I'd Kiss You Goodbye If I Thought It Would Make You Stay

“Well, if you wanted honesty, that’s all you had to say. I never hoped to let you down, or have you go, it’s better off this way.” – My Chemical Romance

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Even though Michael has apologized, it never answered the question why he had left me in the first place. Sure, he had said it was for my own good, but was it really? It was bothering me more than it ever had before.

I need a fuller explanation.

Which is why I’m borrowing William’s carwithout his permission and I’m parked outside Jack’s place, trying to summon up the courage to get out of the car and get my answers I’ve been waiting six months for.

It’s been eleven minutes since I’ve parked, and it’s taking most of my willpower not to put the car back in drive and speed back to William’s apartment.

I yank the keys out of the ignition as not to tempt myself with that incredibly appealing option.

Five minutes later, I’m forcing myself to get out of the car and I drag myself to the front door, immediately knocking before I can chicken out.

Michael appears in the doorway, looking quite shocked to see me, to say the least.

“Rae…” he begins, speechless at my appearance.

“I need to talk to you,” I inform him.

“Should we take a walk?” he suggests. I nod, and he shuts the door behind himself.

We end up at a small park a few blocks away, sitting on a bench. I jam my hands into my hoodie’s pockets, watching kids play on the swings nearby.

“Is something wrong?” he asks in concern, probably worried by my solemn expression.

“I need to tell you some things I didn’t get to say the other morning. And I need to ask you things that I’m hoping you’ll answer.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he encourages, glancing sideways at me. I sigh.

Why is this so hard for me?

“Why…why did you break up with me?” I blurt out, my voice suddenly shaky, not being able to stop myself. He exhales wearily.

“I’m not so sure myself anymore,” he finally replies.

“Well, why do you think you did?” I ask, the demanding words spilling from my lips and surprising even myself. And then I can’t stop myself, the words are jumping out of my mouth. “I just need to know, Michael. Otherwise I don’t think I can ever move on or even be friends.” His face falls a little at the words ‘move on.’ “What did I do wrong?” I ask him helplessly. He looks at me in surprise.

“Nothing, Rae. You never did anything wrong. Please don’t think you did.”

“Then why?” I ask, attempting not to sound pathetic or demanding. “Why, Michael? We never argued, we didn’t have any problems, did we? I don’t know why-” I feel the familiar tears piling up in my eyes but blink them away. He heaves another sigh.

“It’s all my fault, Rae. I ruined everything, and feel terrible about it. I guess…I knew you would do so well with the new album. I was holding you back, Rae. Don’t you get it? I figured you would outgrow me and I thought I was doing you a favor by getting rid of myself before you had to,” he says quickly, glancing at me and away again nervously.

“You should have known I never would have done that to you,” I tell him, my voice still wavering unreliably.

“I was stupid, Rae. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was getting in the way of your career, and I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do. You don’t know how much shit I got from the guys telling me I was an ass, how I’d let the best thing that ever happened to me get away.”

He catches my glance, a look full of grief that tells me he's been suffering as badly as I have these past months. “They were completely right. I’d do anything for you to take me back,” he adds firmly, after a brief pause.

I stare back at him, resisting the extremely strong urge to kiss him, if only to coax the miserable look off his face.

But I can’t, and I don’t even know why I can’t. But I want to, and I’m getting goose bumps because the sun is hitting his face so perfectly. It’s bringing out the blonde in his hair and I need to stop looking at him before I completely lose my head, but about now I’m thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…

But I can’t bring myself to move, and I end up just staring again and I’m trapped by his eyes.

He breaks the stare first, giving one sad laugh.

“I knew it wouldn’t be that easy,” he says, more to himself than me. I watch as he fidgets with the sleeves of his jacket, and I catch a glimpse of his left wrist that sports the same cursive lettering as mine, only it reads RMS.

“It’s okay,” he says, catching my eyes again. “Because I’m going to prove to you that I’m worth taking back, and I don’t care how long it takes me to do it,” he promises firmly. I stare back, wanting to feel his soft, wavy hair between my fingers, but instead I find myself touching his hand and running my fingers over his inner wrist, delicately tracing the letters there.

And now all I can think about is the third song off the album because I wrote it for him. I wrote so much for him, about him and now I’m asking something I’m sure he won’t understand but I’m saying it anyway.

“Why are you so in love with bittersweet romance?” I question, taking my hand back. His falls to his side.

He doesn’t reply, but I don’t mind. I know perfectly well how I throw people off by speaking in mysometimes usually confusing lyrics.

“I only know that I’m still in love with you,” he finally answers.

And I don’t know what to say besides ‘I love you, too,’ but I don’t say it, because I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore, but I do know I still care about him a lot, maybe too much for my own good.

So I stay silent and instead we’re walking back in the direction of Jack’s apartment, and it’s like it should be for now.

Friends.