We Only Breathe For So Long

Ever since last night, Eric and I have been talking about random things that appeared in our heads –from sports, to squirrels and overly muscular people. It was so much easier to speak to him when he remembered who he actually was. I didn’t need to worry about him much any longer, or remind him of things we had done in the past. He knew it all this time.

Although I wanted to hang out with him a little longer to regain the time that was lost when he was diagnosed with amnesia, I missed John.

After our brief conversation the night before, my heart ached the more the clock ticked and I wasn’t by his door. He was mad, almost fuming, I could see it on his face. He had always been there for me whenever I needed him, and when it was my turn to repay the favor, I turned my back and allowed him to leave.

Our relationship was falling apart. I didn’t even remember the last time I kissed him. And I missed him, so, so much. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Instead of being with my boyfriend, I was with Eric most of the times. What type of girlfriend does that?

Ex-girlfriends, I thought.

I jumped out of the sofa, determined to make things right. Eric and I had fallen asleep while watching movies earlier before dawn. I didn’t bother to fix my appearance, let Eric know I’d be leaving or ask Jane’s permission to borrow her car once again.

I got behind the wheel, driving as fast as I could to reach that deserted parking lot, hoping John was still asleep so I could silently slip under his arms and he would wake up beside me. After a 15 minutes drive, I arrived. I parked badly, not following the white guidelines painted on the floor.

I knocked on the bus’ door, checking my hand watch as the seconds ticked by, afraid there would be no one inside. Just before I turned around with frustration, I saw his scruffy, long beard and hair messier than mine.

“Hey,” I said, throwing my arms around Garrett for a hug.

He hugged me tight. “I’ve missed you, little bugger.” He took a few steps back, messing my hair with his hands. “Come on in!”

I climbed the few steps up into the bus, feeling the welcoming warmth sink through my bones. This was one thing that hasn’t changed –the bus that smelled like boys, beer and was somehow comforting.

“Why haven’t you been around much?” he asked with worry as he offered me coffee.

I rejected it, thanking him with a smile. “A friend of mine was going through a rough patch and I was helping out.”

He nodded his head in comprehension, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’ve missed out on so much!” he shouted at me for my absence, “the boys ask about you everyday. Well, except Kennedy of course.”

“What’s up with Kenny?” I asked, not understanding why Kennedy would be left out of the equation.

“We barely see him nowadays. Sophie and him are officially together, even your folks know about it now.”

His answer caught me off guard and I didn’t get a chance to minimize my reaction. My eyes went wild as I choked on my own saliva.

I coughed as I was utterly shocked. How much of my life have I been missing out? It has only been a few weeks since the whole Eric incident happened but it felt like it was only a matter of days. I know I hadn’t been home much, so I wouldn’t be capable of knowing what’s going on over there but Sophie hadn’t called me either to tell me the news.

A thunder of sadness struck me when I realized how further away from home I have actually walked. I didn’t only spent most of my days and nights with Eric, I drove my family away from me along with it too.

Maybe it was because I was focusing all of my attention in something that didn’t require it at all. Eric was a grown man. Jane could easily take care of him if he couldn’t do that himself. He didn’t need me. I’ve been tricking myself this whole time believing that he did. John was the only one who needed me.

I didn’t even reply back to Garrett or excuse myself. I just turned around and made my way into John’s bedroom. I entered the dark, dusty smelling room and closed the door behind me without so much as a sound. I tiptoed until I reached his bed, moving some covers out of the way so I could fit under them, and next to him.

I curled my arms around his bare chest, feeling more than comfortable with the heat that ran over his body. He woke up, groggy with sleep, and his eyes were so small that they were barely opened.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered in confusion.

I paused, elaborating an answer to his question. “I-uhh… reconsidered my life. Eric can take care of himself.” I was pathetic at apologies, and that was the best I managed to make.

He kissed the top of my head and remained silent for the next heartbeats. I closed my eyes and felt his touch, smiling at myself. This was where I belonged. I could feel it because I didn’t want to be anywhere else rather than in this smelly bus, cuddling with this lanky guy.

“I don’t love you.”

In that very own moment, I could actually feel the pain in my chest from hearing something so monstrous, it’s strong enough to break your heart. I sat up in a rapid, sudden movement, not sure if I heard him right.

He picked up on my reaction. “I don’t love you,” he repeated.

I looked at him in utter shock, as confusion invaded my expression through a frown, and my mouth remained opened. “You don’t love me?” I repeated his words in the form of a question.

“I don’t love you.” He repeated those same words again.

The first time, I thought I misheard him. The second time, it hurt. The third time, it was like a 300 pounds man had kicked me in the stomach, forcing any sort of oxygen that I had in my body to be released.

Tears began to build up. “What do you mean?” I questioned frantically, “is this about last night?”

He responded immediately, with a cold ‘no.’

I refused to believe in his words as I shook my head in denial. His words ripped my heart with no mercy. I had to take a deep breath before speaking or even thinking because I knew I was so close to crying. Within the next few seconds, I was crying.

The tears ran down my face as if it was a race and the fastest tear would become the winner. It never ceased. The more I thought about his words, the more competitors there were.

“Isn’t that a little too late to tell me that?” I managed to say through so much pain. He never met my eyes.

Isn’t it funny how the one person you would take a bullet for tends to be the one behind the gun?

I got out of his bed, disgusted at myself for being so close to this murderer of hearts. I stood by the far corner of the room, not daring to look at him. “Do you tell me lies because they sound better?” I asked the air since the guy I was addressing my words towards was so silent, he barely breathed.

I turned around to face him, my hands clenched into fists. I was holding myself back from ripping his throat as a form of revenge for ripping my heart so carelessly. “UH?” I screamed at him, demanding for a reply.

“Memories cause love,” he said ever so softly. “Eric remembered his memory, didn’t he?”

“Is this about Eric?” I asked in disbelief, taking steps closer to him. “If it is, well, I’M FUCKING SORRY FOR BEING SUCH A BITCH TOWARDS YOU!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, causing my throat to feel dry.

He lowered his gaze to the floor. “You weren’t a bitch.”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE POLITE!” I turned around as I shouted, forcing myself not to mutilate him with very own hands. “’Cause polite people don't tell others they don’t love them after saying they did.” I said, not as loud as before. I grew tired the more I spoke, rapidly shifting from intense anger to utter frustration.

I sat down by the chair that was almost hidden by the darkness, holding my forehead with my hands while I attempted to stop the tears but they didn’t obey me. “I fucking missed you. All day, every day,” I said it out loud, admitting it not only to him but also myself. “And you can’t even imagine how pathetic it makes me feel because you don’t even love me back.”

I covered my face with my hands, not knowing what to say or do next. All I wanted to do was to cry all day, for as long as I existed. The room grew colder as the silence did too.

“I see the way you look at him,” he said in pure anguish. “You used to look at me in that very own way.”

The worst type of crying is the silent one, the one I was now experiencing.

The one where you feel it in your throat, and your eyes become blurry from the tears.

The one where you just want to scream.

The one where you have to hold your breath and grab your stomach to keep quiet.

The one where you can’t breathe anymore.

The one when you realize the person that meant the most to you, is gone.