The Void Between Hearts ~~ongoing~~

47. Boma

"It was supposed to be best for you. " I say.

"That one day I'll wake up and get a call from Mom, or from Ivan, and what Boma? What?"

She pauses for a second to stomp her bare feet into the inter-locked concrete floor like a schizophrenic having a manic episode. Makeup muddled sweat dribbling down her brown neck and onto her cleavage.

"What did you plan? That they'll tell me you slept and didn't wake up, or that you had a fatal crisis? Was that the plan?"

"No. That's not it," I say. That's it but what good will it do to concur with her?

"THEN WHAT?" she sobs some more.

I can't tell if the silence is for letting out steam, or if she actually wants an answer, because she's right, that was exactly my plan, but not in the way she's interpreting it.

"WHAT WERE WE BUILDING ALL THOSE YEARS? TRUST. THAT'S WHAT I BUILT. CAN'T SAY MUCH ABOUT YOU." she says.

I don't know how I manage to grow the strength to cry, but it happens, it keeps happening. I'm wiping volume after volume—leaky eyes don't mend broken trusts, so it means only as much as—I should have told her that her best friend was living on borrowed time. I should have ripped that bandage and things would have been different.

"Tell me, did you feel like you were going to be protecting me by keeping that away?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply at her because SHE JUST WON'T LOOK AT ME.

She finally turns around, but not as much as a glimpse of calm flickers behind her sodding damp eyes.

"Well guess what, I've been with you every single day, and I've lived with that fear, but I've always tried to be here to make you feel okay, to make you less alone."

She palms the tears away like they are irrelevant, an arrant irritation to the anger she's feeling. "All you ever do is you push people away, then claim you're doing it to protect them, meanwhile it's all about yourself. Being selfish. All. Over. Again."

The harsh reality of her words make the tears drizzle more. She's right. I push people away, then I claim I'm protecting them but really I'm protecting myself.

"You're right, Chinny. You are. I should have done better and I didn't, but please, don't go off like this."

"God. I can't even believe you." she shakes her head before skipping away.

I've lost count of how many breaths I've lost or really how many times I've said sorry but I keep saying them anyway; losing more breaths and repeating the cycle.

My fingers find each other, they're freezing. I feel that familiar stream of hydrochloric acid leaking into my back. It bends me to its will so I just sit there, pulling my chest together while my subconscious draws up memories of me promising to tell her everything and keep away nothing. Over and over—you broke the one promise she kept.

Death is nothing short of the chaos my whole life is, I can't die in peace, I can't even choose to want to save the people I love from collapsing in on themselves.

Why is that not my call to make?
At least just this once, why can't I choose how it happens?

My lungs force the first cough out. I block out my mouth with my elbow.

This is supposed to be mom's wedding.
I can't ruin it.
No.
It's not about me.

Another violent cough rattles my ribs, leaving my throat burning just as much as my back. I drag myself up. It's almost impossible not to stumble but I don't stop reminding myself that today is not about me.