Flicker Pain

[23] farewell

Conrad and I were at the carnival, as it was one of those few, rare current days where our schedules had checked out. Maybe I'd gotten tired of lying and he tired of the solitude he pretended to beg for, but nonetheless — we were together.

Back with him — it was nice. It was just nice, and not heartwarming or revolutionary or anything distinctly worth the pain of waiting. It was just a dose of Conrad — but I was addicted and needed more, despite my attempts of staying clean. And despite the questions that hung between us.

However, it was different this time, as I could no longer hide their influence.

Ride after ride, he asked if I wanted to go on, and ride after ride, my mouth and body readily disobeyed me: saying no, and walking away before he had a chance to follow.

There were only so many times I could force him to face the same puzzle he'd placed before me. There were only so many times I could convince him that yes, this was where I wanted to be. And there only so many times I could play him, refusing to do a single thing.

His impatience got the best of him as he cornered me close, grabbed my arms, and raised his voice.

"Tel me what's wrong! Tell me what's wrong!" He screamed in my face. It didn't even frighten me anymore when he yelled.

I'd seen this side of him so many times, all I could do was smile at the familiarity of his shattered song.

I woke up, gasping.

It took a long while to regain myself and fall back to sleep. Especially given that most aspects of it — in fact — were anything but a harmless dream.

Which was exactly why I had to keep my distance.

* * *

He showed up on my doorstep not long after my intentions were clear, wearing the same unreadable face I'd grown so accustomed to in recent times. In his hands he held fists, and in his eyes he held blandness. Blandness, that didn't subside when I opened the door in evident dread, nor when I stepped out and closed it behind me with a soft slam.

"What are you doing here, Conrad?" I asked quietly, staring him head-on. His jaw clenched slightly.

"You're ignoring me."

His tender accusation stabbed at my heart. It wasn't incorrect. I leaned against the wooden door, exhaling slowly. There were no words that had to be said.

"So...are you...admitting to ignoring me?" His words held even more disappointment, and I couldn't meet his gaze.

"Why are you here?" I asked instead of replying.

"You haven't been answering my calls or my texts," He sounded so vulnerable and hurt, "Hell, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

What he said, however, didn't match his previous actions. "I don't understand you," I confessed in a whisper.

"What don't you understand, Maya?" He took a step towards me. Unwillingly, my back pressed even further into the door.

"This...this whole act you're putting on. You're like two different people now, and I don't know which one is the real you." I breathed. The space was beginning to feel claustrophobic with him so dangerously close, "And I don't understand what you want from me."

He smiled, brokenly, "I don't want us to stop being friends."

"Then you can start by telling me the truth. You haven't been the same since you've been back. And you've hurt me a lot."

For a long time it was just silence, him grasping my hand and rubbing circles into the palm of it. His therapy only made my heart slightly soften, but it was overcome by pain with each second he wasted.

"I can't tell you right now," My heart split in two as he cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his teary eyes.

At that moment, I couldn't hold it back anymore.

I pulled away, trying to stay calm, "I don't get it. I've told you so much about me, Conrad. I let you coax me into telling you some of the worst things of my life, I let you comfort me, I even let you walk all over me for these past few weeks because I thought that maybe, just maybe you would be able to finally tell me why you've been so different. I trusted you with my secrets, but you can't trust me with yours."

"No, it's not like that, Maya," He said desperately. He reached for me again and I flinched, but that didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around me, "I do trust you, it's just — I need more time. Please, believe me, I will tell you someday. Soon."

I was too stupid to see the pattern repeating itself. They always begged to hear your secrets first, and once you wanted to know theirs — they ran, "There's always an excuse." I mumbled.

"What?" He whispered.

I disentangled myself from his arms, avoiding his gaze, "I think you should leave."

"Maya?"

"Please just go. You say you need more time — I'll give you that," I shook my head, "But right now, I can't be around you."

His shoulders sagged, "Maya, please, I promise it's not what you think — "

"I don't want to hear it."

"Listen to me — "

"Go."

He looked at me like he wanted to say more, but he didn't press any further. I watched as he turned and walked down the stone steps, dejection in his walk. When he reached the bottom, he turned back to look up at me.

"I'm sorry about how I've been with you lately. I promise...I'll make it up to you."

I watched him leave in silence. There was nothing left to be said.

They always said they were sorry. But they never truly meant it.

* * *