The driver
Was drunk. He'll swear he wasn't but he knows he was.
My mutually magnetic platonic partnership. Assured: I was too high maintenance, modest, moody for him to want me that way.
Yet he'd wake me in the middle of night prompted by the coercive properties of intoxication with confessions of hopeless desire and chivalrous encouragement to pursue his friends if he couldn't have me.
"I will never fuck you", I told him a final time; my planned playful warning undercut by an unanticipated firmness that reverberated through the suddenly still air, contaminated by an awkwardness that couldn't be withdrawn.
His defensive retort was swift, incoherent, yet strategically painful, a dull ache of the heart that persisted long after he lost his train of thought on the road ahead of us.
We made up later that night and he never tried it again.
He went after my best friend, and left me to pick up the pieces of her he left behind.
The silent shot-gun
Is now in social exile.
I saw the hidden loneliness and longing for companionship he tried to mask with an apparent newly-minted bravado - the second-guessing uncertainty of which was a tell-tale giveaway of his hopes of transformation.
I picked you. I was kind to you. Because you seemed like somebody who needed the compassion you were so intent on dealing out.
I chalked it up to you just needing a friend.
You could have been a great friend.
Instead you chose to be the living embodiment of nice guy with ulterior motives - who eventually proved to be worse than the fuckboys you berated me for giving the time of day.
"She's not that kind of girl."
But apparently, I was.
If all you ever wanted was to see me undressed, why pretend to be a gentleman?
The back seat comforter
Stroked my hair as I held back tears during the driver's muddled tirade.
He skilfully responded to diversions regarding direction while delivering repetitive yet appreciated assurances that it's okay and he doesn't mean it.
Last month you decided to tell me about all the girls you slept with.
Today you tried to stroke my hair again and I stepped away.
You deviated from your usual routine of walking me back and left early.
Please don't be like the others.
The One I Should Have Stayed Friends With
For someone who I constantly insisted was devoid of any care for me at all, he made profound observations about my personality. Most of which would never have occurred to me otherwise.
When I got angry I'd cry and call him a wall. He never did anything, I'd say. He'd let people do whatever they want to him and not react. That's probably why people gravitate towards him. They could project whatever idea or emotion onto him as if he'd care, and if all they needed was a one-sided relationship, then all they'd need was him. But I'm ungrateful. Ultimately, a wall would be a wall and a wall wouldn't move. Or care. Or love.
I told him he needed to learn to have feelings. He said he did. His peaks and troughs just weren't as volatile as mine. I told him he needed to actually say what he felt. He was too quiet. He said for all my loudness and drama, I never let my real feelings show either.
I didn't want to admit he was right.
-
The One That Ruined My Life
An ex boyfriend used to get frustrated with me really easily. He'd scream and yell and threaten me so much that by 3am I'd be too damn tired to defend myself and just let him win. I learnt to cope with problems by thinking everything through. In my head. By the time he'd finally ask me what was wrong, I'd have already reached a mental conclusion and an explanation just seemed redundant, so I'd just say it was nothing.
We fought and screamed and cried and kissed constantly. I thought that was passion.
In retrospect, it wasn't.
-
The One Who Eventually Got Bored of Me
We were high when I said it. My face was on his cheek. His thigh between my legs. My right arm resting on his chest. His right hand lightly brushing against my bra strap.
He got mad when I said he didn't care about anyone.
By then I knew I'd go to him when I didn't want to feel anymore. When I didn't want anyone to tell me everything will be okay. Or worse, how to make everything okay again. Someone who could understand that I didn't want to make them understand.
I can't remember how I phrased it.
-
"Are you the eldest child? You seem very independent.", a stranger said to me that morning.
-
In school they always made us feel bad for not calling our parents every night. I'd overhear my peers having their nightly conversations. Small talk, casual, friendly, empty. I never called my parents. They never called me back.
-
"I don't mind. I'm just shocked is all."
"Yeah, I don't understand why you did it so suddenly. Why didn't you tell us?"
"Why do I need to tell you everything?"
"You never mentioned anything about it before"
"I did tell you. Multiple times. It's not my fault you don't listen to me."
30 second silence.
"Anyway, about your brother..."
-
The One That Never Was
My phone was buzzing constantly, reminding me every 30 seconds of all the responsibilities I'm trying to run away from. I'm starting to see a trend here. A self-fulfilling prophecy.
The thought of calling him struck my mind for a fleeting moment. Of course, the idea was ludicrous. He wouldn't pick up as quickly as he used to. He wouldn't stay up for hours and entertain me with stories of his childhood or details about his hobbies so I wouldn't have to deal with whatever hole I dug myself into that time.
He'd probably tell me not to call him again, like he did last time. Or he wouldn't even pick up at all.
My battery reached 0%. And like I learnt to do with my thoughts and emotions, I decided to let it stay dead for the night.
He got mad when I said he didn't care about anyone.
By then I knew I'd go to him when I didn't want to feel anymore. When I didn't want anyone to tell me everything will be okay. Or worse, how to make everything okay again. Someone who could understand that I didn't want to make them understand.
I can't remember how I phrased it.
-
"Are you the eldest child? You seem very independent.", a stranger said to me that morning.
-
In school they always made us feel bad for not calling our parents every night. I'd overhear my peers having their nightly conversations. Small talk, casual, friendly, empty. I never called my parents. They never called me back.
-
"I don't mind. I'm just shocked is all."
"Yeah, I don't understand why you did it so suddenly. Why didn't you tell us?"
"Why do I need to tell you everything?"
"You never mentioned anything about it before"
"I did tell you. Multiple times. It's not my fault you don't listen to me."
30 second silence.
"Anyway, about your brother..."
-
The One That Never Was
My phone was buzzing constantly, reminding me every 30 seconds of all the responsibilities I'm trying to run away from. I'm starting to see a trend here. A self-fulfilling prophecy.
The thought of calling him struck my mind for a fleeting moment. Of course, the idea was ludicrous. He wouldn't pick up as quickly as he used to. He wouldn't stay up for hours and entertain me with stories of his childhood or details about his hobbies so I wouldn't have to deal with whatever hole I dug myself into that time.
He'd probably tell me not to call him again, like he did last time. Or he wouldn't even pick up at all.
My battery reached 0%. And like I learnt to do with my thoughts and emotions, I decided to let it stay dead for the night.
It was always the same fight. We were messy throughout. So much so that after it ended I could no longer recollect anything but the ugly. We were always unhappy, I was always crying, you were always emotionally unavailable. I was thunder, you were lightning and the sun never came to break apart our angry clouds constantly colliding against one another.
But sometimes the rain doesn't pour, and I'm forced to acknowledge the quiet.
It was after the first of the bigger fights, at least, the first to last that long. We wasted away the whole night trying to rectify the problem that we still did not yet know was non-rectifiable.
It was an indication - albeit one I had yet to notice at the time. The way I always leaned in more towards you and you would try to turn away. The fact that you only wrapped your arm around me if I put my head on your shoulder first. But at the time, you would still ask if I was okay. You would still care.
I think it was the first time the prospect of our futility incepted itself into my mind. Yet the nugget of uncertainty was so small, I did not consciously detect it, or perhaps I simply chose not to identify it.
I stopped talking. You didn't start.
Amazing how all the words exchanged between our successive fights and attempts at consolation never amounted to the muted message that fifteen minutes of comfortable silence could impart on me. Amidst the feel of the cool breeze and sounds of soft taps of water against a tin roof and the headlights blurring in and out of the lonely dark road that encompassed our field of vision, lay the apex of you and me.
The calm before the storm. The pinnacle before the edge. The sharp intake of breath before an anticipated jump scare. The momentary weightlessness before the rollercoaster drops.
Fifteen minutes of your warm neck against my tear stained cheek. Your slender fingers encased around my trembling hand. Your soft breathing against my ear. The rhythm of raindrops against the pavement ticking the seconds away from our eventual downfall.
I broke the silence.
"I don't need any validation", I said, truthfully.
"Hold on to that feeling", you told me.
Then we broke apart.
