Some Streets Lead Nowhere
A/N: This is heavy on the angst and tread lightly because happy endings are nowhere in sight on this one. I apologize.
Summary: You can't really recall how you got here exactly because looking back there's never been one specific moment that led to this downfall. This deterioration was so gradual that you barely even saw it happening until you looked across the table at and wondered when was the last time you'd even talked about anything real.
'Trying to push this problem up the hill when it's just to heavy to hold.
Think now's the time to let it slide.'
You remember the first time she kissed you – the first time you actually kissed her back and meant it.
The air was humid and sticky – as August in Texas always is – and you felt like you could barely breathe because your crazy fucking mother decided it was better for the environment to take a break from the air conditioning. You were both lying there, sweaty and uncomfortable, with the fan on full blast. Then Amy's lips were on yours, warm and certain. It was probably too hot but you remember grabbing her shirt to pull her closer anyway. You remember moaning at the feeling of her tongue in your mouth. Amy was confident in a way she'd never been before, and you felt the rush go through you like you'd touched a live wire.
You remember wondering why you'd been so scared of this feeling.
You remember all of your first times with Amy – the first kiss, the first time she said she loved you, the first time you had sex, even the first time you fought after you made things 'official.'
But you don't remember when you stopped communicating.
You can't really recall how you got here exactly because looking back there's never been one specific moment that led to this downfall. This deterioration was so gradual that you barely even saw it happening until you looked across the table at and wondered when was the last time you'd even talked about anything real. When was the last time the two of you were able to hold a conversation that didn't revolve around work and household chores? When was the last time you were able to make her smile?
You know Amy still laughs – it's just not because of you anymore. And that realization is like a lead weight on your heart because you used to be able to make her smile with just a look. You used to be able to stay awake all night laughing - but now it's like no matter what you say it isn't enough.
You know Amy still loves you (you can tell in the way she still responds to your kiss) - the problem is you're pretty sure Amy doesn't actually like you anymore. And you may live in the same house but somehow you feel farther away than if hundreds of miles stood in between you both. Somehow, this kind of distance feels like it's doing far more damage (and it probably is).
Things used to be so much simpler when you first fell in love (or at least when you first realized you were definitely in love with Amy). Just knowing you were going to be able to see each other would make you dizzy with anticipation. It used to take forty fucking minutes to say goodbye, and now you're lucky if Amy even says goodnight.
It's been eight years and Amy still makes your heart race with just a kiss (if not less) and yeah, that used to feel like it solved everything, but these days you're not entirely sure if it's just a physical reaction you can't stop your body from having. You know you probably should walk away – or even just take a break – but Amy's never been something you've been able to wean yourself off of. It's like a drug habit that you've never really been able to kick, even though you know it's doing you no good.
You can't remember the last time you were both really happy to be together. You can't tell if you spend time together now out of obligation, rather than the actual want to be close to each other. And you know Amy looks infinitely happier with anyone but you, which simultaneously devastates you and leaves you sick with nostalgia for the Amy that would stop at your house just to spend five minutes together because neither of you could get enough.
"We don't really have anything in common anymore, Karma."
"We've always been different… since when has that even mattered?"
"It matters now. It matters now that we're adults. It didn't matter when we were kids and all wrapped up in each other-"
"We don't need to be the same person just to be together, Amy," you defend yourself because you can't remember when Amy stopped fighting for you.
When did the fire go out?
"No, but we need some basis for a relationship, don't you think?" and Amy just sounds crushed. Her tone isn't mean, but it just sounds far away. It sounds like your shared history is something neither of you were actually a part of – like it was something you both read about and is documented in pictures, but maybe didn't actually exist.
The thing is – you know it did. You were there.
The feelings that were once present are still clear as day in your mind's eye. And yeah, maybe they're a bit faded after eight years, but they're faded in the way that Amy's just become a piece of you as much as your left arm is a piece of you. By now, Amy's face is as familiar to you as looking in the mirror.
The problem is - you know you stop putting your effort into 'you and Amy' a long time ago because things became normal. Amy became a part of the background noise – it has never meant you don't love her – she just became this piece of permanence in your life after a few years together. And maybe you started taking that permanence for granted. You stopped looking at Amy like she hung the moon and the stars – you stopped looking at Amy like she was something special (even though she never stopped being special).
Somewhere along the way Amy pulled back too. And it's like now that she's gone you've realized what you might lose – what you will lose. Now, conversations are stilted - gone are the days where things flowed easily and without thought. It's like you don't know who to be to each other anymore and that's like a knife to the heart in its own right because there were so many years that you were everything to each other.
Together, you were like an explosion of stars (as silly as it sounds). The way you loved Amy wasn't like the way you loved anything or anyone else. You've always loved Amy, obviously, but the feelings that came with actually being with Amy made your heart beat out of sync. It's so strange to you – how something that felt so eternal can suddenly feel so fleeting.
Sometimes at night you lay and hope you haven't ruined each other. You hope there isn't so much damage that you're too far beyond repair. And every morning, the way Amy looks at you, makes you think that maybe there's no coming back from this.
It's like walking on eggshells with glimpses of a past that no longer belongs to you. Your relationship exists only in moments now – moments when you and Amy actually feel like 'you and Amy' again. It exists in the quiet moments at three in the morning when you kiss her awake, and she groggily makes love to you and kisses you fully like she did for years before now – like she did that first time.
You're pretty sure neither of you actually knows how to let the other go. You think it's quite possible that neither of you knows how to breathe on your own anymore. But all you're doing now is hurting each other. You know now that this relationship has turned into something neither of you intended. You've made each other cry - hurling thoughtless, hurtful words at each other – more times than you care to think about. You've never wanted to hurt Amy, but it's like that's all you're capable of these days and it's like the harder you try to fix it, the more it's just falling apart.
"If you say you're sorry one more time, Karma, I swear…" Amy stops herself before the whole thing gets out of control. You're sure it's because you've already had this fight a hundred times before. 'Sorry' doesn't really mean anything in the context of your relationship anymore but you can't stop saying it.
Because you are sorry.
For so many things.
You're sorry that you're not actually any good at loving Amy anymore. I never expected the way that I love you would somehow not be enough. And yeah, even though you meant in a very different context at the time, it still feels just as fitting at twenty-six as it did when you were fifteen.
"I don't know what else to say, Amy."
"Just stop saying you're sorry when you don't mean it," the look in her eyes feels foreign to you. It doesn't look anything like it used to.
"I do mean it."
"You don't even know what you're sorry for, Karma."
"That I –" you pause and look away because this hurts. "That I'm not enough anymore."
Amy's head whips up, her face flashes with anger. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't pull the self-pity card. That's not what this is about."
"It is. You think I don't love you enough anymore and that's not true. I just… things aren't the same and I don't know what happened."
Amy sighs and falls back onto the couch. You know she's hurting too but over the years Amy learned to hide exactly how much you're able to hurt her.
Ultimately, you know there's a lot that's led to this. And you know you've changed over the last eight years – but so has she. You're not who you were when you were five, or fifteen or even twenty. When you fell in love it was like a violent hailstorm and everything was amplified by all the feelings that came with being a seventeen-year-old overrun with hormones and emotions. And Amy returned every sentiment full force because she'd been in love with you for years - it was like her life was finally clicking into place.
Now, your love for Amy is steady and stable but the passion has dimmed with time – as it so often does. And you've tried to explain that things evolve with time in any long-term relationship but maybe that's just a lie you've been telling yourself. Maybe, you've come to find that the adults you've grown into are no longer compatible. And you think that maybe, if you both tried hard enough, you could make yourselves compatible – but you've spent too many years fighting for this.
You don't even know if there's much left to fight for.
You remember the night Amy came over after Farrah mistakenly gave her too much cough syrup – things were still new and Amy's eyes still lit up at the sight of you. You knew your mom was starting to get suspicious, but you'd both been too in awe of each other to really worry about declarations and explanations. Amy was giggly that night, probably a little drunk off over-the-counter medication, but she was bold and grabby in a way you weren't used to. She barely made it through your bedroom door before you were on your back on the mattress, Amy's weight settling on top of you in a way that you knew you'd remember for years to come.
Things had seemed so promising then. That was the night you really started to think of her as yours.
Now, you're looking at her wondering if you'll ever be able to think of her as anything less. Will you ever be able to think of her as someone else's? You don't know how to not love her. You don't know how to lay next to her and not pull her into your arms at night. You don't know how to be without this person – how do you learn to live without your left arm?
You think you learn to live without your left arm when it's become diseased and toxic. And that's the awful truth you've come to realize. Your relationship is like stagnant water with a toxic film growing over the top. You spent years tearing at each other in all the places that you knew would hurt and you've spent the last six months placing duct tape over the jagged gashes you both created. You've spent the last six months glossing over it all and ignoring the fact that you need to end this – you need to end the one thing that you thought had no expiration date.
"I don't want to love you less and less until I don't love you at all," Amy whispers into the darkness.
The only light in the room is from the modem on your dresser – the blinking lights always reminded you of some airport traffic control - and you're struck by the memory of Amy's head on your shoulder on the flight home from your senior trip.
"I don't want that either," you manage, breathing out to avoid tears.
"Karma, we can't keep doing this to each other."
"Amy –"
"We're… I think we're all out of chances."
"But I love you," and you're pleading and barely managing words and swatting at tears as you attempt to keep some semblance of control. You know Amy is hurting even if she's staying on her side of the bed, trying desperately to keep her feelings under wraps.
"Yeah," she responds in a shaky voice that affirms your thoughts.
"Don't you still love me?" it hurts to even ask. If you could rewind the last eight years and see what your future held – would you have even kissed her back?
"I love you more than I even know what to do with. Don't you get that? We just don't work anymore."
"But we did-"
"We were kids."
"Amy, I can fix it. I can fix us… just let me try," your voice is frantic and has an anxious edge to it that you're failing to hold back. But this feels like having your favorite toy ripped viciously from your hands as you beg for someone to let you keep it.
But no one's listening.
"I've been letting you try, okay? It's not there anymore. And if I don't walk away now," you watch her wipe at her own cheeks and you want to just reach across for comfort, like you always have, but you manage to stop yourself. "If I don't walk away now - I'll hate you."
"You always said you could never hate me."
If loving Amy was like nothing you'd ever felt before then losing Amy feels no different. You're sure this is the kind of pain that leaves people crippled. Your heart aches like there's a black hole tearing its way from your chest. You know you're going to spend a lot of time agonizing over the way you failed her – the way you failed yourself.
If you couldn't even love Amy right – well, what does that say for your future?
"Karma, I don't want this. You know I don't."
"Then why are you doing it?" it comes out weak and uncontrolled and you feel like you've lost any ability to speak properly.
"Please, don't make this any harder. Don't deny what's been happening," and then Amy looks over for the first time. "Are you even happy anymore?"
You want to scoff and say 'of course', you want to laugh and tell her there's no one that makes you happier, you want to kiss her and show her that she still makes you happy – you want to do a lot of things that never happen because Amy is asking you for the truth. She's asking you simply and in this unguarded voice that she hasn't used with you in months.
And so you give her what she's asked you for.
"No."
You don't expect that to be what breaks her – but it does. You're leaving indents of fingernails in your palms as you watch her cry. You're finally seeing all of the damage she's been concealing. The hurt you've caused each other kind of takes your breath away and shatters you completely.
"I have to let you go," Amy breathes out over ragged breaths.
You nod even though she clearly can't see any of your gestures. And you can feel your face crumbling but no amount of deep breathing is going to hold off the next batch of tears that you know are coming.
You've known for a while now that there were cracks forming, but the ability to deny what's going on right in front of your eyes is a talent you've always possessed. It was easier to just go on pretending, rather than confront the fact that you were about to lose her.
"How do we even do this?" you finally ask, brokenly.
"We just do."
"I've talked to you everyday for the last twenty-one years. Every day -"
Amy takes a very slow, deep breath. "We take it one day at a time."
"Why does it feel like its so easy for you to let me go?" you don't know why you just said that. You know Amy's struggling with this too. You know Amy's grieving this loss just as much as you are.
"Karma, God… if you think this is easy for me then we're so far past broken-"
"I didn't – I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," you want to just take it all back. All of it. Fuck the last eight years. Fuck this whole thing because there is not one cell in your body that doesn't hurt. Your DNA is fucking hurting right now and all you want to do is hide under blankets and eat ice cream with –
Oh. Right.
Amy.
Because Amy's your best friend too. Amy's the person you want to trash talk your ex with over a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Who do you even go to if you can't go to Amy?
Your stomach is in knots and you're getting that watery feeling under your tongue. It feels like the last week's worth of food is going to present itself on your comforter – the comforter you spent three hours debating at Macy's before Amy caved and let you get what you wanted.
You look down and notice your favorite t-shirt to wear to bed isn't even yours – you've spent so many years wearing it that you forgot it actually didn't belong to you. You can see the dark outline of the frame on your dresser with the picture from the vacation you took three years ago. You don't need to be able to see it to know you were happy then.
Yeah, so you wanted to take back the last eight years but when you spare a glance at Amy, who looks completely destroyed at this admission of defeat, you know you wouldn't trade any of it. Not one second.
"I still feel everything I did eight years ago," you say, quietly.
"You have a funny way of showing it," she voices after a moment.
"I think I forgot that just because we became – just because we were so stable and normal… I forgot that you still needed me to show you that I still felt it. If that makes any sense."
Amy just nods. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you to want to show it-"
"Amy, no that's not what happened. Please, don't -" you go to reach for her but she flinches away. She's done it before, and while the sting has lessened with the continual repetition, it doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt.
"That is what happened. Don't you see it? You don't feel that way about me anymore, Karma. And I should've seen it sooner. I should've done this sooner."
"Please, c'mere," you try again but she just rolls to her side and faces the wall. It aches when facing the wall is better than accepting your attempts at comfort. You grab at her arm but she yanks it from your grasp.
"Just let it go, okay? I'll leave in a few minutes - just let me get myself together."
"You don't have to leave tonight," and everything feels tight. Your lungs feel like they're not going to expand as you try to suck in air. That watery feeling in your mouth is back with a vengeance and you wish you had a glass of water to wash it away – but Amy always brings the water to bed, and that didn't happen tonight.
"I do, Karma. God, stop making this so much harder."
"I'm supposed to just let you walk away?"
"Yes. We're over. So you're going to let me walk out that door and-" Amy cuts herself off and you can hear the sobs she's trying to hold in.
It's like you're asking for trouble when you wrap your arm around her waist and curl around her tightly – you don't expect her to wrap her fingers around your arm as she heaves sobs into her purple pillow case.
Your chorus of 'I'm so sorry' goes unheard as you mumble it into her hair that smells of the shampoo you still share. It's so fucking stupid, but all you think next is that Amy's going to have to buy her own shampoo and you won't know if she goes to the store and switches brands.
She flips in your arms and buries her face in your neck and then there's tears and her hands are grasping at any piece of you that she can physically hold. You don't even know why your stupid mouth said this seemed easy for her when it's clear this is killing you both.
"I love you… so much, okay?" and you basically just whimper in response because you're one hundred percent certain that if you open your mouth a tidal wave of tears might just escape and you won't manage anything coherent.
So you nod, and then Amy's lips are on yours, warm and certain, and all you taste is salt on her tongue as everything just kind of mixes together. The way she kisses you feels like she's saying her own sort of goodbye. You don't expect the hands that pull at your clothes, or the way Amy looks at you like your precious but like she's not sure when she'll see you again. She makes love you to like she's leaving, and the aftertaste of it is so bittersweet that you cry as soon as she finally comes, all bleary eyed and exhausted.
She falls asleep in your arms, but she's gone by morning, and you know it'll be the first day in a string of very long days that you go without speaking. It's torture to not even text her the usual 'how's work?' or 'what do you want from the food store?'- so you go to your moms for a few hours where you just end up crying as soon as you she opens the door. Even Zen is being unusually nice so you know Amy's been in touch with them after she left you this morning.
You almost hate her for still worrying about you.
When you get home, her side of the closet is empty and her drawers are bare, and you sit on the edge of the bed just staring at the hole she left. You're waiting to just feel numb because you're sure that feeling numb would be better than feeling like someone set fire to your gasoline soaked heart.
It's your first night sleeping alone in a lot of years. The blinking lights from the modem still flash the same way they did when Amy was still here and you're still wearing her t-shirt to bed (you almost text her to say thank you – it takes five minutes to put the phone down). You go to reach for the water that's always on your nightstand – you're going to have to start remembering to bring your own water to bed.