"What was the fight over?"
I blink sleepily.
"I'm tired."
"I have to know."
"I haven't had any real sleep or even a decent shower in four days. I haven't had any time to myself save that half an hour when I sat outside after we fought, and I'd prefer not to repeat that."
We pause for a moment.
"I don't understand why you are asking so many questions. You already know."
He knows what I mean, but plays stupid anyway. We do a lot of that.
"I need confirmation. There are a number of things it could be," he says, and I'm already trying to find ways out of this.
"What difference does it make? Think about what is at stake here."
I shake my head.
"I'm tired."
"God dammit Amanda!"
And I'm sick of keeping it all to myself. I'm sick of the secrecy that I've built myself around, I'm sick of being this person.
"Fine, you want to know?" I begin, "Fucking fine. We were arguing because she is a fucking flirty slut, because she knows how shit is and that I can't possibly compete with her, and she is all over you anyway."
Breathe in.
"We were fighting because I am fucking in love with you and I will never have you."
Breathe out.
"Are you fucking satisfied? Is your fucking curiousity sated? Was that fucking good enough?"
I'm shaking.
"Amanda."
I am burning with hatred of this aspect of myself. I despise how dependant I am, I hate how stupid this whole thing is.
"You had a better chance."
I hate how in a year, we'll never see eachother again anyway.
"I'm fucking crying."
Inhale. Exhale.
"I know she's a flirty slut. Yes I had feelings for her. But I think that's over. You were always the better person, always the one I could rely on. I never looked down on you."
Consolation. Pity. I didn't ask for this.
"You know how I feel about her type."
"And I know how you feel about my type. I know that no matter how hard I try, you will never see me like that. Most of the time I am able to accept this."
"See you like what?!"
"Like I fucking see you."
"Nothing happened between her and I because she reminds me of everything that is wrong with life. She makes me sick. That is why nothing happened; because she disgusts me and I never had the heart to tell her."
And I feel like it's all lies, it's all made up bullshit by that smooth talking boy who needs someone, anyone to listen to him.
"But you still had feelings for her the way you never will for me."
"You don't understand. You... ugh. No. You're tired; go to sleep. I'll be here."
"I can't sleep now."
And it's still consolation and I don't know how to feel about anything anymore. I'm so tired of being in love with him but I can't seem to stop myself. It's him speaking now, saying the sort of shit I'm used to hearing from myself.
"I remember everything. I remember when I told you I knew. I kissed you on the cheek. You have low self-esteem. It isn't necesary. You have one of the most beautiful pairs of eyes I've ever seen. I remember everything from that night."
And I'm thinking, Jesus Christ. I knew he was aware of what was going on but I assumed it wasn't important to him.
"I hate my eyes. I hate everything about myself."
"I don't."
"And I know that you remembered."
"Even lying on the ground puking my guts out. Changing my own shirt. Running through the house. I didn't actually run into the door. I did it because I knew you'd laugh."
I have everything I ever wanted but it's never quite right; always the wish granted with a catch.
I love him and I hate this place. Soon I suppose we will find out with emotion is more intense.