How A Heart Breaks

I swear that at one point, I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever like anyone in my band, as they were all close friends. But specifically, I had promised myself that I wouldn’t like Porter. Only because, I had watched him grow up, watched girls fall all over him, and I understood after a while, that it could be so easy to fall prey to his being. So, I tried not to notice his eyes- the way they shined. I tried not to notice anything that sets him apart from any other person. But once you notice one thing about Porter, it's hard not to notice the rest of it.

It's the way that a lump rose in my throat when I saw him last night. The lump was like a tennis ball stuck in my throat. And half of it was made of anger, while half was betrayal. I wonder if he ever thought to think of me, or if my face popped up in the back of his mind as a reminder. And if it- by some crazy chance- had, did he push it to the very depths of his mind, forgetting me momentarily? Or was it those drinks he downed that made his mind unclear, so unclear as to forget a promise between him and me?

I can still feel my face crumbling from last night as I walk away from him today. And I can still feel my heart beating, seeming as though something were in the way of the beat. I don't think he quite knows how much it hurts me, don't think it will ever cross his mind that maybe his best friend might feel more than a best friend should. And since that's the case, fuck yes, it absolutely stings to see him with her, and another her, and who knows? Maybe even another.

The stares I receive from Hayden and Nathan remain not-quite-ignored, yet not-quite-acknowledged. Don't think I can stare back at them, they might be able to see the too-prominent shine building up in my eyes. And who knows? They may (for some reason) trigger the build up to pour down my face, and they would rush to me, with their questions and all. Questions which I'm sure I won't want to answer, even if I knew the answers. So, no, I don't turn to look at them, I simply bound out of the door, almost unbelieving that this happened once before.

I pause for just a moment as the sun hits my face. Such a bright, sunny day to accompany such a gloomy, sour mood. So, I scowl at the brightness, wishing the light away, hoping that if it doesn't, I'll find a place dark, like a cave. If I did, I think I'd hide there for quite a while, at least until I can face things for real. Because this doesn't seem like facing things: just quitting and forgetting. Speaking of which, I cannot believe I had said everything I did. I mean, it was one thing if I up and left, but I had included the rest of the guys into this complicated equation.

I've been walking these strange streets for about fifteen minutes. Not sure if I turned, or just kept walking straight, but I'm at a bus stop when I finally look up from my shoes. And at precisely that moment, I just start to cry. It feels so weird to cry over something so miniscule, something that I could probably get over without tears. The tears make the heartache feel stronger, and that just makes the tears come out faster. I can almost laugh at myself.

I never liked crying- made it a point not to cry about much of anything. In fact, I haven’t cried in a long time, and so maybe this waterfall on my face is some of those tears I never cried, when other people would have. Or maybe this situation hurts me so much that there’s nothing else to do but cry. Either or, it doesn’t change the fact that saltwater is free falling from my eyes, that my nose is heavy and I can’t breathe, or that this whole thing is starting to leave me with a headache too.

I let myself fall onto the bench, next to some little girl and her father. They probably look at me as I put my elbows on my knees and rest my face in my hands. I mute my sobs by biting into my palms. And when I finally look up, when my crying has calmed, the bus pulls up, little lady and father hop on, but he has to tug her along, because she’s so obviously staring at me. She waves, even, before the doors close and I don’t wave back, I just stare blankly ahead of me.

I feel like I’m over exaggerating, don’t know why this hurts as much as it does. My brain keeps saying the word ‘love’, but I refuse to believe something like that. It’s Porter, for fuck sakes.

“Pash…” Shit, I think I jinxed myself. It really is Porter. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” I snort, crossing my legs on the wooden bench. I want to look at him, to see if maybe he hurts as much as I do, but I’ve been crying too hard- noticeably hard. So, I look away from him, keep my mouth shut. I hear him sigh, but there’s no footsteps walking close, no footsteps walking away. He’s just there.

“There’s nothing that can take back what I did, Pash. And if a ‘sorry’ isn’t enough for you, then I’ve got nothing.” He’s got everything. Everything is just in the palm of his hand, wrapped around his finger. Including me. I admit it. I sniffle, hoping it won’t blow my cover. He doesn’t say anything for a while.

“So that’s it then?” He questions, “You’re just going to blow this whole fucking thing off, blow me off?” I don’t want to, no. But I don’t say that, only think to say what I’ve been saying for so long.

“You promised, Porter.” And I hope to god that my voice is tear-free. He can’t tell that I’ve been crying, can he?

“Fuck! I know I promised!” I can picture him gripping his hair, “I said sorry, man. What else am I supposed to do? Build a time machine, redo every mistake I made? This isn’t a fucking cartoon. I can’t just erase everything and start over. Can’t you accept the shit that’s happened?” I can, in time. Right now, the wound is too fresh to accept. Feels like he’s pouring salt into them, actually. I still don’t turn to look at him. Don’t say another word, because I’ve got none.

The last thing I hear is a sigh and retreating footsteps.