Limits of Us

Part I

The hood of my jacket is no use to keeping me warm. The jacket itself barely makes any difference. New York has always been one stubborn son of a bitch when it comes to weathers. Despite that, its tall buildings and light still hasn't failed me. Even the mass of crowds that are waiting across the street still gives me the sense of companion it gave a few years ago. 

Oh, New York. How much I wish I could neglect my past, and stay here forever.

But truth is, in every corner of the street I could somehow still see dad's face. I also see Trevor's fingertips camouflaging on the pavements. Heck, I could feel mom's presence whenever I close my eyes at the intersection. I remember ballet; the silver lining of everything that has happened to me. I remember everything and that scares the shit out of me.

"You never told me you're coming home." The dreaded words finally fall out right from his mouth.

"Not that I owe you any kind of information, but home?" I let a chuckle escape from my mouth. Who in their right mind would consider hell as home. Why is he talking as if he didn't know the trauma I had to face in this godforsaken city? "This is far from home and you know it."

I have zero idea on why I want to hear his response so bad. I tell myself that it's because I'm prying for his outdated apology. I want him to cry and beg on his knees for my forgiveness. Regret everything he's ever done to me. Wish upon every falling start to undo the damage he's done to my life. However, we know that's just as much of a bullshit as what life has fed me all my life.

This time, all I want is someone to fight with. I can't yell on top of the empire state without looking ridiculous, cry on the bathroom floor (tried it), or sedate myself to forget the reason I came back here, can I?  "No, actually. I don't understand. Please kindly explain." He challenged me once again.

There we were, meeting for the first time in three years, ready to rip out each other's throat. Maybe this time, one of us is really going to lose. Although considering how I'm still choking on the aftertaste of the past, I have the bigger chance of doing so. 

I suddenly become way more alert with my surroundings. There's something nostalgic about yelling in the middle of the street, with his hazel eyes gazing sharp at mine. If I don't know any better, this looks exactly like our routine.. you know, where we destroy each other in the name of love.

"You, out of people should have known."

One second passes, then comes two, three, four, five.

Every tick of my watch passes in the absence of his answer. As predicted, he took the bait and unleashed every bit of anger he's been keeping since he encountered me a few minutes ago. I could feel my heartbeat in the back of my throat. Not in its normal rhythm, but calm enough to ruin him between my fingers. "Because I chose someone else? Because I loved someone who isn't you? Really? That's just selfish, Ally."

I cross my arms together, drawing myself even closer to him. "That's very humorous of you," I know the only reason he calls me by that nickname is in fact to add fuel to the raging fire growing inside of me. "I have always been thanking the lucky star that you never chose me." His pair of eyes are still as intense as it was a few years ago. The deadly, deadly hazel eyes.

"This place is the root of every single problem of my life. With you included in that list; but not because of some silly romance." I have no intention of holding back every word that rolls out of my tongue. I did that three years ago. I've tried everything in my power to lock the truth from light, in the darkness. Look where it got me. I sure as hell wont repeat the same mistake. "God, Trevor. You really are clueless aren't you?"

"You sound crazy, you know that right?" The superiority in his tone is really getting on my nerves. It's as if he's talking to a child who doesn't know better. Now this, this is him.  

"Right, and whose fault is that again?" 

He examined me from the tip of my head to the toe. I somewhat became insecure and wrap my arms around my body. He doesn't need to see how much of a wreck I look. What he needs to do is shove me to the middle of the street, and let the cabs ram me. He needs to beat the hell out of me, and watch me die slowly. 

"What are you trying to do, Al?" He breathes, and ran his fingers all over his hair. He looks rather frustrated, and how much I have wished that he took it out on me. But he doesn't. Instead, he starts interrogating me with a pity roaming all over his eyes.

"I mean look at you..." His words sounds degrading at first. For a second, his hands are lifted from the side of his body. As if he's trying to reach me. As if he's trying to try and put all of my broken pieces together, but he refrains himself from doing so. "Don't make this about us. This is about you, isn't it?"