Every Girl I've Loved A Lifetime Ago

Alex

Alex had different colored hair every time I saw them, a piercing on the inside of their lips, tattoos of buzzing bees on their hip bone, and an adrogynous voice.
Alex was genderfluid. I didn't quite understand, but I tried.
They were verified on Instagram, in love with Bruce Wayne, and tasted like Pepsi-Cola.
They lived off campus near a Taco Bell, still slept with a teddy bear named Carrots, painted my portrait in their free time.
They lived in the foster care system for two years, whistled Harry Styles songs in the shower, and read comic books like they were the Bible.
They ate KFC like a starving man, quoted Star Wars every chance they got, kissed me like we were running out of time.
Alex never looked in the mirror and made their disinterest towards anything sex related clear.
I couldn't be more happy with that.
I couldn't be more happy with them.
My twin sister visited me one week.
She glanced at me then at an ambiguously gendered Alex then at our hands intertwined and at his phone charging on my desk and at the new love bites decorating my neck.
She was lost, her eyes posed a silent question.
"Alex is gender fluid" I said, by way of explanation.
She still looked confused but she nodded nonetheless.
"Still can't believe you've got a twin. It's freaky," Alex chuckled as my sister left to pick up some Chinese food she ordered us. I shrugged.
"She kinda looks like you."
"That is so not true!"
"Hmm... I think it is."
"You're obviously mistaken."
"Clearly not. Besides, I'd know your face better than anyone on account of how I devote my whole spare time looking at it, touching, kissing it."
And they peppered kisses all over my nose as I giggled and felt content and blushed so deep.
Alex was my best friend.
They knew everything about me and I knew everything about them.
We were good for each other, everyone thought so.
Alex calmed me down, I built Alex up.
We rarely ever argued and, when we did, it ended fast.
They'd leave roses on my bedspread or I'd write a heartfelt apology note.
They watched documentaries on the Cold War, jogged every morning at roughly 6:44 am, and owned a shitty broke down hatchback.
They were born in Pennsylvania, went bird watching the first Monday of each month, and played softball when they were younger.
Their natural hair color was black, they played the trombone, and flunked their drivers test twice.
Their favorite fruit was oranges, favorite movie was Joaquin Phoenix's The Joker, and their singing voice had a lullaby quality to it.
Alex was majoring in material chemistry and loved it.
I'm pretty sure I loved them.
My mamá told me I played fast and lose with that word.
My mamá said that I gave out I love yous like free candy.
My mamá claimed that I didn't know what it meant to love, that I hadn't yet felt it's gravity.
My mamá wasn't wrong.
But with Alex, I was positive that I finally felt it's weight settle on my shoulders.
I remember Alex, clad in sweatpants and a Smokey The Bear T-shirt, reading a Hellboy comic while smoking a blunt on their friend's cheap couch. There was a half eaten barbecue pizza box from Papa John's on the coffee table and Spider-Man Homecoming was playing from the boxy television. Their hair, dyed an indigo blue, was piled up their skull and their lips were chapped and broken but they still bit them. My heart dropped to my stomach and my soul felt like a magnet attracted to Alex.
I looked at Alex's face at that moment and I was afraid of the love rushing through my veins.
I was scared of losing them.
I knew that it would hurt me to hurt them.
And it did hurt.
They were crying on their kitchen counter, eyes red and nose snotty.
My hand was clasped over my mouth, my heart heavy and regretful.
They were bawling, choking and ugly, and I was cruel and sharp-tongued and uncalled for.
I took a step forward near them, hesitant and wary and absolutely terrified at the idea of hurting them more.
They shook their head, new strawberry hair shaking with it.
So I stepped back and they coughed harder.
"Leave" they said, voice raw.
I obeyed, grabbing my backpack, my shoes, my phone charger, and rushing out the door.
I cried, tears hot and stinging, as I walked back to my dorm, hood pulled over my head. I rang my twin sister and told her everything.
She told me that I fucked up but Alex might forgive me. She told me that it was obvious I didn't mean what I said, that Alex would see it too. She told me everything I wanted to hear and they sounded like lies.
In the morning, I tried texting Alex. They had blocked me and I felt irrationally angry at this simple fact.
"Every couple gets into arguments like this. Everyone says shit they don't mean in fights. They're being irrational. I'm going over there and I'm telling them that I'm sorry. I'm going over there and I'm telling them that they shouldn't try to cut off all contact because of one tiff. Every couple gets into arguments like this" I told my roommate, phone in my fist. She gave me a sympathetic look.
"I think Alex needs space, honey."
She was right.
"They'll call you when they're ready."
Alex wasn't ready until it was already too late for us.