11
Emily
Stephen and I are having one of our reading date nights. The climax of these dates is when we turn the last page of a good book. For him, that’s enough.
I’m reading a romance book. I turn the page and my thoughts wander as I wish for this type of passion—to be desired with such hunger and taken by someone strong and handsome. I would settle for a fraction of it, and the guy doesn’t even have to be that handsome.
Stephen takes a deep breath and closes his book. I fold my page and close mine as well, smothering the passion overflowing from the pages. He grabs my hands and puts them in his. He inches closer to me, and I feel like I’m in trouble. He stares at me, as if he is going to tell me something so shocking that I would never believe it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, annoyed.
“I was thinking that—” Stephen takes a deep breath. “That we have fizzled out, you and I.”
He thinks we fizzled out? As if we were ever a raging fire. You have to have a flame before it can extinguish itself. I’ve felt the same for weeks, and I’m glad he said it first. When the sound of him turning a page in his book annoyed me much too easily, I knew the relationship had run its course. We’ve been poking a dead body, trying to make it move to hang on to some semblance of life. It’s time to let the body rest and return to the earth, where it belongs.
He reaches his hand out reassuringly, and I stare at him with a blank look.
“So that’s it?” I ask, already knowing and agreeing with the answer.
He looks down at his hands and nods. It’s as if he enjoys the idea of being with me but has slowly realized I’m not the person he thinks I am. Intelligent minds are often the most plagued, and I am craving a line of pills as we speak.
“Well, I think you should leave then.”
“Emily, don’t be like this. We can still be friends.”
“Sure we can. Of course. But I still want you to leave. Right now.”
I just want to be alone.
I stand and open my door for Stephen to leave. He gets up and reaches a hand out to me again, but I shake my head. He hesitates, then drops his arm to his side and leaves my room. I close the door and lean against it. I sigh.
What does it say about me when I’ve been dumped by the most boring man on the planet?
I grab my tin, twist it open, and spill its contents onto my dresser. I take the straw, place it in my nostril, and inhale. I lie back down on the bed and pick up my book, flipping it open to where I left off—an ironically timed love scene. I want to immerse myself in the plot of my book while enjoying the weightlessness of pills. I want to feel all of my feelings in a diluted manner.
What’s wrong with me?
* * *
David
“I heardyou and Stephen broke up. What's that about?”
Emily shrugs and leans her head on my shoulder.
“It was bound to happen,” she says
“Bound? Is that supposed to be book humor?” I laugh, but she does not.
“It's not funny! I got dumped by a personified yawn. What does that say about me?”
“Oh, hush.”
I brush back her hair and kiss her forehead. She tastes like vanilla and lavender. We are high and folded up in each other's arms. I do love Emily. She is my best friend in this world.
I could never make her happy, though. Even when the tears silently escape down her cheeks from a breakup, I know in my heart she would cry much more if she were with me. I love her too much to do that to her.
I heard some of the party crowd were asking where I’ve been, but I could count them on one hand. As I suspected, I’m not anything beyond those walls. The popularity I enjoyed at those parties died the moment I crossed the threshold with Emily that night.