Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself,
and hidden in the public eye
such A STELLAR MONUMENT to loneliness
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
and perfect makeup but you're barely scraping by

--Dashboard Confessional

_____________

This isn't worth it.

Four simple words that changed my world.  They were words that I once supplied, but in the end, they were hers.  They were her reason why: why she was leaving, why she was tired of pretending…why we were over.

It wasn't that long ago that she abandoned me.  It was an ordinary winter day, the last in the semester when the season was well underway and the start of day was followed shortly by the fall of night.  It was an uncomplicated ending as opposed to our complicated beginning.  No explosions.  No denunciations.  No demands.  No daunting revelations. 

We were in the woods, the night had already fallen upon us, and though she made no hint of what was to come, in my mind, I had some acute and knowledgeable recognition of what she was about to do.  The snow fell lightly around her, the chill in the air creating a blush on her pale skin; and as she spoke, her mouth moved in slow motion, the world around us just seemed to freeze in time, and I remember thinking, "She's never looked more beautiful."

Despite the horrendous truth that moment delivered, that moment—her beauty in that moment—has been blazed into my memory, unscathed by time and circumstance.  My last recollections of her don't arouse anger or hate or sadness, but the antithesis.  Upon each viewing of that scene, I fall in love all over again.  I love her more now than perhaps I did when she was actually mine.  Each time forces me to search for a new ending.  I struggle to find the words to make her stay, but I have none. 

Love is never about words.

We all deal with loss in our own way.  Some people get pissed off…yell…throw things.  Others retreat…cry…mourn…sink into an abyss of loneliness. 

Not I.

I think I wasted my energy on those actions at some time, but found they had no effect.  Instead, I found comfort and recluse in the last place…the last person…I ever thought I would.

Ryder Forrest.

I don't even remember how it all started—not clearly at least.  All the little details have diminished with time.  I recall sitting against a tree by the lake one afternoon after we'd returned from Christmas break.  A blizzard was approaching New Rawley, but I chose to stay outside.  Internally, I hoped it would engulf me, freeze me, free me of this miserable existence I had assembled for myself.  However, the illusion of brilliance and suspense was broken when I heard him approach.  It doesn't really matter what he did or what he said, what matters is what he didn't.  I found solace in that.  He was quintessential Ryder Forrest with his biting, obnoxious attitude and his disparaging, calculated comments about Jake and me.  They were ones I'd heard before, but instead of the urge to punch him rising in my blood, his words brought relief, for he didn't say what everyone else who "cared" did: 

You should get over her.  You should move on. 

You should forget she ever existed.

They said those things with good intentions in mind, but if they really cared they would know that it isn't that easy.  It is fitting then, that I find consolation in his words, in someone who never really knew her in the first place.  For Ryder, she never really existed. 

It's tempting to think of her that way.  To see her as a nonexistent being, a fanatical figure I created in my own warped reality.  That she was someone who only subsists in my dreams.

Maybe it's easier to perceive the best thing I've ever experienced as an invention of my psyche.  In that sense, I haven't lost anything.  That way, what happened in life actually happened outside of me, beyond me.  It is something that cannot be weighed, or measured, or remembered, or totaled.  I could discount everything I ever felt for her as something that was produced by a temporary delirium. 

I can't. 

It isn't that easy.  Loving her was, but getting over her… definitely is not.  It's not merely forgetting.  It's confronting the places I have come to fear the most—my heart and my mind.  

So that is what compels me to do what I do each night.  It isn't love that draws me to him.  No, not love…rather, the absence of it. 

I go to him late at night when there is no risk of being found out.  I'm not even really sure if I'd mind that though.  It wouldn't make a difference to me, people already think I'm gay. Maybe if they did uncover our little secret, people would see how fucked up I really am.  Maybe someone would try to help me.  Maybe someone would tell her.  Maybe, just maybe…if she knew what she'd done to me…she'd come back.

She would save me.

But I know that won't happen.  I'm too far gone.  I've come to screwing Ryder in order to make it through the day without letting the pain and chaos of it all fill my lungs and suffocate me.

He knows that is the only reason I come here.  He knows I'm only going through the motions, he knows I'm only doing what I have to do to get by. 

He's okay with that. 

She's been gone five months.  We've been doing this for four.  Tonight is no different than all the others, except tonight will be the last time.  I've decided this has to be… I need to find another way.  Besides, he's leaving this place, graduating next week—the school, this life…this… freak show.

And that's perfectly fine with me. 

When I'm with him, it all happens so fast.  Just like the first time.  After he found me by the lake and dispensed his insults, he realized the remarks that usually had me fuming were now met with silence.  But he couldn't just leave me alone. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he offered me a beer…a joint…refuge from my own loneliness…but for him, it was a chance to continue playing his little game. I took him up on his offer, my mind had long bypassed the idea of death by hypothermia, and I figured, "Anything is better than this."

So that's how it happened the first time.  I was drunk and high and sick of feeling…nothing.  He seduced me…he seduced me with his wit and confidence and dazzle and virtuosity.  I was seduced not by him, but by whom, for some brief moment, he reminded me of.  Jake.

So I let it happen.  I used my altered state as an excuse for the first time, but not for the second, third, fourth or anytime after that.  I was perfectly aware of what I was doing, of what I was submitting myself to.  I didn't need inhibiting substances to push me towards him.  I did that all on my own.   

Each time we are together, it's a blur.  I have no profound memories.  It's probably because I'd prefer to forget it happened at all.   

He's twice deceived—by her and by me.  He didn't know Jake and he doesn't know me.  He thinks he does, though.  He thinks that this is what I do.  He thinks that I like this.  He thinks…this is who I am.   He thinks that I'm a martyr to his needs, but in reality, he's a martyr to mine. 

It's comical, if you really think about it.  I never thought I'd have the upper hand on Ryder Forrest.  

Never.

Yet, he's not entirely incorrect.  I do like this.  I continue doing this because what I feel when I'm with him is better than what I feel when I'm not.

Empty.

I don't think there's a worse feeling than feeling incomplete.  Going through the motions, doing what needs to be done to make it, but nothing more.  There's a void in my heart that only she filled.  It would be naïve of me to think that I'll find someone to replace her, to fill the chasm that leaves me torn. 

We all pay a price for love.

This is mine.

Ryder has become my substitute for love.  With him, things just happen.  No reasons, no ulterior motives, no strings attached.  It's a comforting thought; I find simplicity and complacency in being with him, in doing things that so clearly contradict who I really am—if I even know who that is anymore.

Now that the deed is done, we dress in silence.  There is no use wasting words.  I've exhausted anything worth saying on someone who doesn't even care.  Our actions already attest to much more than trite sayings and thankless conversation could give meaning to.  He sits on the bed, smirking, looking so satisfied with himself, but I know the truth.  I know it's just a guise.  I know what he feels when he's with me—vulnerable. 

I never made Jake feel that way.  It's a bit sickening that I find pleasure in the awareness that I make someone feel that way—even if it is Ryder. 

I head towards the door to make my departure, my hand about to turn the knob, when he breaks our beautiful silence:

"She isn't worth it."

At the sound of those syllables, I snap my head around, fierce rigidity spreading all over my face.

"Excuse me?" I ask, nearly shouting, about ready to explode.

"You heard me," he replies, looking me straight and hard in the eyes.  "She isn't worth it."

I stare at him, anger burning my eyes and abhorrence brewing in my heart. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He laughs mockingly and rises from the bed.  He crosses the room so that he is only inches away from me. "You really think I'm that stupid, don't you? You think I hadn't figured it out?  Please!  Jake…or…whatever her name is…was good at pretending.  But not that good."

I'm genuinely shocked.  "So…you mean…" I can barely speak.  How could he have known?

"Oh come on! Her get-up wasn't that convincing.  There was always something off about him…it just took me awhile to reckon exactly what."

His revelation changes everything. 

I never had the upper hand.  I never had control.  He's had it all along. 

"You…you TRICKED me!" I yell, the falseness of my emotion obvious, even to me. 

"What? You really ARE that dense!  I didn't trick you.  The only person who tricked you is yourself.  You believe what you want, but I know and you know that you used her as justification.  Not me! You made her leaving you an excuse to do what you instinctively wanted to do."

He stops talking for a moment, bringing his lips just centimeters from my own.  His eyes haven't wavered from their station.  With a cocky smile, he finishes, "I just capitalized on it."

I feel sick to my stomach as full realization of what has occurred overcomes me.  "You're a twisted, sick fuck!"

"Oh but I'm a good fuck.  You have to admit that," he says with his trademark arrogance. 

"You asshole!" I explode, heading towards the door.  But before I can make it there, he grabs my wrist and spins me around.  He pulls me into his body by both arms and I am suddenly powerless in his presence.  I feel myself against him and for this first time…this isn't about me using him…or him using me…it's about more than that.  I just don't know exactly what.

I'm about to give in, but I snap out of it before he can do anything more.  I fight against his hold and after a brief tussle, I am able to release myself.  But when I look into his eyes, I don't see that same ruthless, unforgiving glare that is usually there. 

Instead, there is something…almost…tender…some remnant of…hurt.

He shakes his head and lets me be.  He knows I've seen something he'd rather I not.  I've seen him as he really is. 

Unfulfilled.  Lost.  Broken. 

Just like me. 

He looks down to the floor, his hand on the back on his neck, the other on his hip.  "You know," he begins, the bitterness that typically accompanies every rejoinder now gone,  "I wonder what troubles you more.  Realizing that what you feel for her is gone or that I make you feel?"

I step away completely, slinking back into the shadows, retreating towards the door.  Now that he wants to talk I have nothing to say.  It's like everything is black.  I want to say something…

…I can't.

I snake my hand behind me, turn the doorknob, and open the door.  "I'm leaving," I reply, trying to convince not merely him, but myself, that it's what I really want to do. I don't dare look in his eyes, a fear that somehow…one look…and I'll change my mind.  I'm disgusted with myself for thinking that.  What is happening to me?  I try and convince myself that he's wrong; that I'm not over Jake, that this—he—isn't what I want.  That everything he said was a lie.  

I realize I've been standing in the open doorway too long, the effectiveness of my egress is probably lost now for he's seen resignation and susceptibility in my actions.  He sees that I'm thinking this through.  He sees…I'm beginning to realize…maybe it's the truth.

What if I don't need to pretend anymore?  What if I don't need to tell myself that she isn't real? What if what I feel now isn't the absence of her or of love in my life?  What if it's…

…acceptance. 

Yet, I can't bring myself to tell him that.  I would never let him have the satisfaction of knowing that he got through to me.  "I'm done with this," I say finally. "This is the last time, Ryder."

I expect him to say something sarcastic or calculated or even to laugh, but to my surprise, he looks up at me and in a steady, calm tone, he replies, "Whatever you say.  Goodbye Hamilton."

I don't really know how to take his response.  I stand there for a moment and our eyes make contact.  And all of a sudden, everything is so still.  It's something that's happened before, where everything seems to be on pause.  It is…for me…something that's only happened with one other person.  And we all know who that is…

The thought of her finally brings me out of this passing insanity, reminding me that it was she who brought me to this room…to him… in the first place.   But now, I'm not so sure she was the reason at all.  Damn Ryder for doing this, for making me think, for making me…doubt.  I tell myself that what just happened didn't really happen.  It was just a moment of weakness.  I make myself angry by reflecting on the stupidity of my actions and make myself mad at him for being there to witness it and share in it.  I leave without either of us saying any more and slam the door behind me.  I storm down the hall, thinking that I've got to stop this …this feeling he's ignited in me.  But I can't shake it, whatever it is.  It's taking over me…I can feel it now.  I can feel him. 

I sprint down the hall, getting as far away from him as I can as quickly as possible.  I've got to stop this before it metamorphoses into something…something I'm not willing to face.

No…not love…

…well…not yet…

I turn the corner and my room comes into sight.  It's only a few more yards…you're almost there. 

"It's over.  You're finished with him.  That was the last time," I say out loud, my words echoing throughout the hollow of the hallway. 

I stop in my tracks and blink.

"Perhaps."

[The End]