Overthinking the past was one of my many unhealthy tendencies.
Compulsive and addictively torturing, I did it so much to the extent where my own thoughts hurt me more than the actual memory did. I would deliberate and ponder over every morsel of the moment, pensive as I forced myself to practically relive the memory – whether good or bad – because at the end of my overthinking I would always face the same end result:
Hurt.
At the start of tonight, I admitted to Romeo that I was scared of being happy; I didn't want to face the inevitable hurt that would hit me when the blissful moments had passed and the negative nature of life kicked me back down again. That was why I was reluctant to make memories with Romeo – to allow him to form stars to shine in the darkness of my mind – because I knew that the memories would only serve to haunt me in the aftermath of it all.
Staring at the words covering the page of my journal, I had to blink back the tears threatening to blur my vision, only now realising that I had written a poem encapsulating all our memories together.
I had written a poem representative of everything that would hurt me now that Romeo was gone: seven stanzas for the seven hours we had spent together, portraying our progression throughout the night from strangers to something I was in denial about putting a name to.
Reading the words on the page, I suppose I should've felt a rueful sort of joy, or gratitude for the sacrifice that he had made, but all I felt was an overwhelming barrel of hurt as I overthought all the memories that had inspired the poem. I felt hurt that he'd done what I'd always known he would do, and despite the positive intentions, I couldn't help but feel let down that he'd left.
But it wasn't the act of him leaving that hit me the most, or the fleeting phrase he'd spoken before sprinting off down the road – it was the overthinking that came after his departure: the worries about whether or not it was my fault that he'd left, the anxieties of if he'd been caught or whether he was okay, the stress of not knowing what might have happened between us if we'd been granted just a little more time together.
It wasn't the memories that hurt me; it was the thoughts that imminently attacked which caused the most pain.
Sat in an oddly quiet McDonalds, hearing the muted silence from outside and the quiet movements of Matteo behind the counter, my thoughts had been the perfect breeding place to birth myriads of new possibilities, swarming me with ideologies that cut deeper than the loss of Romeo's presence ever could.
But the thought that hurt the most, the thought that was louder than all others, was enough to make me shut my journal abruptly, shoving it back into my rucksack as I desperately tried to rid myself of the thought:
What if I had actually been... happy?
Romeo had spoken about how darkness and light could exist alongside each other, and how I should hold onto memories and turn them into stars to brighten up the darkness of my mind: but what if those stars that we'd created had been moments of happiness?
Despite the lingering sadness I continuously felt, and the underlying sense of disbelief at Romeo's existence, what if I had managed to put his theory into practice, and perhaps for a moment of time, I had been happy?
The emotion I'd spent most of my life being afraid of – terrified of, even – because of the fear of the hurt I would feel when it would end, was something I'd been running from in every aspect of my life. Because when I was happy, things always went wrong. Happiness and hurt have only ever been entwined in my life, with the latter irrevocably following the former. I'd described being happy as willingly allowing myself to be hurt, but if that had been happiness...
Then maybe there was more to it.
If that had been happiness, then maybe it wasn't necessarily destined to make me feel worse than I did before. Maybe happiness could end without me feeling like I was being torn apart from the inside, writhing in pain and betrayal. Maybe happiness wasn't attainable as a permanent prospect, but rather a momentary pleasure that would come and go as a part of life. Yes, hurt and happiness were no doubt interlinked, but maybe the hurt wouldn't always be as painfully extreme as I'd been experiencing it.
Maybe happiness didn't need to be something I was scared of.
Before I had the chance to mull over my thoughts any longer, I felt a succession of buzzes from my pocket, pulling it out to see an incoming call from Theo. In my notifications bar I saw that he'd replied to my earlier text, in which I'd been assuring him that I was alright, by responding with a heart, causing a transient smile to cross my lips. It was unusual for him to be awake this early, especially since he wouldn't have gotten much sleep and the fact that it was now Saturday morning.
"Morning CJ," he greeted once I answered the call, his groggy voice letting on that he'd been asleep not too long ago. His tone sounded slightly confused, as was I, as though we both hadn't been expecting to be talking at this time of day. "I didn't think you'd still be awake, if I'm honest." Usually after a nightmare and my nightly venture, exhaustion would overpower my wish for sanity, and I would find myself getting a few mildly painful hours of sleep that could get me through the day.
"I could say the same to you," I replied with a slight laugh, perplexity evident in my voice as I took on a slightly worried tone. "What's got you awake so early?"
Theo paused for a beat too long on the phone before letting out a dubious sigh. "Will's been messaging me for the last few minutes or so. He's... he's not feeling too well this morning," Theo admitted, letting out another sigh, "but I'm trying to help him, I just- I don't know how."
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Theo never spoke about Will, but in the fleeting mentions he would give me, he made it sound as though his older brother was stable and responding well to his treatments. Maybe I had been so caught up in my own issues that I'd forgotten that my best friend was dealing with his own problems, unable to read the signs for what they truly were. Theo's reluctance to confide in me about Will might not have been out of a lack of trust, but rather because he didn't want to dwell on the worsening situation.
"I guess all you can do is be there for him, and carry on supporting him like you have been doing," I offered my advice, hoping I was saying the right thing, but in a dire situation like this, I don't think there even was a right thing to say. "I can tell how much of a good brother you are to Will, and even though you might feel like you don't know how to help, I'm sure you already are helping him in ways you wouldn't even realise."
I knew my reasoning was simple, but it was also true. Most times, the best way to help someone in a situation that you had no control over was just to be there for them. That's what Theo and I did subconsciously for each other: we didn't necessarily tell each other the full extent of our different situations, but both he and I had been through the worst and back with each other.
Theo was quiet again for a few seconds, and I heard him sigh softly before speaking. "Thanks CJ," he whispered, sounding so helpless I wished I could have been with him to give him a hug. "I really needed to hear that."
"You're my best friend Theo," I reminded him, a soft smile crossing my face as I said so. "I'm always a phone call away if you ever need me." Though our friendship had been strained this past week due to me distancing myself from everyone, it didn't change all that we'd been through together.
"Remember when you first joined our school a year ago?" I questioned, my smile stretching into a grin as I heard Theo sigh heavily in annoyance. Holding back my laugh as I heard him mutter under his breath, my gaze scanned across the emptiness of the restaurant, hyperaware of my voice disrupting the tranquillity of the silence.
"How could I forget? You remind me of this moment at every given opportunity, CJ," Theo drawled out, an embarrassed smile no doubt across his lips. "I was painfully shy around everyone and wasn't dealing well with the change..."
The students in our year had bombarded him with questions, like what school he'd transferred from and why he'd moved to London, but he froze up and couldn't answer them. After that he spent most of his time alone, and he struggled to make other friends until he met me. "Then you came along, and moving here wasn't so bad anymore."
"I don't want you to sit here alone," I quoted myself, a small smile spreading across my lips as I recalled the first time I'd approached Theo's lone figure, "so I'll sit with you."
"If you want to talk, I'm here," Theo finished off for me, grasping the purpose of me reminding him of how our friendship started. I'd been here and still will be, whether or not he felt like confiding in me about Will's sickness. That was why I never pushed him to share what was bothering him, but I'd always let him know he had to option to speak to me if he wanted or needed to.
"I'm so glad you're still here Cassie," he murmured softly, a few seconds later, his words referencing more than just this present moment.
"I didn't think I'd be saying this either but... I'm sort of glad I'm still here too."
In the ideal world Romeo wouldn't have pulled me back from the platform edge, but that didn't mean that I wasn't grateful that he had. He'd helped me more than I thought possible, and life didn't seem like such a dreary concept anymore now that I had a few stars brightening up the darkness. I hated that my thoughts immediately led me back to him though; even when he wasn't here, I was still finding ways to think of him.
"Oh CJ, Will's giving me a call right now. Is it alright-"
"Yeah of course Theo, go ahead," I cut him off, instantly assuring him to speak to his brother. "I'll talk to you later."
Thanking me once again before saying a brief goodbye, Theo ended the call, leaving me to lapse into my thoughts once again as the muffled chatter of pedestrians passing by was the prominent faint noise in the restaurant. Matteo was still out of sight as he rustled around the kitchen, the low bustle of his movements not enough of a distraction before my mind led me back to Romeo's abrupt exit.
Slumping down onto the table with my head resting on top of my arms, I closed my eyes in an attempt to reignite the dwindling peace that had attracted me here in the first place, but my futile attempts were to no avail.
Initially I'd tried not to think about it, but in the silent serenity of the unusually quiet restaurant, I couldn't help but dwell over how he could have stayed if he really had wanted to. We could have figured out another way to lose the man following us, or we could've split up and agreed on a place to meet again, or we could even have played dumb and acted like he had caught the completely wrong people.
Surely leaving me hadn't been the only option?
"Here you go," Matteo's voice rung out from above me, causing me to sit up abruptly to see him placing down a cup of hot chocolate on the table before me. However his eyes didn't meet mine like expected, and I held in the urge to bang my head against the table upon realising he'd caught sight of the bruise on the back of my neck when my head had been down. That, combined with the saddened expression across my face, was probably what caused him to scan across my features momentarily, checking for any other visible signs of pain.
"Thanks," I mumbled, sending him a meek smile as I cradled the cup to warm my hands. "How much do I have to pay for it?"
"Oh, don't worry about it," he shook his head, his blue eyes darting to meet mine with a noticeable expression of concern stretching across his features. "Listen, I know it might not be my place to ask but..."
I could already tell what was coming when Matteo gingerly slipped into the seat opposite me at the table, leaning his head on his hands as he deliberated over how to best phrase his words. Seeing him up close made me realise how toned his build was, but somehow his broad structure didn't intimidate me like I would have thought it would. "Are you- is everything okay?"
"Yeah," I nodded slowly, feigning confusion as I raised the cup to my lips to take a small sip, smiling slightly as the warm taste of hot chocolate hit my tongue. "This is really nice, by the way."
"That was a good deflection," Matteo called out, his eyebrows raising slightly before he smiled disbelievingly to himself, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was about to say next. "Look, I'll be straightforward here: I'm nearly a qualified lawyer, so I've managed to get pretty good at reading people, as well as being able to tell when something's not quite right-"
"So what are you doing working at McDonalds then?" I interrupted, not in the mood to spill my secrets to yet another stranger. If he was asking questions, then so was I.
"University is expensive," he reasoned, sending me a pointed look for butting in, but he broke into a smile as he did so, finding humour in my aloof attitude. "And I don't have the best sleep schedule, so I figured working nights at a McDonalds wouldn't be too bad of a way to earn some money." I merely shrugged at his answer, noting how the intensity of his gaze somewhat resembled that of Romeo's, but his cerulean eyes weren't potent enough to have the same effect as Romeo's dark brown orbs.
"I get that you're going to keep changing the subject here, but I genuinely just want to make sure you're okay," Matteo continued, his expression softening before he broke my gaze, glancing down before sighing. "I recognise the look on your face – it's one I've seen too many times in my own reflection."
I furrowed my eyebrows, peering up at him with a muddled expression. "What look?"
"Heartbreak," he clarified, wincing slightly as he said so. "And coming from someone who's in their twenties and already divorced, I think I can recognise a loss of love when I see it."
Love?
I blanched at his words, shaking my head rapidly as I blinked back at him. "I'm not in love," I corrected, ignoring the aching of my heart as I did so, "I'm not. I- I can't be."
Happiness was scary enough of an emotion, let alone complicating things further by including love into the mix. Of course I cared about Romeo - but just because I found it difficult to breathe around him, and craved the feel of his touch, and missed every passing second that I wasn't wherever he was - it didn't mean I was in love.
Falling, I could admit to, but actually being in love?
Matteo raised his eyebrows in response, clearing not believing my sudden outburst of denial, but before he even had the chance to reply, I was already firing more questions at him in a futile attempt to avoid facing the repercussions of his statement. "How come it's only you working here anyway? And why is it so empty?"
"No one else likes the night shifts so I usually get stuck with them," he explained, ignoring my obvious change of topic as he thankfully complied. "Since this street is full of restaurants and coffee shops, most high-earning professionals that work nearby would rather get food from places a little classier than McDonalds," he rolled his eyes, eliciting a small laugh from me, "So aside from the drunk people I serve during the early hours of the morning, this place pretty much gets no customers during my shifts."
"Except heartbroken teenage girls, apparently," I mocked bitterly, unable to let go of his inaccurate observation as his words toyed on my mind.
It wasn't the same despair that came with losing a friend, or the sadness that flooded in whenever my mum left for work again – it was deeper than that. It was pain and anger, hurt and betrayal, and yet care, understanding and gratefulness all at the same time, some of which overpowered others. Was that was this feeling was? Heartbreak?
Matteo sent me an all-knowing grin, like he knew something I didn't, and it was then that I realised despite him not having the same aristocratic features as Romeo, he was still conventionally good-looking. With bronze sun-kissed skin that seemed to be naturally glowing and an irritatingly infectious smile, I found it difficult to retain my annoyance at his absurd assumption.
"Denial is a perfectly normal phase to go through," Matteo chimed in, laughing as I set him a frustrated look before taking another long sip of my drink. "Or maybe you're a cynic like me and you don't believe that true love exists anyway," he shrugged, a trace of a smile still lingering despite the solemnness of his words.
It wasn't helping that he was finding my conflict of emotions so amusing, but he composed himself quickly and regained his professionalism just as I heard the swish of the automated doors sliding open. Within seconds, he was up on his feet hovering by the side of my table, glancing towards the person who just entered with the same nonchalant expression he'd first greeted me with.
The tumultuous sound of city traffic increased in volume long enough to remind me of strolling by the roadside with Romeo in the seconds before he'd left me, until I heard the doors shut and the noise became muffled again.
Matteo sent me a somewhat confused glance that I had no chance to read into before he was walking back to stand behind the counter and serve whoever it was that had just entered. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I swivelled around on my seat to glance at the figure behind me, nearly dropping my drink when I saw the very person who had caused almost all of my hurt.
"Well, I didn't expect to see you here."
(A/N) So my mental health decided to do what it does best and drastically decline, hence why this update took so long. Between school and exams and my family and trying to keep living, I feel like I haven't been able to breathe.
Also, Wattpad decided to rate AYO as mature and I'm not sure whether to be honoured, insulted or confused. I'm no longer able to see any of my rankings (I had been #1 in poetic for like two weeks straight but now Wattpad won't allow me to see where AYO is ranked) and I'm not too sure how to feel about it.
I'm guessing it's mature because of the suicide mentions, but it's ironic because I'm writing a story, which according to Wattpad, I technically am not old enough to be reading.
- T.R.