Dichotomy.

She all but collapses on me, still breathing heavily. I don’t realize I’m staring at her until her eyes open and meet mine in the darkness of the room. I instinctively reach out to push the loose strands of hair away from her face, a gesture she flinches at. She looks away and climbs off of me. My skin goes cold where her body was pressed up against mine.

She gathers her clothes to start dressing herself and I hate that I’m noticing things.

The way she tucks her tangled hair behind her ear.

The way she buttons her plaid shirt with more concentration and precision than necessary.

The way I can tell she doesn’t want to do anything besides get away from me as soon as possible.

I start to retrieve my clothes from the floor as well, watching her comb her fingers through her mussed hair.

The truth is I want to feel something.

Anything.

Is that too much to ask for?

I’m just sick of feeling empty. Of feeling like myself.

I’ve been confused for weeks, probably longer – and she’s just muddying the situation without even realizing it.

“Do you want to know the truth?” I ask, after we’re dressed again and she still hasn’t said anything. She looks at me and her eyes clearly tell me that she doesn’t want the truth, but she knows I’m going to go ahead and tell her anyway.

Her piercing eyes almost make me lose my tact, the words I’m about to say dry in my throat almost immediately.

She’s daring me to finish.

“The truth is…I guess I don’t really hate you so much anymore,” I manage to admit, rubbing a hand through my hair awkwardly.

Not now that I understand more clearly where she’s coming from.

“What do you mean, you don’t hate me?” she repeats slowly. And I can see the irritation rising in her eyes. I don’t say anything but I don’t look away either. I just wait. She shakes her head at me.

She probably thinks I’m more of an idiot than I know I am.

“If you don’t hate me, then this isn’t working,” she points out decisively. I don’t address that particular point.

The basis of our entire twisted relationship is hate, so who am I to upset the balance of things?

We’re not friends.

We’re just coworkers.

Two people who don’t know how to handle real feelings, so we’re reduced to looking for the wrong things in the wrong people.

She doesn’t say anything or even move from where she’s standing, staring at me with that pretty scowl on her lips, and I’m trying hard not to lose my nerve.

“Do you still hate me?” I ask, boldly.

“Yes,” she answers, almost too immediately.

“Why?” I ask, trying not to let it get to me. She looks me over, once, twice, before she meets my eyes.

“Because you know me,” is the best she can come up with.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“What’s up with you?” Spencer asks me, sitting on the stool next to me at the counter. The show’s been over for hours and we’re at this almost empty dive bar down the street from the venue. I just wanted to lay low tonight, so I dragged Spencer out with me, just him.

It hasn’t been just the two of us in longer than I’d like to admit.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, taking a few gulps of my beer. I catch him raising his eyebrows at me out of the corner of my eye.

“Sure,” he replies dubiously. He starts to say something else, but I’m distracted by the bar’s door swinging open and Tina walking in, followed by Tom.

She catches my eyes, and I see the surprise on her face before she tries to turn and walk back out the door, but it’s too late.

“Tina!” Spencer exclaims, and I want to smack him upside the head. When she turns back to us, she has this forced smile on her face for Spencer and avoids my gaze.

I order a shot of tequila as she walks past me to take the seat on the other side of him. Tom sits next to her.

“I think I’m going to head back to the bus,” I announce obnoxiously, interrupting whatever conversation they’ve struck up a few minutes later.

“We just got here,” Spencer argues, frowning at me. His eyes are asking me what the hell my problem is, making me feel guilty for dragging him out in the first place when he just wanted to stay on the bus and call Haley.

Rewind to a time where I wasn’t such an asshole.

If only I could remember a time before that.

Tom has this look of confused understanding on his face and it makes me feel pathetic.

Tina just stares at me without expression as I shove my barstool in.

“Whatever,” I mumble, leaving so I don’t have to look at any of them.