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Bea didn’t want to look at Gwen, not that Gwen ever left her room these days beyond classes. For what it was worth, Bea wasn’t sure if she could handle seeing Gwen either. Every time she heard Gwen’s name, Bea would freeze, and the memories of that performance would bubble up inside her. How her roommate touched Jonathan’s bare chest, caressed his face with her thumb, kissed him on stage for the world to see, or at least got too close, how they danced together—it made her heart turn green. Bea saw the dance, Fiona came over once or twice to show how practice was going, and it wasn’t even close to the level of tension on that stage. Bea could barely talk to Jonathan either. Whenever anyone brought up that performance, his face would go pink. His breathing would slow and deepen. Given his and Gwen’s success, it was hard to skip over the topic.
Gosh, you should’ve snatched him up while he was single. I know I would’ve.
The stray comments killed Bea when someone mentioned Jonathan. Her heart sank, and everything fell apart in her mind. She wanted Jonathan, wanted his touch, love, and everything in between. Yet, she didn’t have it in her to resent Gwen for anything. All she could do was nod and chuckle, and say whatever was proper, and let the small talk fly by, but those conversations were gruelling for Bea. It was a constant reminder that he left her to her to watch. Jonathan danced with Fiona so innocently, it was cute how they tripped from time to time, even if her heart ached a bit to watch him smile and laugh. Seeing Jonathan with Gwen was like having her guts ripped out. How he looked into Gwen’s eyes, how he let her touch him so tenderly, how they sang in harmony like it was meant to be from the start—Bea's heart was going to jump from her chest into her mouth, every pump of pain bleeding blood from the bitterness of her thoughts.
He and Gwen had parted ways, or at least, that’s what it seemed like. Jonathan had been going out more since then, parties were a nice escape, and it was nice to see that it wasn’t tying him down much. The concern, though, was that he hadn’t shown any amount of upset. He’d only escaped Bea's sight for a few minutes until she found him again. There he was, next to Gwen, chatting with her. Normally, it would’ve been a good sign that he could still talk to her without tension, but the wound was too fresh. It was festering. The way Jonathan put his hand on Gwen’s shoulder, how Gwen didn’t push him off—Bea needed to scream, but there was not enough air to even inhale. The wound that Gwen left was beginning to rot; Bea could feel Jonathan’s heart infecting itself on its lovelorn sickness. His eyes shimmered in that helpless way Bea loved and hated—the only resentment she held was that this tenderness belonged to someone else. Gwen must’ve snapped out of it because she suddenly pulled away, hastily speeding past Jonathan, but she turned to catch a glance of him. It lingered too long, and Bea cringed. Jonathan stood there, and his eyes looked wistful, like they longed for Gwen’s touch. It was a sickly, romantic feeling that Bea could only describe as a twisted desire. She wanted that ugliness, more than anything. His sweet stare that she could fall into—Bea clutched her red cup, the soda rising slightly.
She couldn’t stop herself from walking to him. Her hand reached first, gently brushing her fingers on Jonathan’s shoulder. She knew her touch was soft. All that time spent using a teddy bear, refining her slight tap to cater to subtle signals of discomfort or lack of from him was useless anyway. Gwen and Fiona had taught her that the only thing needed was to let him touch them, and it would be enough. Her heart broke a little as he turned around with a plastered smile on his face. He’d practised it over the years, sometimes to hide when he scored poorly on a test or when he watched an emotional movie. Bea wondered if it was second nature to pretend everything was okay. She pondered if his smiles to her were genuine or if every delusion that pushed her further into infatuation was built on the instinct to lie. His face was perfectly chiselled, built by a God, a god who didn’t want him to be hers. He looked down at her, and she melted before she froze. His focus was so sweetly distant, and she could barely hear him over her mind.
“Hey, what’re you doing here?”
Bea smiled, she couldn’t help it. He just had that effect. Lord, she sounded cheesy, but that was being twenty and in love. She screamed internally, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, the white locks smooth and straight. She looked up at him and responded, quieter than she preferred. She felt meek in this state, hopelessly and bashfully helpless under his beautiful blue gaze. He was in a state of devastation right now, and she felt like a teenage girl with a schoolboy crush. The mood couldn't feel any starker than it did now.
“Nothing much.”
In truth, Bea had no idea what she was doing. Her head tilted as Jonathan looked past her. His eyes gleamed, and Bea’s heart sank. She turned around and saw Gwen chatting with someone with her lazy smile. Bea turned around and there he was, Jonathan, in all his loving nature, looking at Gwen so fondly. Bea bit her lip by instinct, and she looked at Jonathan more thoroughly. This was the object of all her romantic affections for the longest time, and he’d been Fiona’s for the taking. It was somehow worse how he pined for Gwen because Fiona was short and sweet, adorable and endearing. Gwen? Sometimes, it seemed like she didn’t give a damn about anything. Bea? She couldn’t resent Gwen, there was nothing she could do. Gwen was herself, and that’s all it took. Bea’s hand moved to Jonathan’s arm. She brushed his skin gently, stopping at his shirt sleeve. His crisp white button-down looked identical to the one he wore that night.
“Jonathan. Can I talk to you?”
He barely managed to pry his eyes away from Gwen to look at her. A lump formed in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow her nerves. She took his hand and led him to a quiet hallway, away from the eyes of others. She didn’t mean to back him up against the wall, but he leaned there leisurely, and Bea tucked another strand of white hair behind her ear. He seemed relaxed. Bea inhaled, feeling her lungs fill with cool air. Jonathan spoke before Bea could say anything.
“So, what did you want to tell me?”
Bea’s breath hitched. His deep and smooth voice ignited a shiver in Bea’s spine, but she shook herself off. Her hand drifted to his arm, and she sighed. There wasn’t any easy way to say what was on her mind, but he had to hear it. It was nearly impossible to get the words out of her throat as Jonathan’s easy smile flashed across his face. The words were going to die, any chance she might have at letting it out would die if she didn't choose to speak now. All she wanted to do was kiss him and make him hers, but it would never happen, it would never happen. It would never happen. She dreaded those words even though they were nothing but the truth. A dying laugh left her lips and played into the air, echoing and making Jonathan’s casual expression drop.
“I wanted to talk about you.”
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes looking for some sort of shift in Bea's body language. All he found was Bea staring at the ground with a slight smile. It wasn’t the happy grin when she had good news. It was the bitter kind—the kind where she wanted to swallow her words and retract her tears. She removed her hand from Jonathan’s arm, and now holding her other one pressed against her chest.
“Is something wrong? Did I do something?”
Bea shook her head, anxiety beginning to boil in her blood. Now or never, she muttered under her breath.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted to get something off my chest.”
Jonathan stood there passively, unmoving, only slightly flinching as Bea’s soft voice rang in his ears. She sounded so melancholic that it almost sounded like she was about to cry. There were a million things he could’ve said. Yet, none of them felt right, so he remained silent. Perhaps it was the right thing to do, he thought. Maybe that was his coping mechanism that made him feel less useless. He wondered what she was thinking about, what was so important, what might’ve happened—it only served to worsen his anxiety, and Bea could feel his unease. She knew it wasn’t her, as in her being making him uncomfortable, but it didn’t make the words easier to say.
“I’ve wanted to say this for a while, but I always thought things would be slightly different between us then, though I guess not.”
Bea wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it without sounding awkward, but there wasn’t a way to make it go easy, so the best thing she could do was say it. The words were caught in her throat, and it didn’t help that Jonathan’s sweet gaze fell on her face. Jonathan couldn’t say anything either. Dread filled his mind’s eye, and Bea could feel the tension in his body. She wanted to forget what she was doing and shrug it off for another day, but she knew if she didn’t say it now, there might not be a better time to say what went on in her mind. She coughed her most carnal secret, which was far from lustful, but tinged with desire as she thought about all the things she wanted to do.
“I love you, Jonathan.”
The words echoed in his head. His heart dropped, and his breath hitched. He couldn’t think of anything except the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Bea was his friend, which was the thing—she was just a friend. A part of him died as she said those words, but he knew replying with outrage would do no good. He took a deep breath and kept a cool expression. He didn’t cringe as Bea spoke, but he remained stoic, his eyes on her, patiently waiting for her to finish. He wondered how their friendship was going to work or if she’d ghost him now. She wasn’t that type of person, or so he thought, but he quickly found himself spiralling and paused his thoughts as she spoke.
“I have for a while, too.”
Silence.
“And I know you don’t feel the same, but I just wanted to let you know.”
The quiet was unbearable. Jonathan’s voice broke the silence, and Bea couldn't help but turn her head in his direction.
“Thank you for telling me.” His voice was steady and smooth. “That must’ve been difficult.”
Her head relaxed, but her shoulders were still tense. Jonathan tried to ignore the stiffness of her posture, tried to ignore that everything would change now. This was not on his bingo card for the year. Bea's hands clenched at her sides. This probably wasn’t the response she wanted, but probably the most expected. Jonathan put his hand on her shoulder and used his thumb to gently rub her skin through her t-shirt. Reservation left her shoulders, and Jonathan let out a small sigh of relief.
“I’m not going to leave now that you’ve confessed, and I’d be more than happy to stay friends.”
Silence again.
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
He was about to give her a hug when she pulled his collar. Her lips were soft against his, and he could barely register the action before Bea pushed him back against the wall. His cheeks went pink, and she stood there in front of him, embarrassed. Her words were rushed, and her voice was higher than normal.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I just got caught up—”
Bea barely looked up before she noticed that Jonathan was not looking at her. She looked in the same direction as him, and there it was—Gwen, who hadn’t even noticed he was there. Guilt lined Jonathan’s eyes, and his expression gave the impression of yearning. They had parted ways, or that’s what they told everyone else. He’d moved on, or that’s at least what he said. Bea didn’t try to regain his attention. She turned and walked away. Jonathan didn’t even notice or try to stop her. Another part of her died at his lack of reaction. She strode past the sea of people and sighed. The night was still young, the stars twinkling in the sky. A confession heard and wasted, a party that brought anything but merriment to Bea’s mind.