Chapter Text
/ˈɛnvi/
a feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck.
I felt the cold salty tears running down my face. I was laying on the ground, and my knee was gushing blood. I had fallen whilst racing in the forest. My dad came running towards me with a worried look. As soon as he saw the tears escaping my eyes his expression changed. “You’re a man, Ares, and men don’t cry. You’re not a fag, so stop with that.” His hand reached for the sky and quickly came down to my face. The impact of my father hitting me was enough to shake me from tears and only have me thinking of how I disappointed him. How could I have done this; I only fell due to my own incompetence. It is as he said, I’m not a faggot, and I won’t act like one.
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Fuck. I could feel the water in my eyes, begging to come out, but I just blinked and wiped the little effort of crying off my face. Men don’t cry. So, I won’t. The mirror in front of me reflected a 16-year-old guy with a buzzcut and hoodie. I wished I was a girl, a pretty girl. With long blond hair that could be tied to braids, and gorgeous dresses I could run around in. But I'm not a girl.
I hit my pillow. Then I struck it again, and again, and again. Slowly hitting my pillow turned into hitting myself. Hitting my head, ripping my hair, and faded scars on my hands. I wish I was a pretty girl. A pretty with pretty eyes, beautiful hair and the most gorgeous dresses. Every time I thought of being a girl, I hit myself. Every time I thought of long blond hair in pretty braids with flowers, I ripped some of my hair off. I’m not a girl, I'm not all that gay shit. I’m not gay. I’m not a girl. I hit my fists against my wall.
I snuck downstairs from my room and put on my jacket. Opening the door, I felt the cool summer air coming in, I smelled the flowers and the damp aroma after the rain. I walked outside and headed to the nearby pond. It was my spot; I was there alone as much as possible. Nobody else knew about it, as it was hidden in the forest enclosing my home.
The pond was quite big, maybe even big enough to be considered a very small lake. It was wrapped in a dent between – albeit small – cliffs. There was a small stream running from one of the ridges. The flow of water created a petite waterfall down into the pool. The pond was at its deepest point about 3 meters down, so not very deep, but low enough for one to swim in it. It had a few different fish species, but the ones I could distinguish included bluegills and carp. Around the middle of the pond, there were a few rocks that came up from below the water that you could sit on. The whole scenery was so picturesque it could probably be found on Pinterest.
I went to my favorite of the cliffs and sat on it. I looked at the water below me, just a few inches from where my feet were hanging. I took out a cigarette and started smoking. The warm smoke in my lungs and nicotine going up to my head was almost as comforting as a hug. Breathing the smoke out of my lungs and watching it evaporate into the air. It was all too beautiful not to enjoy. The fish in the pond were swimming around, enjoying their time. I wish living was as easy for me as it was for them, that life was as simple as it was for them.
“Hello? Anybody here?” came the soft voice of someone I didn’t know. Fuck, they can’t see me smoking – if it’s someone who knows my dad I'm fucked. I quickly put out the smoke and threw the cigarette somewhere into the water. I’d get it later; I'd rather die than let this pond be taken away by human destruction too.
A girl came out of the woods. She had blond hair that had been dyed with purple streaks. She had a dress on. The dress was white, and off her shoulders. It fell to her ankles and had a cut on its left side that ran up to her thigh. She had styled it with a white corset, and her hair had a bandana that was used to veil her head but let her hair run down to her back. She was everything I had ever dreamt of being.
“Oh, hi!” She said with a cheeky grin. She had dimples on her cheeks, and I now noticed the basket in her hand. “Mind if I join you? I was planning on having a picnic.” She stated. “At 4 AM?” I questioned her. I tried to look into her eyes and see what she was hiding. As they say, eyes are a window to the soul. Disappointingly, I didn’t see anything. “Yes, it’s the best time to look at the stars”. Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, ok.” I said and looked up at the heavens. It had an alluring pattern of scattered stars, all on the sky just for us to see.
“I’m Aphrodite” she uttered; her eyes peeled at the stars as if they were the center of the universe that she could only see for one night. “Oh, yeah. I'm Ares” I muttered. “Ares, the god of war,” she said, her eyes now inquiring mine. She opened the picnic basket. It was full of home-baked goods like cookies, pastries, and – is that a cake? There’s also a classic red and white checkered picnic blanket, wine glasses, and a wine bottle. She took the blanket out and laid it down onto the cliff floor, then took out the goods and placed them neatly down. “I didn’t plan on doing this with someone else, but now that you’re here care to join me?” she asked. Why was she so nice to me? It’s not like I did anything for her. “Yeah, sure” I heard myself say. She took out the bottle and poured some of the drink into the wine glasses “Oh, wait, I don’t drink” it’s a long-gone promise I made, and it’s one I hold on to. “It’s juice” she giggled. I smiled and took a sip of the drink.
We sat there together, in the still and quiet. We admired the pond, the fish, the stars, and the reticence of the universe. There were probably a million words I could have said to her, and a thousand questions like “who are you?” but the noiselessness was something I rather listened to.
It was her, who broke the silence. “You deserve love too, you know.” She spoke. “I know, what it feels like to hate the body you’re trapped in. But your worth doesn’t come from aesthetic beauty or how much others express feelings to you. Your self-worth is determined by your love for yourself.” She was looking at the sky, laying down on the blanket she had put down. I could now see the scars on her thigh. “Hurting yourself won’t change anything.” I felt tears rise to my eyes, soon enough I was shedding tears and holding myself. She just laid there, looking at the stars.
I envy her. I envy the way she can lay there and hear the nihilistic thoughts in her head telling her nothing matters and how she should just leave because no one cares, not really. I envy the way she looks and attracts glances from strangers. I envy the way she doesn’t have to escape to a secluded pond when she’s self-destructive because she has herself to lean on and she trusts and loves herself enough not to hurt her.
We sat there in silence, as I felt water running down my face. Her arms wrapped around me to give me a hug, something I now learned was way more comforting than cigarettes. I started pouring out all my fears and thoughts and yearning to be a girl like her. After we had talked for hours, I noticed the sun that had risen to the sky, the cake that now is half-eaten, and the wine bottle that was no longer with juice. I got up and left. I didn’t say goodbye, because I trusted she be there the next night too.
And there she was, again. We talked again. Until the end of summer break, we expressed ourselves, and I learned a lot about myself. How I wasn’t a boy after all, and how she used to be like me. We bathed in the moonlight and watched the shower of stars. Eventually, we drifted apart. We weren’t the same, as if we ever were. Our friendship ended, and out came love. Turns out, I just needed a shove. A push to learn to love myself, and a thrust to make me see. To look up from the ground and dream. It’s been weeks since we’ve spoken, eye to eye. She was me, and I am her. Without seeing how pretty she is, I never would have seen how beautiful I am.