The best part about his morning was how he didn’t wake up thinking of her. That’s normally how his day started; unintentionally falling apart to memories of her smile, soulful eyes, and her expected willingness to step farther and farther away from him with each passing day. He was used to feeling inept as the early risen sun crept across the rough stubble on his face. He was used to hating himself for falling so hard for her when she stood sturdily away from his depths. He was used to letting a tear drip from the edge of his chin as he sighed her name into the morning light.
But this morning was different. He doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know why, but the idea of something other than Pam on his mind was enough to get him to smile. He runs a hand through his scruffy hair and yawns, almost ready to face a new day. Almost.
He places his legs on the side of the bed and sighs as his eyes wander to the shards of glass he neglected to clean up. Pam’s picture was lying helplessly, torn around the edges and covered in glistening speckles of despair. He holds his breath as he kneels against the cool wood floor, his fingers dusting the speckles away from her smiling face. He sighs, staring at the picture, wondering if he’d ever see the day when he could call her his.
He wonders what he would do if that day never came. Could he keep faking love with another woman who isn’t remotely similar to Pam? Could he hold another girl’s hand without shutting his eyes to imagine Pam’s hand was there instead? Could he move forward with a plastered smile, knowing that he failed in his attempts to convince the girl of his dreams that he was the boy of hers, too? A girl like Pam was impossible to find and it seemed like their love was just as impossible to uncover, so why should he keep washing away his sorrows and when he knows they’re going to drift over him again?
His eyes narrow as his grip on the fragile photo tightens. He lets out a strangled, irate cry and abruptly yanks the night-stand drawer open and shoves the photo into its depths. He slams it shut and exhales sharply, his large hands engulfing his face. He can’t keep teasing himself with her frivolous, gorgeous smile or her charming, expressive eyes because he knows he won’t make it.
He always insisted on the fact that he was strong. He could hold his composure when a girl recklessly spewed a breakup tangent. He could smile and act oblivious when the camera crew at the office asked him about his current relationship with Pam. He could tell Karen he loved her with a twinkle in his eye, when really he hated the sound of those words and the twinkle was nothing but an expanding tear. And though he insisted he was strong against the emotional buildup of relationships, he knew, deep down, that he was nothing but a fake, broken by some girl who just didn’t understand.
He stands and meanders toward his navy-tiled bathroom. After taking a lengthy shower and changing into his work clothes, he heads to his kitchen to prepare a breakfast that will hold him down while his mind digress aimlessly throughout the day.
Karen…well, Karen was new. That was for sure. He didn’t exactly know what to do with the idea of having a girlfriend, especially since the girlfriend didn’t have curly red hair, wasn’t too great at painting, and didn’t laugh at his jokes. Karen was a great person who was falling pretty far for him, but he had already fallen far enough for Pam. So there wasn’t really much room for him to keep falling.
Sometimes he felt bad for leading Karen to believe he loved her. It made him feel guilty; sometimes he wouldn’t call her at night because he didn’t want to risk her inviting herself over; sometimes he would deliberately starve himself at lunch just so he didn’t have to sit with her in the cramped break room; sometimes he would say he was going to visit his sister for the weekend when really he was at home staring into space, dreaming of someone else. He felt bad for it, sure, but he couldn’t let Karen get too close to him because he knew all too well what it was like to let go. Or, attempt to.
He’s out the door in a hurry because Karen hates it when he’s late. He twists the keys in the ignition and his car rumbles to life. He adjusts the radio and pulls out of his parking space, unintentionally glancing at his cell phone perched in the second cup-holder to see if there are any new text messages. Taking his eyes off the road for a few seconds, he texts Karen, “I’m on my way” because she hates it when he suddenly shows up. He sighs, pushing his bangs to the side because Karen hates it when they are in front of his eyes. He wonders why he cares so much about what Karen thinks because normally he controls his own life with his own rules, but then he realizes, oh yeah, she hates those, too.
He turns the wheel, guiding his car into Karen’s tight driveway. She’s standing on her porch when he arrives, but commences toward his car, a smile on her olive skin. She opens the door and says “hey,” her breath a small cloud in the morning air. He smiles weakly, repeating her greeting as she leans forward to push her lips against his. The repulsiveness of her touch stings his tender lips and he closes his eyes to cover a gasp. He tries to smile again, adjusts himself, and backs up, a one track of “I’ll get through this” recurring through his mind like the spinning of a ceiling fan on an oppressively sizzling summer day.
He feels constricted as Karen begins her usual morning rant about the latest Grey’s Anatomy episode, how great of a time she had with her friends at dinner, or the occasional “So I saw my ex-boyfriend...” He nods, acting like he cares about her diminutive analysis on everything that occurred in the last twenty-four hours, and continues driving because there’s nothing else to do. He sure doesn’t want to start thinking about Pam again. That’s for sure.
He’s slighted with the habitual “Is everything okay?” question as he focuses on the license plate in front of him. Karen nudges his arm, her eyes prodding into his ear because he refuses to face her. He nods, smiling feebly, yearning to tell her how he really feels. Bad idea, he thinks, recalling the last time he told her what was “going on” with him and Pam. It turned out to be disaster of colliding emotions and doubts, so he promised himself to keep his mouth shut if he knew what was best for him.
Karen must have sensed his veiled insurgency against “opening up” as she liked calling it, so she began tickling him, jostling him to at least laugh. He falls for the expected trap, not pragmatic as it may be, and dodges her tickling fingers by twisting in his seat. She jabs him just a little too hard and he loses control of the wheel for just a second, causing him to swerve into the opposite lane.
But just a second turned out to be years flashing in front of his horrified eyes as his car faced another on the open-road known as a battlefield. He calls out a profanity, holds his breath, and watches the adjacent car’s headlights swell before his eyes as he thinks “I wish I told her.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
He wants to know if he will be able to keep living life like this.
Chapter End Notes:
Suspense! Pam's side coming up next...
...comments are greatly appreciated!
...comments are greatly appreciated!
