Blue Howard (boyxboy)

Not even in dreams

No, I don't want to fall in love.

But I have.

What if I don't stop? What if I do?

I wake up in the middle of the night. Jocelyn is sleeping next to me, curled up on the floor, while I am resting against the wall, the empty wine bottle in my hand, surprised it hasn't fallen from my fingers, surprised it hasn't broken like glass tends to, like hearts tend to.

I would let it fall. If it wants to, I would.

Instead I place it gently on the floor, far from Jocelyn's reach, so that even when she stretches, she won't knock it over. I rub my eyes and look at the clock. But my vision is blurry, I am sleepy, I need pillows under my side and under my head to support my brain that is heavy with dreams, to support my ribs because they're filled with fragments of my heart that broke when I walked away from Anton.

He might not know it yet, but he will soon enough that we aren't together anymore.

I shouldn't just play a game. I should tell him face to face. I don't know how. It feels like betraying myself. Every act I can think of is egoistic – telling or not telling him. I will lose anyways.

It is funny how time goes by when you are feeling sad. It's not quite moving slowly, yet when you look back, you don't understand what happened. Time has vanished, as if your fairy godmother got Alzheimer's and forgot how to say the spell, so she said it wrong, and made the chances disappear.

What were the chances? I could have recovered. (Yes, I know. You can't recover from a break-up that quickly, doesn't mean that I hoped I would.)

"What do you mean?" he asks, worry in his eyes and if I am not hallucinating, then his hands are shaking. He's clutching the strap of his backpack that is slung over one shoulder.

I'm so nervous, and defeated. There is nothing I can do to ease the pain. I hold the knife in this situation; I hold the ropes that are around his throat and mine. I am suffocating both of us, there isn't any oxygen left. I feel like drowning. I feel like I am hanging upside down from a tree, and the water has reached the branches, including the one that is holding me. And I have been punched in the stomach, so I can't lift myself up and save me. And Anton is stuck in the sea of tears, his legs tied to the weights that have dropped at the bottom. He's reaching for me, and I'm stretching myself towards him, but he can't see me trying.

"I mean it's over," I say as confidently as I can. I have to be cruel. He won't believe otherwise. Or maybe I have been distant enough that he will, without a doubt. Maybe words are unnecessary and he already felt me distancing myself from him. I should have left a note. But then he would have demanded answers...maybe. Maybe he wouldn't even have looked at me ever again.

"But wh- why?" he stutters, biting down on his lower lip. It's like a tiny electric shock I am giving him. It keeps him awake, alert. Maybe giving a reason for the adrenaline to pump through his arteries will force him to run from me. Maybe his survival instincts will kick in and he'll leave before I say anything else. Isn't it natural to avoid pain? Why do we keep standing still despite this?

I want to close my eyes to gather this last strength and brutality I have in me. I have to think of something horrible, that will make me angry in order to say the next words. I am like a snake spreading its venom through the bites. I am like a beast tearing the skin of a human, a victim, enjoying the sight, only getting stronger. And if I'm not, I have to quickly learn how to be.

"I don't love you."

I wake up terrified that night. I was screaming in my dream. It's a paradox – how can your mind scream in a dream, when in reality you are completely quiet? Can you draw a parallel for when you have to lie – that you know the truth, but are saying something that is the opposite?