“So, are you two going out or what?â€
We stop in mid-sentence of our hurried conversation.
He turns and answers brokenly, “Err no – we’re… just friends,†looking to me for confirmation.
“Yeah, just friends†I say, hurt.
I see his face fall for a fraction of a second before the mask I know so well and have come to hate replaces it. As we walk away he opens his mouth to speak but I interrupt.
“Well what would you have me say? Throughout these years I have watched you date other girls; every time a new relationship begins it is like you have reached into the still healing wound in my chest to rip out my heart as you watch it, bemused, beating in your grasp before it is crushed beneath your heel! And at the end of each one I pick up the pieces and sew them back together haphazardly, my bruised bleeding and broken heart in working order again as I wait and hope for your attention to me next. Then that brutal cycle begins again! Why do you do this to me?!â€
Hot tears have begun to flow and I turn my back on him, unwilling to see his reaction. Suddenly, I feel the gentle touch of his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. I look up into his eyes and am surprised to see understanding and – could it be, love? – seeping through the disintegrating mask.
He brushes the tears from my cheeks, his soft fingers sending a shiver down my spine. His hands reach behind my neck, entangling them in my hair as he cradles my head. Then his lips find mine and I can think no more except – as my arms wind around him of their own volition – one thought identifies itself: how can all these people be walking by be so oblivious? This is the happiest day of my life.
