Status: finished.
Nothing Personal
one.
He was right there, right in front of me. Right in my face. Invading all of and every part of my personal space. It was the closest we could be without touching, a situation I never thought could be possible. We hadn't been this close in months, since the last time I saw him. November 16th, 2008. The day fall tour ended. I hadn't heard from him either. And now here he was again, in front of me with a steely gaze locking my own.
"Tell me," he said softly. "Tell me right now that you don't want this, want us and I'll go. I'll leave you alone, I won't bother you. You can enjoy yourself with him, and you can pretend to be happy. Don't say you haven't thought about me since the fall, Stella. And don't you even try to pretend that you haven't."
It was useless to pretend that I hadn't thought about him, but I wasn't about to let Alex Gaskarth know that. Two people like us aren't good for each other. We would never be good for each other, we only attracted in the worst situations. We had never been an "item" persay, but rather a series of drunken sexual encounters and emotionally fueled fucks. We wanted each other for the worst reasons, we needed each other for the worst reasons.
The first encounter had been after a small drinking session on a free night. We had both been flirting casually back and forth, tipsy enough to act upon feelings we weren't sure were there when we were sober. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't into him, a little part of me always had been. I remember being pinned against a wall by his hands and his hips, his lips on my neck as he left marks to prove where he'd been. It had been that long ago that I couldn't remember how it felt enough for me to want it to happen again just so I could feel him there.
The way I see it, relationships, fuck buddies, even friendships... they're all a jigsaw. You can only fit one piece to another piece that's a perfect fit. There might be several the same colour that trick you into attempting to force them together, but eventually you realise it doesn't work. Then both of those pieces find other pieces to match. It's a cycle that repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and repeats. No matter how much I wanted Alex, how much I had thought of him over the five months that we'd been apart, how much I just wanted to spill my guts to him and tell him what I felt, I never would act upon it. We had been two pieces of a jigsaw, two pieces that didn't fit and never would. The thing about this theory is that while you can then put two pieces that don't fit together the first time, the second time is just useless. It's wasting your time completing the jigsaw and whatever amount they look good together, you just cannot convince yourself it will work. This is why I would never act upon what I wanted. Alex would be a waste of time, a memory that was best left as just that.
The second encounter was an escalated, naked, loud, amazing version of the first. The second we checked into that small motel in Southern California, Alex had me by the lips. With a bed and a private place, clothes were stripped and the deed was done. It was the first of many times, passionate and spontaneous. I hadn't been a virgin for several years by that point, but my first orgasm occured with Alex in that motel room and he doesn't even know. Not likely that I'd tell him though. The point I make, is that I have attachments to Alex I don't want him to know about. If he knew, it would make it easier for him to convince me that we're a good idea. We're not a good idea, and we never will be.
The only reason he wants me now is because someone else just might realise what he did too late. Attraction at the worst times. He wanted what someone else did, I was an option that he didn't want take responsibility for, but one that he wanted in the background in case all failed. I knew what I was, because he was that to me too. And to be honest, I was fine with that. He obviously wasn't. He would never be the permanent deal, but he was in front of me, begging to be exactly that.
Was I right in wanting to turn him down? When I had wanted to be his, he never agreed. But to tell him this, just out of spite, just because he broke my heart, it didn't seem right. He was begging, every part of him was begging. Did he want me because he loved me? Or because someone else did? And in a fraction of a second, I changed my mind. I didn't care if I would waste time on Alex, or if we didn't fit. If he wanted me, and I wanted him, then we wanted each other. And there was no point in staying away. I would say to him all of the things I had wanted to say for so many days, weeks, months. It's funny though in the end. The words we want to say often don't come out the way we intend. Sometimes the complete opposite. What I wanted to say, what I had intended to say came out different than I ever thought possible. Sometimes they inspire things, like great novels and great works of art. My completely opposite than intended words inspired an album.
"Alex, I'm not doing this again. We're not good for each other, and we never will be. Nothing personal." I met his stare, my eyes locked to his. His were disbelieving, I was sure mine were too. I wasn't even sure I had it in me to reject him after I realised I wanted him. But there I was in front of him, breaking his heart the way he did mine. So many songs are written about heartbreak, rejection, unrequited love. Alex channeled what he was feeling onto paper, that then matched music, that developed into a 12 track album set for release in two weeks.
Alex Gaskarth did something I would never have dreamed: he went public about us. He used my name, he posted it on blogs, he told all to MTV, Rolling Stone and AP.
"You were fake, I was great. Nothing personal."
"Tell me," he said softly. "Tell me right now that you don't want this, want us and I'll go. I'll leave you alone, I won't bother you. You can enjoy yourself with him, and you can pretend to be happy. Don't say you haven't thought about me since the fall, Stella. And don't you even try to pretend that you haven't."
It was useless to pretend that I hadn't thought about him, but I wasn't about to let Alex Gaskarth know that. Two people like us aren't good for each other. We would never be good for each other, we only attracted in the worst situations. We had never been an "item" persay, but rather a series of drunken sexual encounters and emotionally fueled fucks. We wanted each other for the worst reasons, we needed each other for the worst reasons.
The first encounter had been after a small drinking session on a free night. We had both been flirting casually back and forth, tipsy enough to act upon feelings we weren't sure were there when we were sober. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't into him, a little part of me always had been. I remember being pinned against a wall by his hands and his hips, his lips on my neck as he left marks to prove where he'd been. It had been that long ago that I couldn't remember how it felt enough for me to want it to happen again just so I could feel him there.
The way I see it, relationships, fuck buddies, even friendships... they're all a jigsaw. You can only fit one piece to another piece that's a perfect fit. There might be several the same colour that trick you into attempting to force them together, but eventually you realise it doesn't work. Then both of those pieces find other pieces to match. It's a cycle that repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and repeats. No matter how much I wanted Alex, how much I had thought of him over the five months that we'd been apart, how much I just wanted to spill my guts to him and tell him what I felt, I never would act upon it. We had been two pieces of a jigsaw, two pieces that didn't fit and never would. The thing about this theory is that while you can then put two pieces that don't fit together the first time, the second time is just useless. It's wasting your time completing the jigsaw and whatever amount they look good together, you just cannot convince yourself it will work. This is why I would never act upon what I wanted. Alex would be a waste of time, a memory that was best left as just that.
The second encounter was an escalated, naked, loud, amazing version of the first. The second we checked into that small motel in Southern California, Alex had me by the lips. With a bed and a private place, clothes were stripped and the deed was done. It was the first of many times, passionate and spontaneous. I hadn't been a virgin for several years by that point, but my first orgasm occured with Alex in that motel room and he doesn't even know. Not likely that I'd tell him though. The point I make, is that I have attachments to Alex I don't want him to know about. If he knew, it would make it easier for him to convince me that we're a good idea. We're not a good idea, and we never will be.
The only reason he wants me now is because someone else just might realise what he did too late. Attraction at the worst times. He wanted what someone else did, I was an option that he didn't want take responsibility for, but one that he wanted in the background in case all failed. I knew what I was, because he was that to me too. And to be honest, I was fine with that. He obviously wasn't. He would never be the permanent deal, but he was in front of me, begging to be exactly that.
Was I right in wanting to turn him down? When I had wanted to be his, he never agreed. But to tell him this, just out of spite, just because he broke my heart, it didn't seem right. He was begging, every part of him was begging. Did he want me because he loved me? Or because someone else did? And in a fraction of a second, I changed my mind. I didn't care if I would waste time on Alex, or if we didn't fit. If he wanted me, and I wanted him, then we wanted each other. And there was no point in staying away. I would say to him all of the things I had wanted to say for so many days, weeks, months. It's funny though in the end. The words we want to say often don't come out the way we intend. Sometimes the complete opposite. What I wanted to say, what I had intended to say came out different than I ever thought possible. Sometimes they inspire things, like great novels and great works of art. My completely opposite than intended words inspired an album.
"Alex, I'm not doing this again. We're not good for each other, and we never will be. Nothing personal." I met his stare, my eyes locked to his. His were disbelieving, I was sure mine were too. I wasn't even sure I had it in me to reject him after I realised I wanted him. But there I was in front of him, breaking his heart the way he did mine. So many songs are written about heartbreak, rejection, unrequited love. Alex channeled what he was feeling onto paper, that then matched music, that developed into a 12 track album set for release in two weeks.
Alex Gaskarth did something I would never have dreamed: he went public about us. He used my name, he posted it on blogs, he told all to MTV, Rolling Stone and AP.
"You were fake, I was great. Nothing personal."
♠ ♠ ♠
finito. comments please.