I wrote this story last year. The previous post, Drunken Sincerity, could almost be a prologue to this story, although they are not connected. I guess this story is practically non-fictin, but I just didn't have the courage to make it happen. So it's a fictional non-ficion...ha!
On a side note...I'm using the letter's TLH in place of the person's real name cause...well I don't want people knowing her name.
Loveless ABC
The pillow reflects his silent tears, but he did not acknowledge the stains. His thumb rides the rim of the empty shot glass again, and he counts the seconds he’s stared at the ceiling. It didn’t matter how many seconds have passed since he’s returned. Each minute in the past scorns his drunk memory, one which he wishes could be lost like so many other drunken nights. His finger orbits the shot glass again, and he looks to the vodka on the mini fridge. He pours himself a shot, stopping once the cold alcohol reads his thumbprint. The burning alcohol heats the tension in his heart rather than extinguishing the regrets.
“I told you to keep silent,” his brain says.
“How long was he to keep silent?” his heart retorts.
“You thought it would be easier drunk,” his brain responds. “Don’t you know that it’s a misconception to think alcohol loosens you up?”
“She always did it so naturally when we were dunk,” he responds. “I thought I could do the same.”
“You forgot that when she did it, you were both drunk,” his brain mocks. “You should have realized how much has changed over two years.”
“She wasn’t the same when sober as she was drunk,” his heart responds. “You were expecting something more than what was required.”
“I explained too much, didn’t I?” he asks, to which his brain laughs.
“You always over-think the situation. You rehearsed the speech well, didn’t you?”
“You gave yourself to her.”
“Only the words,” he responds, filling another shot of vodka. “Yes, it was well rehearsed. I knew exactly what to say. I didn’t even appear drunk.”
“That’s just your fault.”
“Don’t blame yourself for her rejection–”
“But when will the rejections stop?” he asks, turning to the door as if his heart and mind are anthropological.
“This was technically your first rejection,” his mind says. “You’ve never actually told anyone you loved them.”
“I rejected her.”
“There was Valentine’s Day–”
“He didn’t say anything. He just brought gifts and stood there like a fool.”
He brings the shot glass up and his upper lip cringes against the vodka. He knows the vodka couldn’t inebriate the past.
~~~~~~
“I won again,” he said, his face flushed. His two and five of hearts complimented the three hearts on the table. “So I have an idea.”
“Play kings?” James asked.
“No, can I use your laptop? I want–”
“No way, there is no way I’m letting you use my laptop again,” James said, closing the laptop screen. “You always change my FaceBook status to something embarrassing or stupid.”
He sat there for a moment, unsure if the eight Coronas standing by his feet were really his or an accumulation of everyone. He drank the Corona in his hand, but his mouth was numb of the flavor.
“Embarrassing and stupid are practically the same,” he replied, falling against the wall as he stood up. Maybe the eight beers were all his. “I’m heading out.”
“Cause I won’t let you use my laptop?” James asked.
“No,” he replied. “I don’t want to pass out in your room, so I’m going back to my room.”
“Alright, have a good night.”
It was all a cover up. He knew then the number of beers he drank and he knew how to get back while looking sober. But he knew how to feign drunkenness, and it wasn’t too difficult when he was buzzed enough. He walked the straight line back to his dorm, hands in pockets and face deep in his hood to keep a low profile as he passed a cop car. As he came under the shadows of the school wall, he was safe from the cop. The gate was locked. He stared at the gate, wondering if he was he sober enough to jump over the fence without tripping. As he swung his legs over, his left foot hooked onto the rail and he fell onto the moist ground. He cursed under his breath as he wiped the mud off his hoodie, but only managed to smudge the dirt along his arm.
“She’s still awake,” he said, noticing her door cracked open slightly. He didn’t know if she was in the room or not, but still he went to her room, softly knocking on the door twice to avoid opening it accidentally.
“The door’s open,” she said from inside, but he just stood there. He could still go back now, only five doors down the hall. But his unintended third knock opened her door, and she stood before the mirror fixing her hair.
“Hey–”
“How are you doing, TLH?”
“I’m doing good. Were you drinking?” she asked.
“A little bit, and–”
“Your face is so red. Come inside before someone sees you,” she said, kicking clothes to the side and he stepped into her room of celebrity posters on the wall and tapestries hanging from the ceiling. “How much did you drink?”
“That’s…a good question,” he said, counting the empty bottles in James’s room that he thought were his.
“Where’d you come from?”
“Um, I have something to tell you. I think…I’m not sure if I’m in love with you,” he said, and TLH turned to him. “Cause I know the tension. Every time I see you, I remind myself to say hi, but always refrain from any greeting. Not even a wave.”
He could see the tension subside in her eyes behind her glasses. She bit her lower lip, waiting to respond, but he continued.
“Your greetings were always protected from me. If you waved from behind a window, I could only mirror your action. You reserved your words from me when all I wanted is to hear your voice,” he said, shuddering with each beat of his confession. From the tender look on her face, he feared her response. “Although I want to become more, I must fight this urge to continue.”
“Continue?” she asked.
“If I were to love you, I could never reciprocate your love. I’d be living a lie. I can only silently love you.”
“But you’ve already spoken the words.”
“I’m sorry, TLH,” he said, turning to the door.
TLH’s hand reached the door before his and she quickly locked it. Her breathing was deeper than his drunken breaths.
“I’m sorry I also love you–”
He quickly held her close to quiet her. His love was requited by her. He wanted to hold her forever. His fingers began trailing her head and he lightly held a lock of hair. He swallowed hard, fighting back his tears, but she felt his tears.
“You’re love is left unrequited,” he whispered, letting her go and left the room.
~~~~~~
“You left her there,” his brain and heart say in unison.
He swallows the shot of vodka and falls back on his bed, the tears no longer flowing from his eyes. His heart and mind have finally come to an agreement. Two knocks on the door. He stumbles to the door with shot glass in hand.
“She’s calling you,” his heart says.
His hand sits on the doorknob and he pictures her outside the door, tears drawing the outlines of her cheeks.
“Are you there?” TLH asks through the door. The lock clicks, prompting her hand to retreat and the light under the door is no longer there.
