Inkling | rejected & unpublished short stories

Serotonin

            

"Open the freaking door."

            Mang ran one hand down his face, smothering his week-long uncombed hair with no intention of looking presentable. The last time he allowed a comb to go through his hair was before he dropped the comb under his bed. While he crouched down to reach for the comb, a pang hit him out of nowhere. Lily was the one who always misplaced her hairbrush. One by one, the memories overwhelmed him. He could not breathe. He never dared to look under the bed for his comb after that, cowering away from the steady surge of memories that could be triggered too easily.

            He remembered her in gasps. He could have a normal day. He could have winged it and being confident that he had finally moved on. Then, at night as he splashed water on his face before sleep, a stark memory of Lily's laughter was tossed in his head. He gasped and went to sleep as fast as he could.

            "Open up or I'll break in, Mang."                        

            "Who is it?" he asked uninterestedly.

            "Your favourite person," answered the voice, muffled and forced, "Lily's best friend."

            A wire crackled somewhere in him as if he was a broken machine put to live when he heard the name. He dragged his hand up to unlock the door, pulled open the door.

            "Fyra," Mang said as a monotonous greeting, "To what pleasure do I owe this favour?"

            "Stop looking around like that. Lily's not here."

            Fyra hated Mang, with all her life, all her breath, her sighs, her thoughts. He loathed every single thing her best friend loved about him. Fyra did not think that Lily was stupid for loving someone like Mang—impulsive and blind, maybe—but she just thought that Mang was too foolish and dumb for her. Too much potential to become a heartbreaker. Lily deserved better.

            But better could not make Lily as content as Mang could. Fyra hated this fact but swallowed it anyway.

            Even standing on his doorstep with her hair tucked in a snowcap she was glaring at him. Her eyes glowered at the haggard face, stared at the eye bags carrying the weight of heartbreak.. His shirt was loose and it was a high probable that he had been losing his appetite just like he lost Lily. His hands were on his sides, not being able to grip the door handle. It was clear that he was still trying to stay sane. There was not a trace of a smile on his face, even a trace of one being formed in the nearest times He looked as if he might collapse if he even spared an inkling of his energy to force a smile.

            "Have you been crying?" Fyra asked, softening up.

            Mang looked away instead of answering. After two sighs, he looked at Fyra again, "I've been using my tears to water the supermarket flowers I bought for Lily."

            "Supermarket flowers."

            "Let me show you," he said, stepping out. He beckoned her down the apartment to the open parking lot. Fyra followed without asking as they walked to his car. She used to grit her teeth every time the car took her best friend away to a café and drove back hours later, with Lily tumbling out with a silly smile on her face. Fyra closed her eyes and realized how wrong she was. Mang made her the happiest girl ever.

            Mang crouched to open the boot of his car and Fyra gasped as it lifted. The space at the back of his car was filled to the brim with dried, brown flowers wrapped in colourful organza. They were at least ten bouquets in the car, all with small cards nestled in them, scribbles of notes inscribed on the stomach of each.

            "What on earth—"

            "I bought lilies first. White ones," he pointed to a bunch of crumpled flowers at the far side of the boot. "Then I remembered that white lilies are the symbol of death, funeral flowers."

            "Well, that's her name; Lily," Fyra shrugged.

            "I know."

            "Why can't you take it that way? Maybe Lily is the symbol of death and ends in your life. Why can't you leave it that way? Why is she still alive in you?"

            "No," he answered angrily, stamping his palms on the bar of his car, glaring at the flowers. "Never. I still hope. I drive to her house every week to deliver the flowers. But I never did—I fail every time. I drive back with the flowers every week."

            Fyra stared at Mang's face. For a second, the unreasonable hatred she harboured for Mang bled away. She thought it was pity for Mang's despair, but it was not. It was realization. Mang loved Lily more than Fyra believed, more than he could ever profess with words.

            What had she done?

            When they were still together, she did everything to make Lily see that he was not the best for her. She wanted them apart. She wanted to save Lily. Now that they were separated by barriers of feelings and made-up minds, Fyra finally saw it. By rescuing Lily from heartbreak, she also rescued Lily from her happiness. Now Fyra could see the spottiness of their decisions frayed and worn by time and realization.

            Fyra recalled Lily's gaunt and lifeless face before she left her room that day. She remembered the smile she faked and let falter when Fyra pretended to look away.

            "He's not good for you," Fyra told her. As soon as the words left fyra's mouth, it morphed to vagueness.

            Lily looked up and it shocked Fyra to see emotion in her eyes. She was flicker of steeliness. For a second she was convinced that Lily was going to reply with something along the lines of "You know nothing" and she was going to believe Lily. But even when Lily was broken apart in sharp glass shards, she still chose to be soft.

            "He's my serotonin, Fyra."

_____________________

            "What's holding you back from sending her the flowers?"

            They were sitting on the parking lot. The grey gravel under them and the cold not nearly as bothersome as heartache.

            "I don't know if I make her happy or not."

            Fyra smiled, "I don't know too. But I know you make her sad," Mang sighed hearing that, looking more devastated than before. Fyra laughed and added, "When you left her, I mean. She said you're her serotonin. What does that even mean?"

            He scoffed, the life flickering on his face as he laughed, "Serotonin is a digestive hormone," Fyra looked at him with a blank stare, "It's secreted by the brain. The effect of serotonin is happiness, and also drowsiness. That's why it is scientifically proven that food makes you content."

            "Does she make you happy, Mang?"

            He smiled, "She's my serotonin, Fyra."

________________________

            Fyra watched from a fair but close distance. The hearts reunited made the sky crack with clouds, spilling out like a touch of white paint on a layer of water. Mang and Lily were smiling, looking into each other's eyes as the pain bled out of them, ready to be forgotten and replaced.

            She knew Mang was not the best for Lily. Her protective senses tingled to take Lily far away from the possibility of heartbreak.

            But Fyra realized, it was not Mang that was bad for Lily, or Lily bad for Mang. It was love. And they were each other's serotonin, 'digesting' all the poison and hardships life chucked them, making each other happier. Drowsy, of course. People are always a little drunk when in love.

            They were perfect. And so was Fyra. It was never a tragic for a best friend to watch a best friend be happy.

            They were Fyra's serotonin.

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