as long as i pretend i am (Short Story)
October 9, 2024
you never loved me,
you just want me to not get hurt,
and that’s not love.
He read it from his phone screen and immediately, beamed with satisfaction.
“Naivety”, he said, “is an art”. “Just like ignorance is bliss?”, I asked. “You could say that”, he replied.
We had both been talking about our similar childhoods – I was telling him how running away from our abusive parents is a never ending cycle. To that, he was telling me how too much sophistication is what worsens the hurt. “You don’t have to be sophisticated to live a happy life, all you need is to be really really naive.”, he blurted out, pulling his coffee cup closer and smiled at me with his ghostly, unhappy eyes.
The sun was setting slowly against the dark clouds. It was a cold, windy day. He nipped a flower from its bud, and started chewing the flower with his miniscule teeth, grinding the petals together. We didn’t talk for a while. The river was challenging the weather.
“Isn’t that crazy?”, he said. He had fumes coming out of his mouth. It was cold.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”, I said. I had my fingers touching my ring, and moving it around.
“Maybe I don’t”, he said, and he started running back to the road. The river grew larger and larger with the murky gray water now swallowing the nearby sand. I thought it was going to eat me that day – first the river, and then the guilt.
It rained for multiple days after that day. We all went from wearing loose T-shirts to putting on colored sweaters. You could see children holding onto their sweater sleeves as they passed by the road, teenagers hiding their cold bodies inside their hoodies. It was possibly the fourth consecutive rainy day when I saw him. I was standing under a big tree to protect myself from the rain. He came running towards the tree with his scarf scaffolded over his head to stop the rainwater from getting to his hair. He had the same ghostly eyes, all that was different was that he had grown paler. Almost yellow.
Does he have jaundice?, I thought.
I went to him, and hugged him tight. I realized he had grown leaner, his body was almost shaking in the cold. His teeth were clattering when the drizzle started hitting our lower body – the rain was getting sloppier.
“Tell me about it”, I said.
“I didn’t do it”, he said, tears rolled down his face. Our head had already been wet from the rainwater that dripped from the tree leaves. It was almost like he was crying rainwater. He tried holding me tighter, clenching his fists against my back. I could almost feel his nails piercing my skin – he did not want to let me go.
“I know,” I said, trying to control my anger. I let him loose. He did not want to leave my flannel shirt but I gripped his hands, and started to drag myself away. He held me tighter. He was way weaker than I was. He couldn’t stand my strength even on normal days, his feeble body could only muster so much at that moment.
He did not know he was my only friend. I knew I was his only friend. So, please understand when I say we were perfect for each other – only I wanted him to be a little more than perfect. I could feel it, he was incomplete. He needed me. I could fill the holes in his heart, the ones he ached for, as he gasped himself into wake every morning.
Did I need validation? I wouldn’t disagree. We all need validation, and love is a proxy for validation. People think they need love, but – do they even? We don’t really want what we often think we desire. What if all we needed was validation, and love was an easy way out – one where you do not directly subjugate the other physically but do it over and over emotionally. One thing my foster-dad would tell me whenever he had a chance: every proxy is a bad proxy. It has been clearer as I have been growing up – love is no different.
When I asked him to etch my name on his forearms, he was taken aback. I had started asking him to do little things. Like a ladder. Say, ask him to pick my bag for me. Or, bring me a coffee next time he goes to the store. Do my laundry. I was awaiting the final task, like a mousetrap ready to snap, its skeletons clanking with laughter.
He had touched his hair, twirling it in circles, and said, “You think?”
“Absolutely”, I had said, smiling.
“I will think about it”, he had said, not quite sure what I had asked for.
“Sure, no pressure.”, I had replied with a glimmer of shine in my eyes, only if you are comfortable.
I got him a scalpel the next day. It was either the scalpel or a butterknife. Knife sounded to me romantic, but more evil. I did not want to be thought of as evil! That day, I sipped my coffee in amusement for how most romantic things can be construed as evil, only if you allow a shift in perspective. A gentle kiss – a thirst for power, holding hands – a thirst for control, and etching names? Isn’t it all perspective? Romance, Evil? What else but a simulation of our desire to perfection? Nothing but a mere perspective. Scalpel could be scary though. I did not want him to get an infection. My heart would not allow him to do that. It would be sad, almost ironic.
So that morning, I boiled the scalpel in water for 10 minutes, soaked it in isopropyl alcohol, and let it dry for a while.
You have so much power in your hand, you almost feel you will mess it up. You want to make it right, just right. Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom, said Kierkegaard. I was dizzy. I was drenched. It was almost as if my freedom made me not free – a fire burning itself, a rope hanging dead on itself.
It was the last time I saw him. He calls me a thousand times. I know how much he wants me. Am I angry? Why would I not be? I am shimmering with anger, but beneath the heat it is more than pure rage – I am engulfed in disappointment.
Please forgive me, he texts, I would do anything for you.
I leave it on read. Well, you could not. I want to reply but think better of it. Hypocrite, I murmur, and blast loud music on my headphones. And all of a sudden, I unlock my phone, block his number, block his messages, and shut down my phone. For a split second, I see a reflection of my face on the dark mirror of the phone. I force a smile but throw the phone away before my lips can fully expand. I do not deserve to smile. He despises me, and I know it. I stare at the ceiling that night, and weep for long before I fall asleep. The sun will rise tomorrow, and make the dark sky pink, and the breeze will eat my lungs, and I will run until my windpipe hurts, and I will feel dizzy, and I will puke my empty stomach, and will get nothing out but my intestines, and maybe I will lie down like a rock, and maybe I will be a rock for as long as I pretend I am.