling into this trap. you're not moving on because you keep thinking there's a chance for us. but there isn't. and i hope that, that hearing it from me, helps you break away from this, whatever it is."

"but, i love you," he murmured, looking down at his hands. they were speckled with tears. "isn't that enough?"

"no. not anymore." i felt tears gathering in my eyes. it hurt to say it. it hurt so, so much. but i had to. "i'm so sorry. but you'll be okay. i know you'll be okay. i have to do this. it's the only way."

"only way for you," he snapped, and although it was soft, it was laced with anger.

"no. it's the only way for you." i turned. "you may not see it right now, but one day, you'll thank me for this. i couldn't let myself keep breaking you." and then i was gone, walking swiftly out the door.

as i left, the ghosts of us swirled around me, and i took one last look over my shoulder. he had left. in his place, was the apparitions of two broken lovers; he reaches for her hand, and she walks away with the shattered determination of someone who was fighting not to turn around.

"thank you," i breathed, to nobody but the air.

"thank you for showing me how to save myself."

-c.h.

~

almost done with this sample of the collection!