Saudade. Chapter 6

I had wanted to ask you the same question once, how you felt about the world when I knew that you check the news daily, but you never let it affect you and you don’t talk much about it to me because you know that I can get emotional. I speak too much truth, I don’t make anything fiction. I eventually blow all the truth out so that my whole body aches from so much exhaustion and distortion from normality.

We stare at each other in silence, before looking away and knowing that the topic is really closed, I could always open it, but I don’t. On the background there’s a football game, but I don’t know the teams to root for either even if I can guess which team is supported since everyone is wearing matching stripy shirts and last time I had been here I had a guy flirt with me as he would tell me things about the team I had long forgotten. We had hooked up which looking back wasn’t the wisest idea but sometimes danger just slips past the fingers.

“Looks like we’re the unaware foreigners.” I laugh at him as people boo the other team. David nods and maybe we had always held the same silence we hold now.

“Did you think of me?” He asks, basking in some self aware question. The question stalls me for a while, because I did think of him, but not as often, since I started dating you. I tell him that and he just nods, wondering himself probably why had we decided to drag ourselves under some passionate seal to begin an affair.

“I know that you thought of me.” I take his hand, only wondering now if it’s really safe enough, but I’m under those nights and stars where you let anything slip by and risk it all. I’ve already risked it all with you for frankly no good reason besides igniting a long gone passion. My mind is going blank now and I should probably sleep, but the more time I take writing this letter the more things I will forget and start making up the holes I won’t recall. So I have to keep writing somehow, with everything I can recall, just to make my end of the bargain fair even if we never agreed.

Maybe there is really nothing to talk about and this is the morning after which comes with a crazy bitter taste. Where does one even start pouring their soul out? It’s worse because there is always a chance of leaving, just apologizing and that would be it. But maybe we should both hold onto it for the plain sake that it’s just a few days and then we would see what happens, but this is something which drags me with fear. I don’t want to go back, my whole body is destroyed with everything that has been happening and my own mind is not just my enemy, but my poison.

Maybe the hatred is slowly unravelling itself and I truly have all the answers now and I can turn around in my sleep, knowing that I’ve been enough. But I don’t leave and neither does he. I also feel like we’re both barely holding from connecting to the Wi-Fi and checking our phones while the rooted for team tries to score. Eventually he pulls his phone out and I just look around, in a fucking sea of stripy red. He does make me snap out of thinking, though.

“Do you want a photo? I mean, when are we going to meet up in Brazil again?” And as he says it I remember a bitter memory where he wouldn’t give me the photos of us together, but I smile regardless for the photo. I should ask him instantly to give me the photo for old time’s sake.

“Can I get it, as well?” He nods, probably not even recalling that. Then we have an awkward pause were we both feel very aware that we don’t have each other’s e-mail or any mean of communication, I had made sure that no one could find me besides from looking at my left over friend’s comments and even then, I tried to comment as less as possible for such reasons. We do a brief staring contest, before I take his phone and enter my e-mail with a bit of trembling fingers. Now, he’ll be able to contact me if all goes wrong and my mood changes rapidly each second even. Now, all the thrill has shifted to fear and some doomed love. I won’t deny that I still love him, but maybe it’s all because when I loved I was young and stupid? Who do I love now? Which memories do I even hold?

“Can I ever reach you through it?” David asks and I take a while to reply, as I stare at my own screen, as if the photo would somehow never arrive. I tend to remember things sometimes and once I do, I get bitter like a grandpa.

“Yeah, of course.” And I wait for him to ask for my Facebook now.

“What do you use even?” He asks me, taking a gulp from his own drink. “I mean, from the social media?”

I pretend to think for a brief while, simply because I always get scared before giving them out.

“Yeah.” I pause. “I have nearly everything actually, some of them I end up using, some of them are just… there.”

Like Twitter.

He raises his eyebrows as an indication for me to continue, to reveal any other method he could contact me through. I ponder about it for a while, not too long though, not enough not to make it impolite. I skim through my phone, decide that Facebook could be impersonal enough but it has old photos and that’s it before I had discovered myself properly. I don’t even know what to do, I could give Instagram which has far too many selfies for its own good. I think about it too much, because frankly everyone is a block away by the end of the day.

“Facebook or Instagram?” I ask, possibly regretting that he would say something like throw both at me.

“Both is good.” I guessed it as he says it. I regret asking that for a bit, but I give him both of my usernames, since Facebook holds a fake name as well for the time being until I decide that I’m mature enough to reveal my real name online. I waited for him to add me back so that I could quickly skim through the photos and even caught a glimpse of his girlfriend’s hair and face. He could see you there as well, pissed drunk since we never changed. I noticed his face change once he saw you, how probably natural we looked and how I was happy there and about to break us apart. Then he most likely realized that we were still fucking as of now, so his face relaxed and shifted to Facebook, I’m guessing and browsed that for a bit and I did the same act. We stayed even more silent. I should be honest with you at this point, because then you know what’s been going on.

I’ve always spoken to him so much about what I had been reading, because then depression hadn’t darkened my soul to the extent that I can’t pick up a damn book and stay concentrated. I can only confess that to you, that it doesn’t bring me joy anymore and that’s why I read less and less, because my mind just catapults itself away. I always spoke to him about music and I get scared that our music tastes never changed and that there is everything alike all over again or he would know what I had been talking about.

But I don’t dare to raise it, instead he talks.

“Do you know that Maggie got married? She was the first from our class, actually. I don’t think that many followed after her.” I keep silent on our engagement. I get cold feet and you’re very well aware of it and I don’t want to spill my dirty laundry that we’ve talked about it and decided that I need to straighten my mind even more before I commit. I’m sure you’ve heard enough of me talking about it and crying about how I wish I were sane to commit.

Maybe I held my silence too long, because he looks at me very curiously. I open my mouth and I know that I have to follow with a sentence or some excuse, why I am so sudden with my reaction about someone else getting married early, someone I haven’t cared about in years actually.

“I’m engaged.” I utter nearly quietly and he just bites his lip, looking down and closing his eyes briefly. I don’t think I can look into his eyes, but I do.

“Well… Grooms very often cheat on their wives. Not that you’ll have a wife, of course, but like on the last night, at the stag party and whatnot. You’re having your stag party early.” He thinks for a while, drinking. Where even is the food? I wish I could stuff my face with some meat. “You already did it. You’ve… cheated and now it’s all irrelevant, because you’ve done it.”

I look at him.

“Might as well enjoy the sin fully since you’ll be wed.” He says the last part uncertain, as if he knows how bad cold feet I’m getting. I’ve even started crying because I was so scared in front of you, but I’m sure you remember that. I never understood your faith in me and how you say that you always have to be there for those who you love, because I’ve discarded so many. Sometimes I think that love means nothing to me.

I don’t really know what to reply to that, so he just stretches his hand and strokes my cheek. I check from the corner of my eye to make sure it’s okay, but then we’re not really tucked in too deep in the city and we are in a tourist area anyway. I ease into his touch, recalling how it had once felt and how we would spend whole days together. He gave me insight of how I wanted relationships to be further on and at the same time he destroyed me, shards which are very visible now and which you let pierce you because you don’t care about the pain in love. I wish I were like you.

What then? We sin and what next? But I don’t know how to live in the now. He leans over the table to kiss me and I kiss him back. My mind goes blank with fear, but it’s not something too frightful, it’s a fear of falling into some soft darkness, which I can be safe in, but away from everything I am. But then, I feel as the years go by that my memories fade, that I barely recall things and I don’t even know what I enjoy, I just pull the strings of my ghost. I just have fear of your reaction which I will not know until I send you the letter with all the truth, but I’m telling you everything I think of, to keep it fair and faithful as I can get. I lie so much, though.

My mind is a cobweb of fear and David is surely the spider which had spun it so many years ago, it’s as if he knew that we would meet again and reconcile somehow. But then he had thought that I would be waiting and was that actually the case? Sure, I wasn’t sitting idly like a princess, but I was galloping around like a prince to stumble onto another apparently. What even is forgiveness? Why would you give it to me? Maybe you’d give it to me because I had forgiven David. Is that how karma works?

They bring the food and I didn’t even notice that we had both chosen meat. I seemed to be spacing out enough for me not to notice the goal and once the celebrations are over, that’s when I jerk my head to see the score as if it would have changed greater than for a one. We both seem pretty hungry, so we don’t take our time and I know that I’m frankly always starving after sex, only now my mind had been clouded with all the thoughts of betrayal and whatnot. I’m done before David is and I wait for him to finish patiently, allowing my mind to drift into nothingness, some dullness as I watch the telly screen behind him, still not caring about the match even if I had times when I did. Football is fun to watch, but only when you root for a team, not when you crawl out post-coital with a former boyfriend.

What if the fact that I can never finish anything these days spills onto relationships? I can never finish something into a calm state for me to admire. I wasn’t even sure that I would ever crawl from your safe arms into someone else’s. I never saw myself as a cheater, because I’ve had the thoughts but I just assumed that I was going crazy, but then what is different from me going crazy now? It’s all the same bundle which I had given to you in a ribbon. I think too much.

It’s pretty late right now and I think the only wise option would be to go out drinking somewhere nearby and even then, going back to the hotel would be wiser. I suppress a yawn, but it’s pretty damn hard to hold. Maybe it’s fear putting me back to sleep since I can’t really die right now. It’s an odd thing to be suicidal but kind of very low in thinking of such things. It’s just a bit, never enough to lift the hand, but enough to think about it and wallow, wishing that a plane would crash and I would be okay with it. That’s where the suicidal thinking ends. And it’s not something I would ever share with a professional, knowing far too much what happens in the wrong cases and the stigma. We’ve all felt it, ask anyone. Everyone has ran a blade or scissors down their skin.

“Where’d you want to go?” And he snaps me out of my thinking. David’s done it, I think. Once we broke up, I questioned the validity of it all. Because if I get lied to once, I start thinking about everything I’ve been told.

I don’t think I had wished of anything more than falling in love when I was a child and I was shoved into that very early, which ruptured me. I would go to sleep thinking of all the guys I had crushes on and I would continue to remember them through life, I would always think of all the loves I had lost, no matter how small. I stopped crushing on people obviously as I had met you. My mind wandered only recently, when it was obvious that a wedding was on the horizon and all of a sudden I didn’t want anything to be stable. I don’t understand it, I don’t understand why and why am I even telling you this, because it’s just ripples while tracing the water’s surface.

“I frankly don’t care.” I don’t know. “Drinking is alright, but I think we will pour out our souls enough while sober.”

But would we?

“Sober it is then.” How would I act drunk when I’m completely sober? We finish our drinks and wait for the check in silence, as if there is some commotion to await. I wonder how would it even feel like, sleeping in his arms for the first time. I don’t even think we’ve napped together since I’ve only visited his place after we broke up and when he tried to kiss me. We were so young. Maybe one shouldn’t even date that young? Maybe my strict parents were right?

Why do I always want to jump relationships? Why do I go in circles?

I don’t like discussing politics much or any of the sort because it’s always far too painful with the current state of the world and being queer makes things even worse.

There’s not really much to say, I had an incident with photos which were taken and I never got them back when mine got lost. I really poured many memories into this story and let them develop into something which could’ve been if I had ever wanted it and if all my theories were true. I just made sugary fiction from a bitter reality and explored cheating and losing oneself.

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