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February 3, 2003 12:27am

You took your coat off
And stood in the rain
You were always crazy like that…
- Jewel, "Foolish Games"

Three Reasons
Disclaimer: Any similarities to real people and events are purely coincidental and unintentional. Yeah right.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, alcohol, cigarettes and all painful things unrequited.
Author's Notes: Work of fiction made with four sticks of cigarettes. To all those who are tired of playing along.

~~~

You sit a few stools away from mine, and I try not to look. I've been trying so hard not to look so lonely all night… I glance at my watch. Quarter to eleven, way beyond curfew, doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

I stare harder into my half-empty glass. Half-empty, yes. So much for trying to emphasize my optimism. I take it in my hand, swirl it a few times, round and round, in circles, my beer.

So much for running away. Getting somewhere, or so I had believed. But not if I were running around in circles, right?

Right. I don't even bother to look around, as I catch myself laughing bitterly.

I find myself wanting to just stand right up, head to the door, get the freaking hell out of this place, away from this bar, away from this smoky room, away from this noise, this confusion…

Away from you.

But I don't budge as my limbs refuse cooperation. I sit there, glued, staring helplessly into my glass, my fainting cigarette threatening to leave me. I crush it into a nearby ashtray, as I fumble inside my pocket for another one. Cigarette number what, I'd already lost track.

I'd stopped counting since I figured you weren't worthy quitting the habit for.

I steal a glance, and with my luck, you catch me with a smirk. You'd ordered a drink, but my vision's too hazy to ever figure out what it actually is, even as you sit three empty stools away from me, hands in pockets and all, seeming to shift nervously about, or so I want to believe. In my helplessness, I nod in recognition.

We couldn't go on, not this way, you know? this hurts too damn much.

And you don't care. Not that you should, you know. Or, should that be, you don't. You don't know any goddamned thing, and you don't care.

I know.

I shift my eyes back to my drink, and I am tempted to take another sip. But really, I wasn't much of the drinking type, I was more of a smoking type. I pick the cigarette back up - I had laid it on the table unconsciously, I guess - take the lighter from my pocket and light it, and then a slight drag.

From the corner of my eye, I see you frowning.

And you know what, I don't care. I don't care, not even about all those times you'd actually tried to talk me into quitting, you and your sweet nothings, you and your empty promises.

But hey, my promises were empty too.

The difference between you and me is that, I admit to that, I admit to my emptiness, I admit to my hollowness… whereas you, you come on like you're the best, like you don't need anybody else, like…

Like you don't need me.

And I know, need isn't something you can force upon a person. I know, I can't make you need me. Because you don't.

That took a while though, if only to admit. It took a while for me to accept that, no matter how hard I try, it's always somebody else who isn't me.

We're too alike, you and I. And maybe, just maybe, that's why any of this wouldn't quite make it. Wouldn't quite work.

But yeah, believe me, I am getting around to accepting that, too.

I tentatively take my glass closer to my lips, and with half-shut eyes I take another sip. The beer leaves a bitter taste, but I'd actually fooled myself into believing it could get better as I get used to it. Eventually. Why, isn't that how most things work?

They leave a bitter taste, they leave bad memories, they leave permanent scars… but something, just something in my cerebral cortex or whatever part of my brain miraculously still functioning, just seems to… trigger something, my masochistic tendencies perhaps, as if tellling me, continuously urging me to hang on to whatever I could…

And so I did, in my stupidity. Good thing I realized it wouldn't work, not at all, not if only one of us is trying.

I shift my eyes to my side, and I am no longer surprised to find you there - you're always that sneaky anyway, your light footsteps unbelievably evading my ears, everytime. Or maybe it was the noise in the room…

Doesn't matter. I remember that nothing does.

"Already late, whatcha doing out here?" you break in.

I stare at your hand holding your glass, fingertips brushing droplets aside, gently, in a slow agonizingly hypnotizing rhythm. I shiver unconsciously. "Can't a decent girl have a decent smoke sometimes?" I just ask back, deadpan.

"Cold?" you move to shrug your jacket off. I don't look, but I hear the rustling of clothing, and then I feel your denim jacket warm over my shoulders.

And it makes me want to scream. The things you do. If they don't even mean anything, why should you do them at all?! *Oh of course,* I thought to myself. *Fuckin friendship.*

Bullshit.

"You're way over curfew," you break in again. I could sense your tension, your anxiety, it's all over you, your distress.

It makes me wonder, why you're so worried when… when you shouldn't be, really. "I know," I just say. "I know."

"You're drinking."

I shift my eyes back to my glass, now only a fourth full, and smirk lightly. "So I am."

"Why?" you ask.

I stare back blankly, trying my goddamned hardest not to give away my thoughts. My eyes were such traitors. "What do you mean, why? You're drinking too," I dodge the question, and then I remember my almost forgotten cigarette, bringing them to my lips one more time for the usual drag.

Only it doesn't reach my lips, that cigarette, as I feel it slip away from between my fingers. "How many times should I ask you to quit, anyway?" you just mutter, taking the half-done cigarette and crushing it against the ashtray. "You're killing yourself."

Wrong. Know what's killing me? It's you. You're killing me.

"I know," I say instead, raising a brow as I give you another cold stare. "I don't care."

"I do," you reply, confidently even.

Oh, fuck you, liar.

"Why are you doing this?" and unexpectedly, my thought slips out my lips, but this time, unlike the other times I'd made the same mistake, this time I don't regret it.

"What do you mean, why am I doing this?" you ask back, a confused look washing over your face. "You don't understand. You could get into trouble for the things…"

"So what?" I interrupt, voice soft but stern. "So. Fucking. What?"

Your brows unknit, and your face slowly transforms into a frown. "You don't understand. You could be so much more than…"

Than what? Than you? Whoever said… whoever said I wanted to be… "Leave me alone." You don't budge. "I said…"

"No." And then a warm hand over mine, right over the table. "I know it sounds stupid, or even delusional… but really, I feel like you're slipping… slipping… and…"

"I don't want to be saved," I spit out, slipping my hand from underneath yours quite harshly. "I don't need this."

Hope you hear that, loud and clear. I don't need this. I don't need you. I don't need your pity, your concern.

Because I can stand alone.

"I wasn't saying anything like…"

"Just… just forget it," I drop my voice to a whisper, interrupting. "Doesn't matter what you meant. Leave me alone…"

Your hand on my shoulder. I try my best to hide a wince. "Three good reasons," you mutter.

And oh, I could give you a thousand. "Stop playing these games, I'm tired," I just reply, flatly. I slide out another cigarette, lighting it as I stare coldly into your eyes, taking a drag on purpose, as if mocking you. "Please." I blow the smoke out, carefully over your head, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Three good reasons," you repeat. "Then I leave you in peace…"

Three reasons. Why the fuck do I owe you three reasons anyway? "Oh, damn you…" I finally hiss. "Damn you, why the fuck are you doing this anyway?"

"Why the fuck am I doing what?" you blink innocently.

But I'm not about to fall for that. I've learned. "The pretending," I spit.

"What pretending?"

"This pretending," I reply, matter-of-factly, trying so hard to keep my cool. You're so good at this game of lies, I almost find myself wishing I could play along as well as you do.

But as I've said… I'm tired.

"What pretending?"

I take a drag, hoping my intentional move could spark the least realization upon you. You stare at me, silently, as if waiting for an answer. "Rhetoric question," I say, coldly.

"You think we're pretending?"

I blow the smoke gently over you, and you cough slightly. Hypocrite. "That's all we've ever done."

All. We've ever. Done. True, and fucking painful.

"What are you saying…"

"I'm going to say it one more time," I interrupt, sharply. "For my sanity, leave me alone. Please." People say I've got acid on my tongue. Maybe it's true, after all.

"How can you say that…"

"Why can't I have peace…"

"No," this time, it's your turn to cut me off. If there's one thing I dislike the most, it's people interrupting me, but this, it's you, and that changes everything. I hate the way you change everything… "I meant… this. Everything…"

"Oh don't you bring everything in this…"

"But isn't this… about everything?"

And if there's a mistake I couldn't afford making at this point, it's staring right into your eyes. I know, I'd drown everytime, but it's as if I just never learn… I never do. I stay silent as a direct consequence.

"I care about you," you continue. In your eyes, I could see a certain degree of certainty, of honesty… that I didn't want to recognize. Something about my pride, I guess.

I promised myself, never to fall again for those words, your words. Your lies. I crush my fainting cigarette against the ashtray, after a final drag. "I'm leaving," I whisper. I'd meant to say it louder, like, straight into your face and all, if only to make a point, but I fail. As always. I'd always wanted to make it a point to be a little harsher on you…

But something, just something, about you, about us, about me… that just seems to make all my resolve falter. Every. Goddamned. Time, and I hate myself for it.

I hate myself for it.

I move to stand up, no matter how weak and unreliable my knees felt, but you try pull me back down to my seat. "You can't," your voice breaks, but I choose not to notice. Filter, edit, distort and delete - always proved useful… "I was asking for three reasons…"

There are a thousand, or perhaps even more… I stare harder at the table now, your hand still firm around my arm, and there I stand, trying to avoid your eyes. Always, always your eyes… And in my mind, the thousand and one reasons explode into a million incomprehensible bits and pieces, and I come up with not a thing to say...

"Even if I start now, I would never finish," I just say. True, but then, also a lie. Oh the little ironies of life. Sometimes, things are just a little too messy to ever begin sorting out…

"Then give me one," you demand, gripping my arm tighter, but all too careful not to be too hard. As if I were something fragile. As if careful not to break me.

Too late. You already have, and you don't even know it.

"Too late," I mutter, absently, not really knowing what to say. To tell you honestly, I've already worked this out, I knew beforehand sooner or later, it would have to come to this. I try not to think about all those nights I'd practiced this same scene - when I'd finally have the guts, the strength to tell you what this is all about, what this is all about to me, when I'd tell you just how everything you do, everything you say, just comes onto me wrong, hurting me.

Don't get me wrong, baby, you're amazing… and you're hurting me.

"That doesn't count as a reason…" I hear you say.

And I explode. "Oh dammit, you have no idea what this is all about, do you?!" I hiss, frustrated.

"I don't!" you snap back. "I don't and it's all fucking confusing me…" You tug at my arm, as if trying to make me look at you. "Come on! Look me in the eye and try… to… tell me."

And I'd never heard you speak to me angrily, not like this, at least, if this counts as angry in your crazy system of mixed-up emotions. Yes, that's what you are - mixed-up. Your emotions, your thoughts, the mixed signals and messages you've been sending my way… If only I could tell you, confirm to you, what you've been dreading all along.

You and me, we're so alike. Like it or not, you're just as mixed-up as I am. It's something you didn't want, be just like me. But, oh, if only you knew - you are. You just are…

"You wouldn't understand," I reply, coldly, icy stare trying to pierce a hole through your forehead.

"Then make me."

How dare you challenge me.

"Make you understand?" I repeat, a little hysterical. It seems to me like such an impossible task. How could I ever… EVER, make you understand, just how all these foolish games tear me apart?

How could I ever make you understand that all the while, whereas your gaze was somewhere else, as it always is, always has been… all the while, I'm just right here, waiting, perhaps in vain, for a little attention, a little affection, a little… a little of everything that's too much to ask, especially from you.

That was all I ever asked for - a little. And maybe that was my mistake. I'm regretting it now, but here we are, your grip tight, secure, around my arm, what's the use of regret at this point?

Why couldn't you just… let me go, and let me have my peace? This - you and me and this crazy, smoky, noisy bar - it all makes me want to scream, but I know I couldn't.

I know I couldn't do a lot of things, and that, that makes me want to scream too.

"Make me understand," you repeat, a little more forcefully this time.

I pause, try to think. "Why?" And everything else, all my questions, all that pain, all summarized in a single word, in a single question…

"Maybe I would."

I feel your grip loosen, and it's like, something in me snaps. A nerve in my brain, an artery in my heart, I don't know which, but…

But I grab you, nevertheless, right by your collar, and pull you harshly closer, up to your feet, your face, a few centimeters away… "You want to try?" I hiss, staring into your eyes. Those eyes, I etch them to memory now, I know I would never get this close, ever again. I know, I would never… never see them again.

And I close mine, and as darkness overcomes me, I pull you closer, closing the gap between us, mere inches…

And I kiss you.

My fingers gripping your collar, nails digging into the fabric, lips capturing yours, harsh, and sweet, and torturous. Ten, fifteen seconds, who was counting? I wasn't.

And then I push you away, and just before you could say anything, I let go of the collar, and throw a hand across your face. Slapping you has always been something I'd wanted to do since I realized I'd fallen in love with you. Since I realized no matter how hard I try, I would never be her, and that was that, and…

And that was everything.

"That's what it's about," I manage to mutter, despite my ragged breathing. "And it's something you would never… NEVER understand."

You stare at me silently, touching the side of your face I hit, and I stare right back, one last time. It surprises me not to see any questions in your eyes, but then, what good would surprises do now, eh? Not many. Not much.

No, nothing. I should try to stop being kinder to myself now. It's all fucking over.

"Such a pity," I find myself mutter, taking advantage of your silence. "I loved you."

Love. That's where trouble starts, and sadly, that's where everything else ends.

I brush past you without another word, and there were tears in my eyes that begged release, only I didn't let them. Not that I ever would.

I step out of the bar and slide out a cigarette, fingers fumbling through my pockets for my lighter, and when I find it, I hastily move to light the cigarette up.

Around my shoulders, I find your jacket still hanging there. "Shit," I mutter as I exhale, smoke dancing right before my eyes, hurting them. But I am not crying now. I really am not.

A tear slips past, and I congratulate myself for trying.

And behind me, a faint whistle. I turn my head and find you there. Leaning against the outside wall, a few feet away.

I shift my eyes back to the road ahead. "Dammit," I curse.

It's going to be a long walk home, I know.
**