Silas is the Sun

iii. this should be my good bye

I’m not in my room when I wake up. I know it the same I know what my name is, inherent and without thought. My room is below ground, the basement, and rarely does the sunlight stream through the tiny windows. The sun’s in my eyes now, warming my face, because I’m facing a large window thats got the shades drawn up. It’s not the sun that woke me, though, it’s my stomach.

I wonder, as I drag myself out of the confines of Leah’s bed, when the post-drunk vomiting will end. I stumble dizzily, loudly, towards the door but Leah doesn’t budge, sprawled across her pillow, soft blond hair billowing around her like a halo. Her door sticks and it takes two yanks to get it open. Her cat is meowing at my feet on the other side of the frame. I don’t stop it from running into the room as I dart for the toilet.

Decidedly, I’m never drinking again.

When I get back into bed, my throat is burning and I can’t fall back asleep. All the hangover symptoms are in full effect. I close my eyes against the pain. Three years of this, I should be used to it. Moreover, my body should’ve figured out a way to process liquor that wouldn’t lead to me throwing it all back up the next morning.

I fumble on the floor between the bed and wall for my phone. The phone screen’s still intact so I couldn’t have been that drunk last night. It’s a little past seven and Ive got a text from Silas, the boy I never stop thinking about. I know he’s working this morning, it’s his weekend on, which explains why he’s up.

But still.

The fact he’s the first text of my day makes me feel too much. Feel conflicted. And angry. I want to reach through my phone and shake him like an etch-a-skech so he can see the real picture here. Friends don’t treat friends like this. Friends don’t take friends out the way he does.

I take a moment to ease myself off of the emotion ledge, checking my insta and snap stories to make sure I didn’t put anything questionable up. Ever since I started hanging out with Silas, though, I’ve been posting less. I’m more conscientious of the image I present to the world, mostly because I’m worried about how he sees me. I want him to see me, the real me, not the filtered and photoshopped version.

I move to my texts next. Notorious for drunk texting, I probably should’ve checked that first. But I don’t normally have lapses in my memory after drinking. I can get drunk enough to rationalize kissing a random boy without learning his name, but I’ll never forget the night. I make a point of committing it all to memory, a semblance of control when I’m out of it.

Since I'm only really talking to him, I’m in the clear. I made a vow with myself not to drunk text him. Which is why, at this hour, fully sober and very hungover, I decide it’s the perfect time to address things.

My mom said to me once that I have no clout. This is a well known fact. I’ll rarely address any situation that makes me remotely uncomfortable, and if I do, I take the roundabout way to get there. Direct is not my style.

I type out, Do you think things are weird between us

I hit send without a punctuation mark or a thought. It is both a question and a statement, not a question nor a statement. I have no immediate regrets, so that’s something. I kissed a random person last night. Didn’t get his name, don’t even remember what he looks like. It lasted for all of 2.5 seconds and all I could think is this shouldn’t be a random person, this should be Silas. So probably it’s time to say something.

He answers near immediately, What?

I wait thirteen minutes before I send back, Have things been weird to you or are they totally normal business as usual

I follow that message up with, Weird like different weird like not how it was in the beginning

He takes half that amount of time to answer. I haven't noticed anything. Why?

I sit for ten minutes knowing with one hundred percent certainty what I knew before but didn’t want to admit to myself. He does not have the kind of feelings I have for him. This isn’t going to end in my favor.

I can drop this and leave it at or I can proceed and ruin everything your choice

Somehow, disregarding punctuation rules makes me feel like we’re not being as direct as we actually are. So much more direct than I was the first time I felt close to this way for someone. I don’t know why it didn’t work out the first time. I suppose because that person never felt the way I did, either. But I like to think that not being straight forward played a role in how it all turned out.

It takes him two minutes to respond. Uh if there’s one thing I’ve learned from these 3 weeks of reading, it’s that things are always better communicated

He knows what I’m going to say, then. I know he does. Sometimes people can be so dense about things, but he has to know what I’m getting at now. And he’s giving me permission to admit it.

And I will never think the worse of him. He lives on a pillar in my mind, and maybe that’s unfair to him. Maybe he’ll never really live up to my expectations. But I have to wonder, if he knows how I feel, does he just want to hear me say it? I can’t discredit that it’s flattering when someone likes you, especially when they like you more than you like them. Maybe that’s what I am for him. An ego boost.

Well I disagree with that, I decide to write back, buying time and still deciding. To speak or not to speak.

It’s def true, he responds. When has anybody ever felt better from holding anything in

I center myself for what I’m about to do next: destroy something that has just taken root, is just beginning to grow. Sunday was too much. I hit send.

I shut my eyes against the memory of the evening. Silas picked me up at my house. We had pizza on the rooftop of a restaurant he knew in Jersey City. I got soft drunk off of white wine. We walked to an ice cream shop and had drinks on a different rooftop. Got mistaken as a couple by the guy working there. I knew then what I know now, that it was not a date. And yet, I couldn’t stop reasoning that it should be. I wanted so badly for it to be a date. I wanted him to kiss me, chaste, when he dropped me off at home. I wanted and I wanted and I wanted.

What do you mean?? he writes back. Too much in what way

Too much like a date, I write.

I guess I can see how it would feel like that, he responds.

I open my notes. I draft several options of what to say. I consider telling him it’s no problem, forget about it. I consider telling him I need boundaries. I consider not saying anything at all. Consider it a lot. Consider deleting his number and leaving it at that. And then I decide to go all in. Because what do I have to lose. This is it for me, anyway. The damage is done. There’s nothing he can say that I haven’t already told myself, that I won’t tell myself every single night while I’m falling asleep and beginning to dream up a life of us together.

I like you, I type out. I like you in a more than friendly way. And as much as I’ve tried to tamp down on those feelings they aren’t going away. And things like Sunday aren’t helping. So I’m going to need some space indefinitely.

He nearly sends me into a cardiac arrest waiting for his reply. I’m dizzy and it’s not from the hangover. I go back to the bathroom to dry heave into the toilet. I run the water, nearly drop my phone in the sink, and then sink down onto the cold tile to read his response.

I see, he writes.

Well I like our friendship and I also like exorbance and hanging out is not limited to a quick lunch or what not imo, he writes. It doesn’t even bother me that he gets the word wrong.

But if it made you uncomfortable then I understand, he writes.

I just hope space doesn’t mean we can’t hang, he writes.

I want to cry but I made a vow a long time ago that the only person who would bring me to tears would be my mother. I don’t know why I’m upset when I knew, I knew, this was where I were going to end up, whether it happened in two months or twelve. These things never work out in my favor. I’m not destined for it and I won’t fight for it. And maybe that’s the problem. But I know when I’m in a losing battle.

It didn’t make me uncomfortable it just made things difficult. But that is what I meant by space.

Well that’s unfortunate, he writes back.

So what does that entail. Never hanging again? he writes.

I don’t know, I respond. I don’t know how to navigate this. It’s not like I want to never see you again.

His next messages are a sucker punch all of their own.

You’re crazy I’m literally ugly af, the first message reads.

Like at least on the inside lmao, the second.

But I also can’t dive into any prospect of a relationship or talking to someone like that right now either, the last.

It’s the first message that angers me and the last one that hurts. It’s a rejection, a soft one, but I was already prepared for that. The self deprecation, though. God, it makes me want to drive to his job just to punch him in the face. I’m upset now, can’t even hide it. I head back into the bedroom, waking up Leah as I grab my things and change into some sweats to go home in.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, sitting up in bed.

My voice breaks as I say, “I’ve gotta’ go home. I can’t — I can’t sit still right now.”

“What happened?”

I tell her the abbreviated version. That I finally admitted how I feel.

“Hey,” she says. “Just stay. It’s okay.”

“I really can’t,” I answer. “I’ll text you later. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. It went exactly how I expected it to go. It’s really no problem.”

“You’re scaring me,” Leah says.

“Dude, seriously, it’s cool. Go back to sleep.”

“Well, I’m getting up I have a nail appointment. You want to meet me uptown afterwards? We can get lunch.”

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. We’ll see. I’ll let you know.”

I grab my things and head out. When I get into my car, I roll the windows down, put on some sunnies so I don’t feel so exposed, and take myself home. I’m shaking by the time I put my car in park. My mom’s home so I’ve got to pull myself together. She’ll see right through me. I reach for my phone like I may answer his text, but I don’t know what to say.

I head inside, grin at my mom when I pass her in the kitchen, saying, “Oh, yeah I had a great night. It was great.” I drop my things on the floor by my bed and move towards my bathroom, stripping of my sweats and shoving them down in my dirty laundry basket.

I take a long shower, which I never do, letting the hot water prickle at my skin nd the glass cube get so steamy, it’s hard to breathe.

Forty minutes later, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed wrapped in a towel, answering his texts. Look it’s all good, I write. I knew how this was going to pan out well before I’d even decided to say anything. I’m really not asking anything of you. I didn’t want to disappear without explanation that wouldn’t have been fair to you. I hit send. But then:

For the record you’re equally as good on the inside as you are on the outside I wish you’d stop putting yourself down. So that’s it I don’t want to talk about this anymore okay.

He’s too stubborn to just let it go so of course he answers with, So how were you planning and just stopping and not saying any of this.

I want to ask him if he would even care if I never spoke to him again, sans warning, sans explanation. I know he has friends, plenty of them. There’s someone in every aspect of his life to spend time with, so what does it even really matter if I disappear?

Idk I didn’t really have a plan here, I answer.

Valid I know the feeling all too well

I don’t answer his last message, and I don’t text him again, until five days later, when I decide I’m going to let him break my heart.
♠ ♠ ♠
I cried multiple times writing this story in case you guys were wondering
dw there's some fun happy light times too
also this boy really is magnificent and from the words of Augustus Waters 'it'd be an honor to have my heart broken by him' that's all <3