rubberband || ryeji short story

rubberband

"It's my fault, I know," I whispered to myself as I continued to aimlessly wander around. In all honesty, I'm not sure where I'm headed. I didn't come here with a planned destination in mind.

At this point, I've been walking for so long that my feet are starting to hurt. My heels are aching, almost like prickling little spikes digging into my skin every time I take a step, and now that I think about it, I don't even remember where I parked my car. It could be five miles from here for all I know. That's troublesome. Perhaps I should sit and think for a sec— Actually, no. I've been thinking nonstop since before I stepped foot out of my car. My mind has been flooded with memories of our time together on a loop.

For a moment, the rubberband on my wrist had my full attention, allowing me to recall the number of times I've tugged on it.

How many times? Well, there's a simple answer to that, just not a specific one, I suppose.

I pulled on it every time I thought about her. I'm surprised that it hasn't snapped, though my skin has certainly paid the price. The physical pain does nothing anyway. It doesn't work, neglects to distract me long enough. The thought of her name, her touch, her voice, and everything pertaining to her remains triumphant, might I say overwhelming, too.

She slips my mind for a second at most. I guess that explains the abnormally big bruise on my wrist now, not to mention how red the area is. What should I have expected? The rubber has slapped the same spot each time, and even if it stung more and more as I continued, it couldn't relate to how uneasy I feel. My regret was on a different tier, one the physical pain could only dream of comparing to.

"You wanted a commitment. Why couldn't I give that to you?"

I frustratingly kicked a small rock that I passed by down the boardwalk, hearing it clank against what I assume to be a metal pole or something similar judging by the sound. Here I go again as if I hadn't mulled over these thoughts numerous times, mentally wrestling with them endlessly. It doesn't matter what time of day it is. Morning, afternoon, evening, or night, she's always crossing my mind.

Maybe it's because I have too much free time. I should find some new hobbies, but that itself is difficult, and I can't rely on old ones either. If I play piano, write a song, or have a karaoke night of some sort, I'll be reminded of her. If I try to dance my heart out to decompress, I'll only be reminded of her. If I go anywhere in the city, I'll still be reminded of her. Even if I stay at home and pick up something new, she's lingering in the back of my mind. It's too silent there, and I'm afraid that music, in general, will solely be a trigger.

She's a constant thought, and while I wouldn't say I'm complaining, I will admit that it tugs at my heartstrings. Not that she screwed up, because that was me. She did everything right. I messed up. I made my choice.

"Did I do it to protect you and your career? To avoid nearly everyone bashing us?" I close my eyes for a brief moment and let out a deep sigh. "To be criticized would be unfair considering feelings toward who you love is practically impossible to control. Why does it matter what gender?"

She was so empathetic— unless she feigned understanding of my point of view, but that's doubtful. Her smile that night spoke for itself. I could tell it was a combination of sadness due to rejection and respect for my choice, despite her disagreeing with it herself.

Still, did she notice I regretted my decision the instant I witnessed her heartache? The second I said no? She looked crushed, and I didn't know how to take it back. In a matter of seconds, I wished I could reverse time and say yes instead, to avoid breaking her heart.

"Or was I just scared? Was I not ready because of our line of work? Was I the only one afraid of getting hate?"

I raised my hand to my face, tucking the strands of hair the wind knocked loose from behind my ear, wincing at the pain my swollen wrist got when it bent. The breeze is strong today. If it weren't for me bundling up, this chill would be tormenting. Then again, it is winter—