I Am the Boy on Your Girlfriend's Lips

Not every story has a happy ending. That’s something that authors tend to avoid. Because who wants to read a story with an unhappy ending? Where the protagonist has a shit life and shit things happen to him and then nothing ever gets better? No one, obviously. And if authors don’t avoid an unhappy ending then they’re either criticized for it or thought to be some deep and profound being. When, in reality, people’s lives don’t always have a happy ending.

So what if this story won’t have a happy ending? What if me and John don’t make up and live the rest of our lives together, madly in love? Would it be such a terrible thing? I don’t know anymore… because, to be completely honest, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with the person John is now. That thought alone makes me miserable. Because as much as I love John I don’t ever want to be that girl who lets their boyfriend treat them like utter shit and just sucks it up and deals with it because they’re “oh so in love.” Really, if you loved someone, or were in love with them you wouldn’t treat them like that. Like how John treats me. Which brings up the question: does John still love me?

I hadn’t even thought about it. I guess it was something that I was trying to avoid. With everything else going on, that wasn’t my main thought. My main thought was is he going to break up with me? I never stopped to think that he could be breaking up with me because he didn’t love me anymore. It was just out of the question. Of course he loved me. We’d been together for two years, even knew each other before that. So it was a given that he loved me. But what if it wasn’t anymore? I didn’t even want to think about it…

My phone broke the silence and started ringing loudly. It was Josh. I hesitated only for a second then picked up.

“Yes?” I made sure I didn’t sound too excited. Or too angry.

“Wassup dawg?” Josh responded from the other end, trying to make his voice sound black as possible.

I rolled my eyes and told him, “Nothing. Sitting on the couch, on my laptop.”

“So wha’ yer sayin’ is, yer sittin’ on the couch, on yer laptop, watchin’ porn?” he chuckled.

“Yes Josh, that is exactly what I'm saying.”

“Mind if I come over an’ join ya?” I could just picture the stupid smile on his face.

I could also picture the last time I’d seen him. Which was when he was putting his clothes back on and leaving the bus, telling me he cared, and he couldn’t wait to see me again. I hadn’t spoken to him since. And this really was not the conversation I was expecting to have with him after what had just happened.

“Uhm, if you really want to, you can,” I said, not really knowing whether or not he was serious about coming over.

“Sounds great! I’ll be over in a jiffy!” And with that, he hung up.

So I guess he was being serious about coming over. Instinctly, I looked down at what I was wearing. Light washed shorts, a loose fitting tank, and ribbed, knee-high socks. Eh, it’d have to do. I got up and checked my reflection in the mirror. Yikes. I quickly located my make-up bag and applied blush, eyeliner and a generous heaping of mascara. Now it was on to the hair situation. Dear God. It was worse than the make-up situation. My hair was hopelessly curly and even more hopelessly messy. So instead of trying to run a brush through it and tame it, I decided to throw it up in a bun on top of my head. There. All done. And just in time because not a second later I heard the bus door open.

And in strolled John O’Callaghan.

“What're you doing here?” I asked, no indication of niceness in my voice.

“Uhm, this is my bus, I’ve kind of been living here for the past month or so, in case you hadn’t noticed,” his tone reflected mine.

I rolled my eyes. “I thought you guys all had plans?”

“Why do you care?” he avoided the question. “Don’t want me here?”

I wasn’t going to lie, “Not particularly.”

“Awe, Tristan don’t be that way,” he took a step closer to me, his bottom lip forming into a small pout.

I didn’t back up, but my body language screamed that I wanted to. “I'm pretty sure you have no right to tell me how to be.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” It might’ve been my imagination, but I'm pretty sure he came even closer.

“It’s not worth explaining.” I wrapped my arms around myself as John loomed closer.

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, “If you say you, babe.”

I squeezed my arms tighter around me at the mention of that last word. He wasn’t allowed to call me that. Not now. Not anymore. And then he did something even worse than calling me “babe”.

He leaned down quick and forced his mouth upon mine.

Quite honestly, he almost knocked me over. I had to grab onto his black tank that was almost a little too big for his bony body to keep from falling over. Which he clearly took it to mean something other than it was. He pressed his mouth to mine even more fervently now. And I don’t know why, maybe instinct, maybe delusion, but I kissed him back. However, I didn’t let myself get lost in the kiss. My mind was very much aware of everything that had been happening in the last month. All the cruel words that had been exchanged. The cold looks. The long, sleepless nights. All the tears. But those things didn’t seem to matter as this moment. I was desperate. I would take what I could, even if it meant sacrificing some of my dignity.

This is kiss wasn’t like any kiss me and John had shared before. Normally when we kissed it was out of happiness, adoration, and occasionally lust. This kiss held none of those things. All I could feel through it was confusion. Confusion as to why it was happening. Confusion as to why it was strange that this was happening. It should be normal for boyfriend and girlfriend to share a kiss, right?

John’s hands started to travel up my shirt. All too familiar goose bumps immediately formed on my skin. On my neck his mouth found a new spot to focus. His name sat on the tip of my tongue, but all the emotions running through my head weighed it down and kept it there. My body was cold and my head was swimming. I didn’t know what I was doing. And I didn’t know why I was allowing this to happen.

The sound of the bus door opening was like a slap to the face. I pushed John away from me as quickly as I could and tried to compose myself.

Josh Franceschi appeared in the hallway, his mood chipper per usual.

“Oi, ‘ello love,” he gave me a nod, then looked at John. “ ‘Lo to yer too Johnny.”

John hated when anyone called him Johnny. But due to, I don’t know, sexual frustration, he let it slide and said, “Hey man.”

“Thought you said you were ‘ere, uhm, alone?” Josh directed towards me.

“I was,” I replied quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. “But John showed up right after I got off the phone with you.”

“Oh, I see,” he nodded his head slowly. “You want me to go then?”

“No, no, lemme just put on some shoes and then we can go out, okay?” I fumbled around looking for my pair of boots. My head was so jumbled, and all I wanted to do was get away from John and what just happened. I finally found my shoes and shoved my feet into them. I walked over to Josh, grabbed his hand and dragged him off the bus, calling back to John, “Don’t wait up for me!”

Once outside Josh commented, “Sorry to ‘ave interrupted yer make out session. Weren’t really tryin’ to, but everythin’ ‘appens for a reason, wouldn’t you say love?”

And I thought he wouldn’t have known. Just my luck.