You both reach the car in silence. You try walking just ahead of him, convincing yourself the blow won't come. You play up the pleasant haze of a night spent in good company and ten dollar drinks. Eyes down, trying to find your keys. You try not to open your eyes as he draws near. It does not matter.
The lightest touch upon your elbow dispels any hope of avoiding it. You open your eyes, careful not to turn your head, and are immediately aware of him standing next to you, are immediately able to picture the smile on his face and the expression you cannot and will not recognize as human. His lips barely part as he breathes out the words.
"I love you."
Even before the words have a chance to reach you, your stomach drops. The vast, empty spaces within your mind start screaming, begging for you to do anything, to make it stop. You barely manage to push it all down, and for just one moment, taste only the ounce of vodka that crawled back up your throat.
It's not the first time you're hearing these words.
He's there. He's waiting, looking at you. You can't picture him beside you anymore. He's impossibly far away and right there at arm's length all at once. You're not even sure he's breathing.
And what to do now? It's out there, again. It's not the first time you've heard these words. Each time you've felt the pit in your stomach.
No time has passed. All time has passed. His mouth draws one more breath.
"I love you."
You finally turn. What you see is not the smile, not the look of complete bliss, not the face that haunted you the day he first decided to make everything too real.
What you see are the eyes. Break me. Kill me. Split me in half. Leave nothing you dislike. Just, please, look at me. I love you. Don't you believe me?
"I told you, I–"
God.
"Please. Let me say it. You don't have to–"
"I told you I wasn't comfortable with–"
"Please. "
"Jesus, Sam, it's not like that."
You do not know what you mean by that. In your hands, you hold your keys. An imperceptible tremor accompanies them. You're too cold. Around you, his coat.
"It's just... You know how I feel. We've talked about this."
Your voice breaks for a fraction of a second. He hasn't stopped smiling. There's nothing you can do, nothing you can say, that will get through to him right now.
"Please. Let me in. I'll be whatever you need me to be."
His insistence starts to pay off. For a moment, you let yourself feel nothing but the good. Every moment you've spent together, how he seems to laugh at everything you say, how he looks at you like no one really had before. How warm it all feels, how easy it is to feel loved and how little you have to do.
You let yourself believe you can go through with it; let him stay there, where he wants to be. He adores you. He needs you. He would change who he was, who he is, who he could be, as fast as he could if you asked him to, and all you have to do is let him.
But you know what he doesn't. What he refuses to believe. You know he thinks it's not a big deal, and that he doesn't need to hear you say it, or feel it, even. You know he won't ask you for anything you don't give him except for this one thing. It's all he wants, and he's done everything right.
You know you cannot bring yourself to love him.
It's not fair.
"We have fun. Can't we just have fun?"
"This isn't fun for me."
He's no longer smiling. The first time in a while. You feel your blood freeze beneath your skin.
For a minute, you just stare at each other in silence. His gaze threatens to swallow you whole, leave nothing behind of who you thought you'd be forever. You're shrinking, hiding yourself wherever you can to avoid his eyes.
"You're killing me, Diana."
"That's not fair."
"Come back to me."
"Sam."
The bar's door opens in the distance, and as a couple walks out, their laughter breaks the tension. The roar of laughter and a burst of light both cleanse the atmosphere. Dance music dispels the moment. Nothing else remains.
As the door closes, you both find yourselves staring at the ground. He breaks the silence; still, you can sense he has been suddenly moved by the sight. His soul was thrown elsewhere and it has returned at peace. Barely any movement in his movements.
The car door is open. God knows how long it's been open for. You take off his coat, and hand it back to him. He takes it. For a moment, neither of you feels like saying anything, standing only a little farther from the cliff you were in moments ago. He finally decides to go first.
"We're still on for tomorrow, right?"
You feel relieved at hearing his voice regain some of its strength. You find it sweet. You wonder if that makes you a bad person. To only find him sweet now. But what is one to do?
You wish he wouldn't ask that, leave you with the decision, but you know there's no reason to bring back what the music has killed. No need to speak of it again.
"Yeah. Should be fun. Pick me up at 8?"
"Yeah."
And just like that, it's over. His smile returns, right where it's always been. It might as well have never happened. You did no permanent damage, you are both still having some fun, you think.
It's fine. It's all fine, you keep repeating to yourself. You smile at him, for the first time since you got to the car. You know you've only bought yourself some time, but you're glad you did. You think. You think, and think, and the world seems to melt away, and you let go of the worry for just a second.
You are six feet above the ground, looking down at a couple in loving embrace. You feel lighter than air. You can see them hold on to each other tightly, and you wonder what that's like. To love.
As they kiss, and as he leaves, and as she gets in the car, you can't help but feel a strange, throbbing pain take over the back of your head, though. Then you feel a weight in your eyes. Then a fuzzy, numb current start running under your skin. You try not to look down anymore, you're not sure why. You glance one last time, and you see the figure in the car turn to look at you.
And then you're back in your body, bent over the steering wheel, trying to stop your stomach from giving out on you. Your eyes are wet, you can't speak, you can't think. You don't know what's going on. You didn't mean it. Why would you do something like that, knowing where it will lead to?
And then you see his car pass by slowly; you see him crane his neck towards you, and you know he's unable to see your glassy, red eyes through the window. He does not roll the window down, but you can see him mouth something off as he drives off, smiling.