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We are talking by the door when she enters the party, and even if he pretends to be listening to me, his eyes are on her, waiting to be acknowledged before they run right into each other. He holds her with such care, like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. She clings to him like a lifeline, throws her arms around his neck and whispers in his ear.
Her boyfriend smiles at me. It’s kind of sweet, really condescending. He says “some things die easy, some things not so much” with a shrug. Walks away completely unfazed.
I’m not as lucky. By the time he finishes his sentences the damage is already done.
Jealousy works in a weird way. Sometimes it’s blinding, raging through our bodies like a fire and dominating our minds, burning the common sense, and every positive feeling that may come with it, out of the way. Other times, it’s quieter, light like the buzz of a tinnitus, constant and uncomfortable but never enough to provoke a reaction.
Most of the time, though, jealousy is sneaky, it settles in us before we can realize it’s even there and when we finally acknowledge it, it’s already too late to take it away from our hearts. After that, it’s just a matter of time before it goes out of control, causing an explosion that leaves nothing to explore in the aftermath.
I am jealous. I know it. Everybody else does, too. And despite what everyone thinks, with the boyfriend that I have and the ex-girlfriend that he has, my insecurities are more than justified.
Even if Oren is in love with me, what would keep him interested? What do I have in comparison to her? Nothing. And, when it comes to loving and being in love, does it really matter who’s the better person? It only matters who you love, and who’s just a fling. Up to this day, Oren and Bette have loved each other - as friends, as companions, as partners, as lovers. How can infatuation and chemistry compete with that kind of unrelenting feeling?
Despite the odds, they both do what they can to prove how their relationship has evolved to something platonic. Bette does her best to be unthreatening: makes a show of bringing her own boyfriend to hang out with us in the communal area; asks me for her opinion in presents for Matteo and his family; doesn’t hang out with Oren if not on double dates or when Shane is in the same room.
All in all, she is a lot nicer than literally anyone would expect her to be. Very considerate, and very careful as well. Too careful, even. Like someone that commits a crime and acts innocent to be charged as so. And we all know, by now, that Bette is an expert when it comes to looking innocent when guilty.
So I’m careful too, cautious even. I keep an eye out for any indication that Oren and Bette might still share secrets (not just the ones in their past); might still want each other close; might still have a romantic connection that is being denied because they were too young, too selfish, too prideful to recognize.
And the realization comes like jealousy… quiet and crescent just like sirens of a police car when it gets further away from the station, and grows as it gets nearer your house, until there’s a police officer banging on your door and bursting into your house to take your peace, of body and mind, away.
It starts faintly and indistinctly - similar to a tinnitus - but it’s everywhere. It’s in the way Bette asks Oren about his lunch and brings chocolate bars, carrot sticks or mango smoothies for him to eat before practice; in the way Oren searches for Bette’s eyes in the front mirror and winks at her during classes; in the way she isn’t disgusted to use his sweat damped towel when she forgets hers; in the way he undoes her bun and runs his fingers through her head to smooth her hair and soothe the ache in her scalp.
I try to dismiss my instincts. Focus on their conscient behavior, the things they choose to do and not on the 3 year old habits they kept. Because habits die hard, and a month of being broken up is not nearly enough to take away the most simple and innocent articulations of a relationship that was built so long ago. Ignoring it seems healthier, happier, easier. It’s a simple logic: “I won’t find anything that might upset me if I don’t look too much into their behavior,” that evolves to “I won’t find anything that might upset me, because there’s nothing to find.”
Ignore. Deflect. Preserve.
Except for the fact that the habits seem to grow as time goes by, instead of diminishing as they should (theoretically speaking). The buzzing gets louder by the day, the police car gets nearer. Now it’s in the way he has her birthday gift all figured out weeks in advance - a classic gold bracelet with lined starbursts; In the way she never asks where he’s been, just casually mentions that he should “ focus more on being academic smart and less on being street smart” - which is how she reminds him to do his homework and actually study instead of relying in luck. In the way he tickles her when they cross each other in the hallways, quick and efficient, making her laugh with just one touch, because he knows her body enough by now. In the way she mentions his family first thing in the morning every Thursday, because she knows he spoke to them Wednesday night.
I could easily take her spot. I know what she does, how she cares for him. But I’m not wanted there. Unwelcomed . It would feel too intrusive, too fake. So I stand back. I watch as Oren goes back to the serenity and comfort of the routine he and Bette so carefully put together, even when he doesn’t realize how attached they’re to each other.
Matteo watches too. He’s less bothered by it, because he has a part of Bette that not even Oren does: he has non-dancer Bette. Careless and carefree Bette. The one that is easier to handle because she’s free of the weight of perfection - free of the expectations and the competitiveness of it all. Matteo really likes this Bette, because she was brought out of her shelf by him and with him. What have I seen from Oren that Bette hasn’t? What do I like about Oren that Bette doesn’t? Maybe his moral compass.
The noise gets higher. I can almost see the red and blue lights reflecting in the windows. Bette and Oren feel less needy to prove themselves. Their personal relationships are stable. Secure . No reason for me and Matteo to worry, no reason for them to shield us from their bond. We just have to get used to it. Because there’s no stopping them now.
They go out for dinner once a week, which is far more frequent than our date nights. They start watching The Bachelor together again, pressed up against each other on the couch in the communal area, sharing Bette’s laptop the same way they share their opinions on the contestants. She buys him a scented candle and new underwear for his birthday and he can’t stop laughing at it. Oren doesn’t tell me the story behind it, doesn’t allow me to understand the joke. Because it’s Bette’s joke, and it’s Bette’s gift. Not his, not theirs. Hers. And he can’t bring himself to violate her power like that.
It’s a bucket of cold water thrown at my head. So cold it makes my head spin and my skin burn in agony. I want to rip the navy blue underwear apart. I want to rip him apart just as much. And her. With the fucking scented candle thrown at her head like a frisbee. Not that it would ever be as simple. Not that I would ever go through with it. Maybe I was thrown in the cold water, and not the other way around. Maybe I should just wait to drown. Maybe I should sink.
My relationship is sinking as well. I wish the police car was a helicopter instead. It would’ve been faster, easier, a little less painful if I was lucky.
I’m not lucky.
Summer starts and picnic dates are apparently a thing now. Not for Oren and I. No. For him and Bette. It’s their thing. Like everything else is theirs to share. They say it’s not meant to be romantic, they just like the place. They say they’re just there to talk.
I don’t believe them. Don’t think I ever did.
I watch them laying together under the faintest sun the town has even seen in the summer. They look innocent. Free. And it’s even more irritating than finding them making out behind a tree.
The feeling is there. The police car is parked in front of my house now, and every one of my neighbors has come to their windows to watch the scene unfold. Nothing happens. They stay frozen on each other’s arms, sunbathing just like everyone else in the park.
We have double dates at the club, and Oren dances with me enough to convince everyone that I’m the only girl he’s thinking about tonight. Then he dances with Bette. Spins her around the dance floor and they’re closer now. He whispers in her ear, makes her laugh and slap him across the chest. I can’t remember the last time he whispered something to me that wasn’t an instruction.
Bette hugs me on a Monday morning. Tells me she’s “so fucking sorry.” Oren doesn’t text me good night. I know my time is coming. The police officer is standing right in front of my door.
He breaks up with me on a Tuesday night. Tells me he’s “so fucking sorry.” Promises me they haven’t had sex. They haven’t even kissed. Like that’s some sort of accomplishment. Like it isn’t the bare minimum.
They are considerate enough to be discreet for a while. As if the fact that they don’t kiss in front of me makes up for all the sneaking around they’ve been doing for months.
Matteo drops off a box full of Bette’s things inside her dorm room. Kisses her on the cheek and never shows up again. I wander around my room, trying to fill up a box with Oren’s things to shove it in his hands and make a scene about it. I only find a pair of green leg warmers and keep them to myself out of spite.
I resent them most of the time. That realisation makes me hate them both for a while.
“some things die easy, some things not so much.”
Apparently I’m the easiest one to kill off. The police aren't taking me to jail, they came to collect my body because it was in the way. And now it isn’t anymore. I’m officially out of the picture.
They still watch The Bachelor in the communal area. They go on dates at least twice a week. Bette makes sure Oren eats and he makes sure she’s not overworking herself. They run their hands through each other, ticklish and lovingly, the way they’re supposed to when they’re in private. I can barely picture it, but there’s no point in ignoring it anymore.
I cry myself to sleep more times than I can count. I get drunk once and spell it out to Shane. He gets drunk too. Tells me to “suck it up” because everyone saw it coming. I cry a little less after that, until one day I don’t cry at all.
Oren was never my prince charming. He wasn’t supposed to be. And most of the time I don’t cry for him. I cry for the lack of impact that I had. It makes me feel small and insignificant.
It makes me feel a lot of things until one day it doesn’t make me feel anything at all.
The police car left. Their sirens are turned off. Blue and red lights fade away until they disappear. And after that I am free again.