one
***
I didn’t know what to expect when I showed up at his front door. Maybe an apology? A thank you? Or at least a sign of any sort of emotion or remorse for what he had done. To me. But for now, I guess I would suffice with him opening the door at all.
“Hello,” his voice I hadn’t heard in months rang out as he swung the door open, to follow with, “my sister is upstair-” his words halted when his eyes met mine. Recognition coursed his features.
“Mariam.” My name almost sounded sour on his tongue. “What do you want?” His demeanor changed from welcoming - to what I assumed was his sister’s friend that must be coming over - to cold and cut off, as he always had been with me. Well, not always. There was a time that my mere presence made him smile. When my name that I had forever hated had never sounded more beautiful than when emitted from his mouth. I guess everything changes eventually. I never should have expected a happy ending - that was my fault. I pushed and pushed until I tipped him over the edge and he, well he pushed back. He pushed me away. Stopped returning my messages, stopped being there for me, stopped letting me be there for him, blocked me out, blocked me from everything. Months later, I still have no idea what I did that made him lash out in such a way. What I did to scare him off. Maybe it was all the talk about our future - that was probably stupid of me - or the fact that we had different views on remaining pure until marriage. Could not having sex really drive him away from me? Was that all that mattered?
“I…” I wanted to say I didn’t come here because I wanted anything, but that wouldn’t be true. Yet I couldn’t figure out the answer to his question, either. What did I want?
“Answers,” my voice came out much stronger than I felt, standing in front of the person I was once in love with for the first time in what felt like decades. Seeing him, trying to remember why I fell for him in the first place. His gray eyes narrowed in what I knew to be feigned confusion. I knew him better than that, but he was still going to try to play dumb. “Answers…?”
I let out a gust of air in slight frustration. “What I want, is answers.” I looked up at him, expectantly. He stood at 6’2, an exact foot taller than me, and it certainly didn’t help that the doorway he stood in, almost as if guarding it so I couldn’t get in - the irony - was a step up, making him a giant. It made me feel all the more vulnerable.
“What kind of answers.” He expressed it as if it weren’t a question, only making it all the more clear he knew exactly what I meant or at the least, had an idea.
“Answers, to my questions. Answers to my texts, to my voicemails, to my damn books I wrote you in letters in the mail, after you blocked my number, of how sorry I am for whatever… whatever this is, that drove you off the wagon, whatever I’m at fault for. I’m not even sorry anymore. I just want answers.” I ranted, out loud, as I had wanted to for months but hadn’t had the courage to.
“You’re not at fault for anything.”
Is that all I get? After months of unanswered messages and handwritten letters, this is all he has to tell me? That all along, I shouldn’t have fretted over anything because I’m not at fault and he was simply ignoring and avoiding me for no reason?
I wanted to hit him. To scream at him or lash out or cry or hug him after all these months. I had been wrong. Answers weren’t all I wanted, I wanted him to be there for me. To have held my hand as I paced through the hospital hallways when my mother was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, to have held me when my cheeks were stained with tears, to have told me that everything would be alright. Because maybe, maybe if he had been there, it would have been. I wanted him to tell me I could make it through my college exams, that I could show my father I wasn’t as worthless as he always said and to make my mother proud. Did he even know she passed away? That my father gained full custody of me and my siblings? Would he have cared? I no longer know. Because I no longer know this version of Jason, who stands before me. And I didn’t care enough to know him.
“Then why go through all the trouble to avoid ever seeing or speaking to me?” The words somehow found their way through my lungs and out into the air. I figured this was probably a mistake, spending gas money to get to his house all for answers. I should have gone a long time ago, or not at all.
Instead of wasting my time, I could be studying for my… actually, I was out of things to do. So why not visit my boyfriend that I actually never had an official breakup with and haven’t heard from in precisely seven months? We missed each other’s birthdays, I realized. Well, I didn’t miss his. I wrote him a letter and bought his favorite, icecream cake, which is still sitting in the basement freezer at my father’s. Maybe I could have stored it in the electricity-free freezer at my mother’s house so it could melt away, just as I did, just as Jason did from me.
After a few hopeless months of hearing nothing from Jason, I think I more than got the hint. I gave up on leaving him lengthy texts and voicemails. I felt like an idiot, I was humiliated to have tried so hard for someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. I was hurt. What happened to “forever and always”? Did everything he ever said about us, about me, how he felt, mean nothing? Sometimes, I truly believe he was just that good at playing hearts that he found a way to stick with me for all that time, only to win the game, which he did. And other times, I want to be able to believe that’s true, that he never meant a word he said so that I can hate him.
I gave up on sending him heartfelt letters and apologies and notes of anger - but I kept writing them. I kept telling myself I would stop. But every day, when I sat down and pulled out a pen, I started, and I couldn’t. He always encouraged me, admired me for my passion for writing. I don’t find it too likely that another guy is going to adore my passion for writing to my previous boyfriend, haha. Jason always said I had magic at my fingertips, that I had a gift and could accomplish so much more with it if only I tried.
Jason remained silent. “Jace, answer my question.”
“Don’t call me Jace,” he spat. Once again, distancing himself from me as he had all summer long. Jace had always been my nickname for him, and he called me Em, as no one else did. I nodded, awkwardly.
“Answer my question,” I demanded, not willing to let hurt stop my pride after finally mustering up the courage to be there.
“I... can’t.’ He deadpanned.
“Why not?” I perched an eyebrow, trying to keep my eyes on his sea-tinted ones without getting lost in them. I couldn’t falter.
“Because, if I tell you,” he let out a breath of hopelessness - maybe he was giving up and finally giving in - I felt a smile twitch at my lips as he continued to say more than he had said to me in months, “he will kill me.”
In an instant, my smile dropped. Well, that certainly wasn’t expected.
“He will what?!” I didn’t so much as attempt to contain my calm. Who? What? When? Where? How? And most of all, why?
Either Jason was in some serious trouble he had been keeping from me or this was all some joke to scare me off. But I think he knew better than that - he couldn’t frighten me away, I don’t give up on people. So why did he try to make me give up on him?
And more importantly, why did he give up on me?
“Calm down, Mariam. You need to leave before anyone knows you’re here.” His eyes scanned the road, panicky. We’re still on ‘Mariam’ basis. And calm down? Was he hearing himself? I sighed, giving him a tight fake smile. “No, I didn’t waste precious money on gas and time that I could be spending with my siblings and studying for this. I’m not turning back again, Jason.”
“Shut up, this isn’t about being a good girlfriend, it’s about saving yourself and it’s not up for debate. You need to leave, now.” His words were harsh as he stepped out of the doorway and looked about ready to slam the door in my face. There honestly was no point in fighting for this now - whatever this even was. I should have gave up a long time ago. I should have moved on. But I didn’t. Because I’m the stubborn and driven Mariam, who fixes everything before I fix myself. Problems are like a puzzle to me, something to be pieced together. But maybe I never considered that maybe, some problems didn’t have a solution. I wanted to repair me and Jason, but I never considered the possibility that we could both be too broken to piece together until we have, ourselves, already been cleaned up from the messes that we are inside.
“Okay. Call me?” I was a bit scared to ask for the thing he probably would never do. “I can’t.” I knew it. “Well why not?” I was losing my patience. He was shutting the door on me.
“You need to trust me, just go.” Go where? Right back to the loneliness and misery that I called home? Back to a school full of people who weren’t my friends?
“I’ve always trusted you, you know that. I just need you to explain why.” After all these months, I was still wrapped around his finger, still abiding by his every word and trusting him when he had given me absolutely no reason to.
I heard a car pulling up behind me, and Jason’s eyes widened for a fragment of a second before he covered it up with an expression that looked purely void of emotion.
