Him

Before I was unmindfully diluted by a man consisting of advertently manipulative tendencies, life was undoubtedly simple. I would wake up, get my morning coffee, run errands, go out with my friends, and I ugly laughed until my chest hurt. Now, I still do all of those seemingly minimalist things, but they’re burdened by a hole. It grows and festers every day like an open wound, and seems as if it will never heal. I lay awake at night unable to shut my mind off from the regret and the emptiness he makes me feel. All my thoughts consist of memories that I replay trying to make sense of it all, but it never does. I tried to blame him for making me this way, for doing this to me. But under my fractured mental walls, I’ve always known this would happen, that it would be my fault. I wish I could say I hate him, that I moved on and stopped caring. I wish I didn’t miss his contagious laugh, admire his charming disposition, and adore his effortlessly witty mind; But my heart could never fathom such a feeling.

I haven’t spoken to him in months, and every recurring thought of his voice feels like a papercut. I stopped eating, my hair started to fall out, and eventually, I stopped getting out of bed. But it wasn’t always this way, there wasn’t always silence after our sentences, distant looks that pierced my eyes, and infrequent smiles that left an aftertaste of regret. I used to be everything. The lifeline, the ventilator, the excitement, I was it. But the flavor of me started to slowly taste stale to him when in fact he was the one who forgot to seal the bag. He left it open for months and enjoyed new bag after bag until eventually, he got tired of the mess he created and threw the old, flavorless, broken pieces away. I became… irrelevant. I grew exhausted of the subtle glances in my direction that portrayed unbothered guilt. God that hurt. The pain of unwelcome memories that consist of forgotten passion, fearlessness, irreplaceability, is unrealistically physical. We were timeless. I was… happy.

It all started when I got out of my old, beat up, silver Toyota Camry to go to a small party at my friend Lily’s boyfriend's townhome. I walked in with an innocent smile, unaware of how much that night would change my life. As soon as I walked in, he immediately caught my eye. After so many subtle glances in his direction, Lily's boyfriend Logan introduced me. He stuck out his hand and told me his name, Nate; his name fit his appearance perfectly. As soon as we started talking we couldn’t stop, we instantly clicked. He pulled out one of the chairs at Logan's round, rustic, wooden table and gestured for me to sit. He subtly winked at me, and I almost missed the seat entirely. I like to think my clumsiness went unnoticed, but a soft smirk raised across his face; I’m an idiot. After I took a seat, he pointed his black-painted finger at the cooler and offered me a drink. Logan and Nate explained some of their favorite games and we played for hours. I felt oddly comfortable as if I’ve known these people my whole life. The new faces left an impression of safety yet exhilaration. Throughout the night I learned that he's a confident, funny, narcissistic asshole with a sarcastic attitude; he’s the epitome of a player. He flaunts his long, wavy dark brown hair, perfect bone structure, and warm skin, that looks as if the sun had gently touched his slim body. I couldn’t help but stare; I’ve never met someone who simultaneously intrigues and infuriates me.

After a few drinking games and inappropriate jokes, Nate makes a notion to the stairs. I followed closely behind him, slighting, grasping his cold fingertips. He brought me into one of the bedrooms and gently held me against the door, ran his hands down my arms leading to his hands tightly gripping mine, and leaned in for a soft kiss. He slowly moves up my body and holds my chubby cheek in one hand while the other is gently resting on my hip. I executed my flirting perfectly by running my nails through his hair, and brushing past his dangling earring. I touch the roof of his mouth with my tongue so effortlessly, then stop, smile, and look up into his eyes; He smiles back and I begin to feel myself melt into his skin.

Ever since then we’ve been inseparable, however, Lily was opposed to the idea. She told me that night outside on the sidewalk at Logan’s about his usual impure intentions with girls. How his personality revolved around whether or not he could get them, like a game. But Nate didn't try his usual tactics on me, according to Lily and Logan. I guess that's what made me stick, the art of playing hard to get, it’s tedious but effective in getting men to respect you. Lily warned me more than once of his antics, I never listened because he never made me out to be an object. Eventually, we grew insanely close, but in a direction no one expected. Nate became my best friend. But weirdly enough, our strange connection stuck around. The way we looked at each other was like something out of a movie; He was a mess, and I was a clean freak.

Time started to feel like nothing, days started to pass like minutes, and my affection grew stronger by the second. Nate acted as if he felt the same, but we never discussed any ideas of possible romance; That’s when I started to crack. Water started seeping through, and he was no longer my best friend, but the one person I couldn’t have. Nate was difficult, and set in his ways, which made it harder to mention any feelings I had. Still, our relationship was perfect on paper. We stayed up till 4 am laughing ridiculously loud, screaming to the top of our lungs singing our favorite songs, and talking for hours about absolutely nothing. However, even though we were not dating, he would get jealous of other guys, hold and kiss me in front of other girls who were flirting with him, text the guys on my phone, yet continued to call me just a friend.

December came around and the snow on the ground was perfectly padded and made a little crunching sound every time I took a step. I always enjoyed the simple pleasures of the cold. I loved to make shapes with the fog that the brisk air made from my breath and make abstract outlines with my footprints. One night, Nate and I decided to go run around in the snow at 2 am on his family's old farm with a little rustic red barn. As we jumped and danced around making fun out of a gloomy night, we were startled by the sudden piercing sound of an owl lurking on a high tree branch over the barn. After my heart stopped racing I noticed the beauty of the creature. My surroundings were quiet for a few moments as Nate and I gazed up at the owl. The snow was barely falling. Nate looked over at me with a smirk, and we stared in silence at each other for a few seconds like the world stopped spinning just for us; It was surreal. My world felt right, I had the weirdest feeling I was meant to come across that owl, almost as if it was a sign. We ended up sitting in the powdered snow and listening to the wind wisp beside our faces. I kept looking up at the owl and couldn’t help but wish I could live a life of leisure upon a branch, merely people watching. We finally got up and headed back inside his house. The cold had bitten the tip of my nose and left my fingers numb.

That was the last real moment we had. Soon after that, he started to grow distant for no apparent reason. Everything was new and exciting until he gave the impression that it wasn’t. I was confused and overthinking everything I had said and done. Not only was I beginning to lose my best friend, but someone I saw a future with. We didn’t stop being friends, but it wasn’t like it used to be. I couldn’t figure out why now. Every day without him I found a new reason to miss him; I was only dragging myself deeper and deeper into depression. But I couldn’t help it. Nate was like a shot of dopamine, and I was relying on him too much for my happiness. But what killed me the most is the fact that he didn’t know I loved him, how painful it was for me to be apart when it was already hard enough keeping it a secret around him.

Months passed since then and I don’t know how I let him continually invade my heart and pull the strings. I knew I couldn't blame him, but I wanted to, I couldn’t make him love me back. The numbness slowly crept up on me like a cat trying to catch a mouse. I started to forget what it felt like to be content. I was empty, broken, used, and it all happened so fast. I kept saying tomorrow will be the day I get up and do something, anything, but I never did. I sat alone watching a silver screen play romance movies on repeat. Is this what I’ve become? I tried so hard for so long to be perfect for him when I was just a mere comfort blanket. I started to smell terrible from being wrapped up in my sheets all day, and I got sore from staying in one place for so long. I took a long look in the mirror at myself across the room facing my bed and somehow got the motivation to get up. I couldn’t stand how much I let myself go. So I got up, left my house, and finally let myself begin to stray from the tears on my bedsheets and begin to breathe again. I went to get my coffee like I used to, bought a new outfit, and a few toiletries. For those few hours of running errands I hadn’t thought about him once, it felt nice, almost relieving.

Slowly, I started to realize that he kept me around in the beginning for comfort because he knew I wouldn’t leave. He played the role of a boyfriend figure and got to know me too well. He figured out exactly what to do and say to keep me around. I still believe he truly started to care for me, but he never stopped using me. Nate knew what he was doing all along, and after I looked back and replayed all the things I was temporarily blinded to, I couldn’t tell what was real or fake. It still hurt, he still haunted my thoughts and stained my trust with lies. And then I realized, I’ll never completely let him go, I may never know why he pulled away from me so hastily, and I can never make him love me, but I couldn't invalidate my feelings solely because he would never live up to them. I had to accept that he would never be mine and start to live again.

Eventually, every day got easier to not miss him, it got easier to not let thoughts about him interrupt my routine. And every day it got easier to stop loving him. Because as it turns out, it’s harder to not love myself than to hold on to a love he never felt.