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I THOUGHT I'D GET ACCUSTOMED to the many pauses we've had during our relationship. I was wrong to believe so. There were lots of them, and most were heavy with something that I couldn't place a finger on, and I couldn't take it. I should have been stronger, but I was too weak. It became too much for me to handle. Then, we're here. Inside the bedroom where we'd retire for the night to rest, where we'd sometimes play pillow fight, where we'd sometimes just laze around then stare at each other and laugh at nothing. It's where we created memories; but why had it suddenly also felt too heavy for me?
I tuck my chin on my arms that hugged my knees, which were pressed up to my chest. It's quiet, but the loud banging against my chest is enough to make me go deaf. The bed I've been sitting on dips as another weight joins me, although he's sitting as far as he could from me. He's sitting far away as if he's avoiding me, as if I'd lash out at him any time, as if he's afraid of me. At the same time, he's sitting near me as if he wants to reach out to me, as if he wants to touch me, as if he's longing for me. It's confusing. I don't complain whether I think he's too far or too near; I just don't see the point in doing so.
"I'm sorry." Antonio says.
His words echo throughout the room. They echo throughout my chest and my mind. I want to be mad at him but I can't. I want to scream at him but I can't. I want to leave him right here and never talk to him again, but I can't bring myself to do it. I can't bring myself to do anything at all. I'm awfully tired, although I hadn't done much earlier today. I don't understand this. I don't understand myself. I don't understand everything anymore.
I didn't utter a word, and he seems to accept my silence. I heave a shaky sigh, closing my aching eyes and hoping it would all just vanish, hoping this is all just a terrible dream. Alas, this is reality I'm talking about, and none could ever escape from it.
"I don't blame you." I say because it isn't his fault after all. I deem that it was bound to happen and that I should just accept it; that we should just accept it so we wouldn't hurt ourselves furthermore.
"I don't blame you," I repeat, trying to get it in his head. " . . .really. I don't. It wasn't as if you could control it or something. I mean, I understand but at the same time I don't—you getting my point, Toni?"
I chuckle then I open my eyes to peek at him. I find him already looking at me, his eyes boring into mine. I suddenly feel conscious about myself then, though I don't look away. His eyes speak a million words. His eyes convey his emotions in a lot more ways than a hundred. I wonder if my own conveys emotions too. I feel like bursting from all the emotions; his and mine combined. But I didn't, however. Not yet, I suppose. Then, he averts his eyes from me.
"I'm sorry, Lovino." He says to me again, and I sigh. I'm about to speak when he cuts me off, his voice unstable. "I thought that was it. I thought it's—I thought I'm able to distinguish whether I'm in love in a romantic way or—or. . . I'm really sorry, Lovino. I love you though; I really do. I promise I do, but I'm so confused and I'm really wrong and it's just messing with my head and I can't—I can't deal. . . I don't know, Lovino. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
He sobs and it hurts me. Watching him cry clenches my heart like something is trying to squeeze all the blood out of it. I want to reach out to him, but it's like something has been weighing me down, and all I could do is just sit there. I'm not submitting to it, however, as I push myself up and scoot closer to him, leaning until my forehead touches his shoulder. It's a way to comfort him somehow. His shoulder shakes as he sobs, and I tolerate it even if it's kind of annoying. I purse my lips, my throat constricting and leaving me almost gasping for air. My eyes start to water, but I blink them away.
"You don't have to worry." I say, barely audible. I know that he heard it nonetheless. He continues crying and I hesitantly raise a hand to rub his back. Goose bumps scatter along my skin as I did, warmth spreading in my insides just like they always did even before. "It wasn't—it isn't your fault—"
"I know!" he snaps. The hand I've been using to rub his back flinches, and I retract it from him. He doesn't complain about it. "But it's still my fault! It's my fault for leading you on. It's my fault for being wrong about this. It's my fault that I don't know what it feels like. It's my fault that we're drifting away. I didn't mean for it to end like this."
He sniffles and it's all quiet again.
I move away from him only to shuffle beside him. I didn't look at him though; I don't think I have the guts to do so. My body protests otherwise. I stare at the brown bedroom door made from wood, heaving a shaky sigh. We don't speak, and I presume that we're just beyond tired. Maybe we just don't have anything to say any more, or maybe we just need comfort from other things, like what the silence has been providing us. I reckon it's all of the three.
"So," I begin, still refusing to look at him. "We're unhappy now, aren't we?"
He nods quietly.
"And we're ending this now, right? I think, since it's for the better." I'm surprised that my voice hasn't shaken yet from all the emotions that are threatening to flow. I hold out for a little longer. He nods again. "Yeah, okay. I'm just confirming."
Another pause passes.
I speak up. "Hey, remember the time when I told you I want to go to Italy with you?"
"Yeah," says he. "I still do."
"I still want to, to be honest."
And it'll be a dream never reached. Like a star that is a million light-years away from here. Like a star that is never meant to be touched. His phone starts buzzing in his hand and he checks it. He breathes out, and it's like a laugh that suddenly rushed out of his mouth. I push down the bitter feeling that starts to crawl up to my chest. He wipes away the remaining tears on his face after he closes his phone, and he seems to waver when he notices I'm still here.
"You got somewhere to go to?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"I—uh, yeah, I do. Francis reminded me through text." He replies with a slight stutter. I wonder for a moment if he hesitated because he doesn't want to hurt me further. I clench my fists to stop myself from thinking more.
"Okay." I look at him. His pretty green eyes are looking back at me. "You can go. I'm fine here by myself."
"Are you sure?" he looks concerned. I convince myself that he's not allowed to, though I didn't mention it to him. I nod, and he stands up when I did. "I guess I'll get going."
He walks away rather slowly, then he turns back to me when he reaches the door and his gaze locks with mine. My heart pounds against my chest. His eyes are sorrowful and regretful.
"I suppose this is really it then." I dumbly declare because I still can't believe this is all happening.
His eyes look away from mine, "Yeah." Then he's out the door.
Only at the sound of the apartment door opening and closing have the tears flow freely down my face. Only then I started to weep at all the memories we created in this very bedroom, in this very apartment. I weep at all the things that remind me of him. I weep because of him. I weep because I've been a coward and weak. I weep because it's all too much. My sobs echo throughout the seemingly empty bedroom and it hurts so much.
I had genuinely thought that in the middle of our confrontation, I'd begin to accept it. Accept that he doesn't reciprocate my feelings for him, accept that it's a mistake that had started a year and eight months prior. I had proved myself wrong now that I'm bawling in this stupid room and stupid bed. I didn't want to cry, but maybe I've reached my limit and they just poured out like water from a tap. Perhaps there's nothing that could ever prepare me for this heartache.
My heart longs for him and wants him back. But he could no longer be mine. And everywhere I look in the room, I can only see him smiling at me.
The warmth left and the room suddenly became cold. I despise it.