Your Bones Are My Bones

I stared blankly at the wall in front of me. It was an ugly blue-green color. I wonder what I was I thinking when I picked out the color. Oh wait, I know. Amanda said she liked the color. She said it reminded her of the day we went to the countryside and had a picnic on the beach. She always loved going to the beach, even if we weren’t having a picnic. Sometimes we’d go there and go swimming, even though the water was icy cold, or we’d go at night and lay in the sand and look up at the stars, but usually we’d just walk for miles and miles on the shore, trying to get away from everyone else, trying to get to a place where it could be just us.

I loved Amanda. I truly did. With all of my heart. And I thought she felt the same way. But, I was wrong. Amanda liked me well enough, yeah. Actually she loved me. But she didn’t love me as much as I loved her. How do I know? Let’s start off with an example.

Five months ago

I waited restlessly in my flat as I waited for Amanda to come home from a photo shoot. I had planned out a very special evening for us. So special, in fact, I had even cooked dinner. And it tasted pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I had cleaned up the flat, making sure not one thing was out of place. I even made sure the place smelled nice by lighting about twenty candles. I also cleaned up myself. I had put on a nice, pressed, blue polo, a clean cut, but still tight, pair of black slacks, and a pair of all black Converse. I’d shaved my face, fixed my hair to perfection—which didn’t take much because my hair was always perfect—and I had dowsed myself in some smelly-ass cologne that I knew Amanda went gaga over. All in all everything was wonderful.

The occasion? I was going to ask Amanda to marry me.

Now, now, I knew I was young and was in a band that toured frequently, but I was one hundred percent positive that I wanted to marry Amanda. And I wanted to marry her now, not like ten years down the road when both of our lives had settled down.

Amanda was the one. The only one for me. I just couldn’t wait to have her be mine forever.

My heart beat increased ten times when I heard the front door’s knob begin to turn.

It’s Amanda! my mind screamed. Get off your arse and let her in!

I jumped off the couch and raced towards the door. Although, in the process I had managed to trip over my own two feet and fell face-first on the floor.

“Oh my God, Oli!” Amanda gushed, now inside. “Are ya alright?”

She bent down, giving me a perfect view down her tight, low-cut black dress, and helped me up.

“M’fine,” I told her once I was up on my feet. “My elbow’s a lil’ sore though.”

“Awe, ya poor baby,” she sympathized, placing a kiss on my elbow.

“I think I ‘urt my lips too,” I smirked.

“Oh really?” she giggled and placed a small peck on my lips. “All better?”

“Much better,” I beamed, lacing my fingers through hers. “I made us dinner. An’ I mean I actually made it an’ didn’t just go out an’ get takeaway.”

“Ya did? What’s the occasion?” she asked as we walked into the kitchen room.

“Do I need an occasion ta cook dinner for my lovely girlfriend?” I questioned as she sat down at our small table and I went over to the stove to serve the spaghetti.

“Aye, ya do,” she responded, looking around the kitchen. “And ya even tidied up the kitchen. What gives, Olli?”

“Don’t ya worry yer pretty lil’ ‘ead,” I said, set her plate of spaghetti in front of her, and sat down.

“Is this poisoned?” she inquired, poking at the food with her fork.

“Aye, Amanda, it is. I’m tryin’ ta kill my girlfriend. Ya caught me,” I teased, eating a big forkful of my food.

“Oh hush,” she giggled as she ate some of her pasta. Hesitantly, I might add.

“So ‘ow’s it taste?” I asked, conscious of my cooking.

“Terrible,” she replied followed by a gagging sound.

“Really?” I consciously asked.

“A’course not!” she grinned. “It tastes wonderful Oli.”

“Oh, good,” I breathed out. “Ya had me worried there for a lil’.”

We chatted all the way through the meal, talking about Drop Dead, my band, her career, y’know the usual. I was getting more and more nervous as the minutes ticked past, counting down until I’d get down on one knee and ask her to marry me. It was agonizing.

“Did ya make dessert as well?” Amanda asked in a teasing tone after she finished her meal.

“Actually, I did,” I told her, putting both of our plates into the sink, going in the ice box and pulling out the two cupcakes I had baked earlier that day.

“Cupcakes?” she giggled. “Oh, Oli, ya’re too cute!”

“Hush yerself,” I couldn’t help but smile. “Or I’ll eat yer cupcake.”

“Oh no ya won’t! They look downright scrumptious,” she licked her perfectly glossed lips for emphasis.

I handed her her cupcake and sat down. “Dig in.”

She began to eat but stopped when she bit down on something hard. “What the ‘ell is this?”

She reached into her mouth and pulled out a ring. Her engagement ring that cost me nearly two thousand euros. What the hell was I thinking putting in a cupcake? Not one of my best ideas.

“Oli?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost shaking.

I swiftly got of my chair and kneeled before her on one knee. “Amanda, I love ya. I love ya so much and I want ta love ya forever. Ta be with ya forever,” I was surprised how unstable my voice was. “What I'm sayin’ is, I want ta marry ya. But I guess I ‘ave ta ask ya first. So, Amanda, will ya marry me?”

She stayed quiet. Completely and utterly quiet. But her eyes spoke volumes. They said she was hurting, they said she was afraid, they said she was trying not to cry, they said no.

“O-Oli, I love ya, I really do, but I just don’t think that-that I'm ready fer marriage. I don’t think ya are either. Us, as a couple, we’re not ready ta be married,” she choked out, now crying. “Ya’re in a band, ya’ll be tourin’ all over, I'm a model, I’ll being goin’ places as well. I'm sorry Oli, I really am… I j-just can’t.”

“Amanda,” I said, ever so quietly, fighting back tears. “Please, say ya don’t mean it.”

She just shook her head, wiping away tears.

I could feel pain wrap its icy cold fingers around my heart and grip tightly. I could feel those cold fingers dig their way into my heart, causing a searing pain. I could feel my heart being ripped apart. And Amanda just sat there and watched.

“No,” she repeated over and over again.

“Amanda,” my voice came out as a plea.

“No,” she said one final time and stood up and started walking towards the door.

My body froze. I wanted to chase after her—my mind was screaming at me to do so—but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself stand up and follow after her. I couldn’t.

She walked right out the door. Right out the door, and right out of my life.

I loved Amanda. I truly did. With all of my heart. And I thought she felt the same way. But, I was wrong.