Everything I Never Say ✓

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Two

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Daniel.

Daniel, do you remember?

Do you remember that time the Scream movies were becoming irritatingly popular? Do you remember those stupid masks that were available in almost every store? There was this particular one that had a sort of pump behind the mask. And each time the pump was squeezed, something akin to blood would spread throughout the face of the mask, beneath its plastic exterior.

Red ink, or some sort of liquid, probably. Definitely not actual blood, that I know.

Yeah, those. You used to have one of those then.

I hated it. Hated hated hated it.

Loathed it even.

It terrified me.

And because of that, you only found more purpose to keep using the awful mask.

I used to be lazy when it came to taking a body wash in the night, before going to sleep. (I still am, by the way.) And mum used to have a time trying to get me undressed and into the washroom.

But that one night, she made me a bargain. If I was washed and in my pyjamas before nine, then I'd be allowed to watch a cartoon of my choice before I needed to get in bed. It was a school night, I think. But that made no difference in whether we stayed over at your place or not. After all, we did go to the same school.

And so I sped up the stairs of your house and got undressed faster than I have my entire life. I remember walking down the hallway where the wahroom was located, I remember wearing my favourite mint green bathrobe that your mum bought me. It was cute, that they came in sizes for five year olds.

But then I noticed the mask propped up against the bathroom door and I swear, Daniel, I swear I stopped breathing. I think my heart even leapt out of its position and fell right back into place.

I knew you'd done it, and I don't think I've ever felt so much rage and annoyance towards another person before. It was too much anger to be contained in a five year old's body.

And I also remember screaming. I was screaming so loud and so hard that I could feel the vibrations in my throat. My mum started to laugh when she realised what the problem was; your mum chided you and made you promise to never do it again.

Our dads had no care, completely used to your several attempts in terrorising me.

You didn't have a younger sister to bug, they used to tell me, that all your pranks and banters were from a place of affection.

By the time you removed the horrible mask from my sight and I was brave enough to go to the washroom all on my own and take a wash that mostly consisted of me throwing a glance over my shoulders every five seconds to make sure nobody was going to pop up behind me, it got late.

Late enough for me to only have my dinner and then go to bed. I didn't get to watch the cartoon because it would have finished past my bedtime.

I think that's the first time I told myself I hate you.

I wish it had stayed as hate, Daniel.

I want to hate you.

Hate is so much easier to deal with it. To feel. To let in.

But, see, the thing is, Daniel, now that I'm older, I realise it wouldn't have made a difference had I hated you instead of loving you.

Because there's a very, very thin line between love and hate. Both means keeping you in my mind, my heart, my soul. Both means my eyes being glued to your form. Both means sensing your presence and feeling your absence. Both means knowing you're breathing the same air as me, walking the same earth as me, staring at the same sky as me, letting your skin be kissed as the same sun as me, spilling your secrets to the same moon as me... Both means knowing you're there. Loving you, or hating you—both emotions would only allow my mind to acknowledge you.

So no, Daniel, the opposite of love isn't hate.

The opposite of love is indifference.

And there is no possible way that I can in this lifetime, and every lifetime after this, ever be indifferent to you after knowing you.

There's love, there's hate, and then there's you.

But not indifference, Daniel. I could sense you the second I step into a crowded room, without ever needing to look up.

I still can.

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