Forgotten, Not Forgiven.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I still don’t... I don’t r-remember you...” you murmur, shuffling your feet as you stare at the ground. Your voice is shaky, as you stumble on your words. You try to hide your tears, but I see them trickle down your cheeks, and drip onto the cold marble floor.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it,” I whisper back. “It’s been like this for a year now...”

An entire year. Everyday, to Room 407. I was the narrator of your life, and of course, a little of mine. I told you everything I knew. After all, I made this mess, and promised to fix it. If I couldn’t trigger your memory, I’d restore it. Little by little; every detail I could think of. Never before this, though, did I ever tell you about our life. That we were more than friends. That we were in love. That we were a couple. That I was your boyfriend and that you were gay.

I look away, and stare out the window, trying to avoid your gaze. The look in your eyes that always makes me feel so guilty; the one that brings back all the horrible memories; the one that could drive me to suicide, or worse.

“Oh,” is all you can manage, and I don’t blame you. There’s no way I could; I blamed myself, and hated myself, for making you go through this torture. Having to absorb all this, little by little, day after day... all because of me.

I admit, I’m upset that you don’t remember me. It kills me to think that I’m a stranger to you, after all we’ve been through. And I’d rather go to hell than realize that you’re crying, and apologizing, to me, when it’s not your fault. When it’s my fault. When I’m supposed to be the one apologizing to you.

“J-Jon?” you call, and my heart skips a beat at your cute, squeaky tone.

“Oh, sorry. I kind of spaced out back there,” I scratch the back of my head awkwardly. Heavenly giggles escape your lips, and I smile.

“I kind of noticed that,” you chuckle again, with one of those adorable smiles I’d absolutely die for.

I nibble on my lip, and look at you intently. Those beautiful eyes I once stared into; those perfect lips I once kissed. I feel the need to pull you into my arms and smother you with kisses, but I hold back the killer temptation. I know you’re going through a lot; processing all this at once must be tough. I don’t want you to feel shocked, confused or depressed anymore. I don’t want you to be even more intimidated by my sudden, strange actions and words. I want us to be happy again, just like how we used to be, long ago.

I won’t ruin my second chance.

I wish you’d remember me, and all the good memories we shared together, but at the same time, I don’t. I don’t want you to remember, because if you do, you’ll remember all the horrible things I’ve done to you too. So maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s best if you don’t remember anything. Maybe this is God’s way of giving me a second chance. Maybe we can start all over again; a fresh page in our love story. Maybe I should learn to appreciate this blessing in disguise.

After all, I’d hurt you once; physically, and mentally. And it was all for my own selfish, sadistic pleasures. You cried, and told me to stop, but I went on. On, and on, and on. Until I was done; satisfied. You bled. You were traumatized. You felt hurt; lost; confused. Everything happened too fast for you to understand, and it took forever for you to believe it. I’d brought something worse than your worst nightmare to reality; I’d created a little piece of hell on Earth for you.

And yet, after all the pain and suffering I put you through, you still forgave me. You still allowed me to hold you in my arms, kiss you, and tell you I loved you. Though, you never hugged back. All you ever did was stand still; not moving a muscle when I embraced you. Our kisses were never soft, tender and heavenly like they used to be; they were chapped, cold and quick. And when I told you I loved you, all you ever did was nod. You never did say I love you too, ever again.

The tone in your voice changed; it was always shaky and anxious. The look in your eyes changed; it looked like fear, and insecurity. When I asked you what was wrong, all you ever did was shake your head, and kiss me on the cheek. Never did I question you though; every time I tried, I noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. I wanted to listen to your problems and comfort you, but you’d always shake your head and brush it off; trying to stop me from worrying or asking you about it anymore.

Didn’t you trust me anymore? No, you didn’t. You always picked your words and actions carefully, instead of doing and saying anything that came to your mind. Didn’t you love me anymore? You claimed that you did, but the truth was, you were afraid of me. You didn’t want to upset me, so you went along with whatever you knew I wanted to hear. Didn’t you forgive me? You said so, but you probably didn’t mean it. Maybe you tried to mean it; maybe you wanted to mean it. Maybe you wanted to believe me, when I said I was sorry, and that I’d never hurt you again. But maybe you just couldn’t. Maybe no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t believe anything I said anymore. The one you loved; the one you thought loved you; the one you thought you could trust... I betrayed you. I raped you.

But I did love you. I do love you. I always have, and always will.

Whether you remember or not, Spencer Smith...

I hope you’ll love me too.