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They don’t quite tell stories like this.
The endless contemplation of a rejection that lasted a month, the careful deliberation of wanting to maintain the status quo between you and your best friend who had caught feelings for you. What they don’t tell you is the angst in hurting the one person who means the world to you. The devastation of seeing his eyes tremble as he forces himself to calmly smile ( is he doing that for himself or for you? ), and it feels like someone had drawn a knife into your stomach, twisted it, because you can just read the pain gradually carving across his heart in that second.
It hurts because you haven’t even said a word. It hurts because you know that he knows.
Your back is pressed against the cabinet; the stability is what you need so you don’t lose your balance and fall to the ground. Your hands are trembling, your legs feel weak. Your chest feels tight, but you nibble your lower lip and you decide that it is now or never.
The words come out the way you have rehearsed it in your head hours and hours ago. As soon as the words linger in the air, you immediately feel a sense of despair crashing into the pits of your stomach. If you feel bad before, you feel the worst now.
To know that the cause of this misery, his , lies in the decision you have made and believed to be sensible. It makes you sick in the stomach, the feeling incomprehensible.
You are well aware that you are not answering his question properly, well aware that you are choosing the easy way out. That you are skirting around the crux of the matter that is his heart and your heart, rather than tackling it head on with the courage you could only hope to have but clearly don’t. You answer in third person because it is easier that way; it shields you from all justification, it separates you from the fact that you know he meant you in his confession.
You don’t tell him the reason for your answer. You don’t think he should know that you are afraid to meet his feelings halfway because you are afraid of the possibility of losing him. How severe that would be, to risk a friendship of twenty years over a passion that could easily fade away in time and in circumstances. To risk a goodbye so strong it would wreck your soul into pieces; because how can you explain to him that you simply cannot entertain the thought of losing your world if things do not go your way?
A tiny voice interrupts your conscience just then. In that fleeting second. The voice wonders if you are doing the right thing by not being honest with him. As his best friend, doesn’t he deserve that at the very least?
Your desperation of wanting to seize back some semblance of control this unexpected turmoil has caused in your life takes over all rationale the voice of reason tries to impart on you. You eventually swallow the words that are stuck in your throat and you repeat to yourself that it’s best not to say them. You don’t even wait for his response, leaving his room in a haste. With how you have dealt with this entire situation, you allow him the opportunity to think of you as the bad guy in this story that has once again ended before it could even begin. Let him resent you, loathe you for breaking his heart into pieces.
No sooner did you think of that, that you realise how you don’t want that to happen. You cherish him in a way that is immeasurable that the thought of losing him becomes simply too much a burden to bear. The irony of this entire situation is not lost; the tiny voice in your head whispers again. Are you sure you haven’t already lost him tonight?
Your vision blurs and the tears you fought hard to suppress come welling in your eyelids. You press a hand over your mouth to avoid making any sound, because you have not moved an inch from the door you’ve closed behind you, and you don’t want him to know that you are hurting just as much as he probably is at this moment.
You gather your remaining strength and barely make it down the corridor. In the safe haven of your car, as soon as you slide into the driver’s seat, your heart clenches in an inexplicable ache and you start to sob. You can’t breathe and everything hurts.
If there is a limit to how much heartbreak you could take, it is probably this; giving up on a chance at happiness simply because you are too afraid, too confused, to take the leap. You can’t be sure of your feelings for him at this time but you immediately shut out all attempts to even explore the idea that you may very well like him more than just friends.
You are no winner in this situation, because you have lost as much as he did.
And oh, you could only pray. You could only foolishly pray that whatever damage you have caused, it will be mended in time. It simply must. It will.
Right?