I messed up.
Big time.
The piece of paper crinkles in my shaking hand, as my eyes roam over the words over and over again. I understand them. I even expected them. I wanted them. But they hurt me more than I ever could have imagined.
It's been days since you left. Days since you packed your suitcase and left wordlessly without the customary kiss on the cheek. But with hurt and bitterness in your eyes.
I've been useless ever since.
Haven't been able to work. Haven't been able even to move.
I wanted to move on, but I can't. I wanted this. I wanted this to stop, the on and off, the flutter in my heart and stomach whenever you entered the room, my apartment, whenever you smiled at me. I wanted it to stop...
I guess, I got what I asked for.
It's over now.
You're gone.
Yet, you're still here.
There's a pile of tabloids on the counter, your perfect features gracing their high-gloss covers subtitled with headlines of gossip and make-up tips. The mug you used before you left, still sits with the rest of the dirty dishes next to the sink, the unnatural red of your lipstick mocking your naturally perfect pink lips while perfectly rendering their shape against its rim.
My eyes and thoughts linger on the sight, that unwelcomed question rising again in my head.
But you're gone.
My fist clenches around the page, deforming the letters till my knuckles turn white.
Gone.
I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. I had plans. I made a choice!
A slam and a precarious creaking as my fist slams into the wooden surface of the table, forgotten dishes clatter from the shock. I bite my lip, trying to get a hold of myself.
I asked for it. You're gone. It's over...
But I wished, you'd come back.
Why are you like this?
I'd be your friend forever, if only you forgot the things I said.
I'd do anything to have you stand on my doorstep again.
Like that day...
You stood at my doorstep, smiling, a bulging duffel bag against your hip.
A ridiculous plan was all you had. A single audition you had set your mind to. You were pennyless. It was hopeless. I cautioned you, wanted you to consider other options, but you wouldn't have any of it.
I was worried about you.
I admired you.
I took you in. I gave you a place to stay, fed you, entertained you. Enjoyed our time together.
Until one day you put on a pair of white-washed jeans and a ludicrous rock-star shirt and left for your audition.
Your first single was the biggest hit in years. It was instant-success.
It was fame. Breathtaking fame, spotlights and flashes following you ever since.
Touring and recording, interviews and TV appearances, FC events and photo-shoots. You were a public figure now, belonging to the world.
My home - our home - was your comfort zone. I did my best to keep that invasive world outside. I enjoyed having you to myself when you were here.
Yet, it didn't feel like enough.
I wanted to watch over you, to make sure you were treated well. When you asked me to join you to an after-show party, to meet your new, famous friends, I jumped at the chance.
You dressed me up, the way you always loved to do. And I walked at your side, basking in your light, a light so much brighter than any floodlight, meeting faces I only knew from television or magazines. You made me part of your world, as I had already made you part of mine.
It's all over now.
One single article.
A non-credible gossip magazine even...
A picture of the two of us.
You showed it to me. One of your perfect smiles adorning your lips. Your baby-blue eyes hiding a glint I had never seen before.
As soon my mind had processed the offensively supportive words before me, I barked at you. It wasn't funny. It wasn't even remotely funny.
It took too long for me to realize I had snapped at you. You had already withdrawn yourself, went back to your glamorous world, calling your manager about schedules and arrangements.
Next morning you left for your tour.
You were gone two months this time.
You never called. I didn't dare to after how I acted towards you. I felt like I had insulted you, hurt you... But I lacked the words to explain to myself how, to ask for your forgiveness.
I felt depressed, blaming your absence without being able to comprehend it. My daily schedule included me checking up on the news and tabloids for any mention of you. You attended parties, shows, interviews - smiling, radiating as usual. You were okay. You didn't need me. You were seen with a handsome man on your arm.
And something within me cracked.
I wanted to call you. Wanted to ask about the truth behind the gossip.
But I felt doing so would be unwarranted. I had no right.
I wanted to apologize, to mend our friendship.
But you didn't need me.
I just wanted you back, here with me.
And then, you knocked on my door.
I didn't ask. I didn't say anything. All those words... remained unspoken. I wasn't prepared. Your actual presence threw me.
You put your bags down and I made you dinner, finding comfort in a routine I had almost repressed. My thoughts circling around my tasks and motions.
Until we sat down to eat.
You asked me about how I've been.
I've been miserable. But I didn't want that. I didn't want you to know that. I tried to remind myself, that I had it all figured out. So I lied.
You told me, you could tell something was wrong.
And I asked you if you had fun...
You told me the truth - he wasn't even your type - and that I had to make up my mind.
I told you that it was okay, you had your own life going, you could do what you want or whomever you want.
You glared at me. I saw plain hurt in those wonderful eyes and it scared me. I wanted to take it back.
But I couldn't. I had a plan, I made a choice.
You didn't need me, you shouldn't keep coming back. So I told you.
Without another word, you left.
A few days later, I sit here.
Your letter only containing a few words. An address to send the rest of your things to, a farewell. And a hastily written postscript at the bottom.
"Is this what you want?"
It hurts.
I wanted this.
I didn't want this.
My eyes sting from the tears I try to fight, roaming around the place, trying to find something, anything that might help me make sense of ...everything.
Another magazine, one that was delivered today with your letter. Naturally, it had been sent by her manager to our- my place. The shooting had taken place during your latest tour. You're smiling at me from the cover. I get up to turn the magazine around - I don't want to see this. Not now. Not anymore. You're gone.
I freeze. I can feel the frown on my forehead, deep and biting into my features that had remained almost stoically stiff and uptight during the past few days.
My mind takes its sweet time to absorb what I see, while my heart already aches.
Your smile is perfect. Your lips, sweet and slender, curling at the corner in a suggestive way. Your cheeks flawless by nature, only a whiff of rouge applied to them to enhance your outline in front of the white-washed background. Your eyes... I barely notice the mascara enhancing the length of your lashes while I search for the smile that I've grown to know so well within the pools of blue.
But all I can see is sorrow.
I pull back, gasping for air. My mind is spinning. It's playing tricks on me. Or is it the tears that welled up in my own eyes?
I blink, looking around to clear my head. My eyes fall onto the wrinkled and crumbled letter, disfigured characters of your uncharacteristically shaky handwriting glaring at me.
While I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around my body, I start crying...
I have no idea how long I've been cradling myself like this.
It's no use.
Shaking, I get up. My legs guide me to my phone, and I let my fingers hit the buttons.
Impatience cuts through me, sharp and piercing, while I wait for a response.
"Yes?" Your voice sounds muffled, broken.
And I break.
I rant.
I hear my voice, echoing my thoughts.
I didn't want this. I never wanted this.
It was my fault. I was mistaken. I was wrong. I need to make up my mind. I need to make a choice. I made one, but it's tearing me apart. I can't live like this. I need you to tell me what to do, because I don't know anymore. I am jealous. At the world, that you live in. At the world that owns you. The world you smile for. I had a plan. I had it all figured out. At least, that's what I thought. It was good. It wasn't good. Not anymore. Not with you gone. Tell me what to think. Everything I wanted, everything I was looking for - oh, how stupid I was. Every single day. I was happy. Why did I never listen to you? I saw you, I basked in you, your light, your spirit. But I didn't see you. I had it. All of it. And I lost it. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to do it right. And I failed. Just being with you makes my life better. The way we lived together. The closeness, the intimacy. You. So perfect. It scared me. I fought you. I let you go. I was waiting. It drove me mad. I wanted to say I was sorry. I messed up. I am still waiting. I'll always wait. I am sorry. I want to take it back. Everything. What can I say to undo it? It hurts. I hurt you. Unforgivable. I hate myself. I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to protect you. Wanted to care for you, safeguard you. I failed. I was stupid. I am stupid. How could I not see it? I see it now. I can't give you up. Never. I need you. I don't care anymore. I understand now. This is my choice, the one I make. My final choice. I want you. I need to be with you. You're all I want. Forever.
You are quiet. You listen to every word I say.
I hear your breath. I hear you clearing your throat.
"The world can't own me, Mako-chan. I'm already owned. Have been. Will always be. You're the one I smile for."
"Mina, come back home. Come back to me."
"...are you sure?"
My heart is beating in a steady drum, filling my mind and voice with the same strength and confidence.
"This time for good."
A pause, then a soft chuckle.
"I'll be on my way home, then."