Deny The Denial Of Love (Chapter Sixteen)

I saw an ad on the train the other day proclaiming that the 'stroke' is the number three biggest killer of humans. Well, I want to know what the number one killer is - that's what I need to be wary of. Forget number three. Why spend thousands on an ad campaign to tell me about the number 3 killer? Money NOT well spent.

"Excuse me" a middle aged man says to me on the stairs leading up to some place. I purposely don't excuse him. I want a confrontation. I want a confrontation where a person beats me to a pulp. It would be preferable if that person was suffering from some sort of depression. A beating at my expense might drag them foot first through their condition. At least then my beating won’t have been for a selfish cause. However if this type of individual is not my aggressor then it matters not. I just need a good thrashing to help me physically feel the pain of her crushing my heart.

Friendship? Pah, what’s that?  Friendship bores me. How can men and women be friends? Sex always gets in the way. Or worse, Love.

She laughed when I even uttered the word love. As if I had said marriage.
9 days since that whole incident and I was feeling less confused - I cared less about the confusion she caused and more about my own inability to not fall in love. As much as I denied it, I felt ‘in love’ with her. She encompassed my very being.

Confusion was secondary. All I now felt was angry at myself for falling.

The first great killer of humans is love. The second is stupidity. The third is the 'stroke'.

And Also Question Day Four (Chapter Fifteen)

When I kiss her the world goes silent. I see the universe and all the answers to the theorem of time.
As we kissed for the fourth time in 24 hours I began to believe that I knew how to predict the exact time and moment that this world will end. I felt omnipotent.

Today I chose the venue we’d meet at. It was a boat bar that we had passed but two days previous.

After some light chat about nothing and a drink, water for me, wine for her, we shared lips for the fifth time. The end of this shared moment was rather awkward though –she pulled her head away prematurely and took a second out. A blank stare into the distance and a turn of the head.
“How was that for you? Did the earth move?” I jokingly ask, to make the awkwardness less so.
She smiles lightly. No response.
“Is that a yes?”
“Is what a yes?” She asks, preoccupied, before rummaging through her bag for something. Nothing it seems.
I take a sip of my water and look outside at the river. A discomfited glaze hits our space. A silence.
“What are we doing?” She asks – almost at a mumble. With more stares at nothing in particular. Almost comatose.
I, confused, don’t reply.
“What the hell are we doing?” She asks again, this time more directly. I am forced to reply this time via her lack of ambiguousness.    
“What do you mean?” Nice reply from me.
“This. Us. What are we doing?”
“Mostly talking crap and kissing.” I reply whilst smiling. She doesn’t smile back.
“That’s what I mean. We’re friends. Friends don’t do this.”
“Well, we’re escalating our friendship to something more precious.”
“Yeah.” She replies flatly, pausing, then continuing, “I don’t want that.”
I am taken aback. It felt like the perfect mountain I had climbed in the past 96 hours was being slowly ripped down by some corporate fucks with aspirations of building another of the ‘world’s tallest buildings’ (How many do they need? Really?)
“Why not?” I asked – with that confused look on my face, that’s normally reserved for people who ask directions when I don’t want to tell them.
“It doesn’t feel right. We’re friends.”
“But...”
She cuts me mid-sentence, “It doesn’t matter what you say....it just doesn’t.”
“I don’t get a say?”
She pauses and puts her bag down. She went in there to take out her phone which she then randomly plays with. Annoying me in the process.
“No. You don’t get a say.”
I chuckle, annoyed, frustrated...inadequate again.
“Well...” I say – almost speechless, “...That’s bullshit.”
She looks up at me – with a ‘he swore’ look.
“It just the way I feel.” She says casually. As if I meant nothing to her. She continues to play with her phone. Giving me little eye contact. I turn my body away from her and take another sour sip of my water. No one sips anymore, I thought to myself to quell my anger. It’s true. No one sips anymore. Everyone drinks. No one sips.
I couldn’t contain the anger anymore. I put the drink down with a sharp thud.
“This makes no sense. You make no sense. You fall in love and then the next minute you fall out of love?”
“Love?” She snaps, finally giving me FULL eye contact, “Where did ‘love’ come from?”
“You know what I mean...something special happened between us and is happening right now...you can’t...”
She cuts me again, “Something special?” she chuckles, “Okayyyyyyyyy then.”
“What?” I ask aggressively.
“You live your whole life in a Charlotte Bronte novel. Your credence is ‘Love is all conquering’. It’s a fallacy. Like most writers you’re deluded.”
“You don't think writers are intelligent do you?”
“They're not intelligent - my dad told me never date writers, they're not clever. They make stuff up because of that very reason. They don’t have a basic grasp of intelligence much less possess it.”
“Yeah well my dad told me...fuck you!” I venomously say to her. But quickly elaborate, realising my mistake...”Not literally....just a figure of speech.”
“Whatever.” She says playing with her phone again.
I shake my head in resignation and then look up at her.
“You said writers inspire you. You wanted to write. You love writers and writing.”
“So?” She says in her typical fashion. Not giving a care in the world.
“You’re being a hypocrite.”
“Well that is the benefit of being a professional hypocrite! I can say what I want and then change it!!!”
I shake my head again.
“So everything that has happened you want to just forget it and pretend it didn’t happen?”
She nods yes, playing with the phone.
Silence.
“So what now? We just go back to being friends?”
“Yup. That’s what I want.”
Silence.
“Doesn’t make any sense. We haven’t even given it a try.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Why?” I asked, desperate for some logic.
Her concentration in her phone she barks out, “I just want this. Just friends. I don’t want to really talk about it.”
“We have to. Otherwise it’s going to affect our friendship.”
“Not really.” She says with a lack of emotion.
Silence. I lower my head in disappointment.
More silence. This time it lasts a full 4 minutes. Within the 240 seconds my heart sinks into a despondent shell.
She puts her phone in her bag and looks at me.
“I’m going to go.”
I manage to find the strength to softly reply, “Okay.”
She picks up her bag and stands up with a blunt, “Bye.”
I don’t reply.
“Fine, don’t reply.” She says.
“You haven’t even talked about it and you’re leaving. Fine.” I volley at her in my most moody manner.
“There’s not really much to talk about.”
“Fine.” I irritably reply.
“Bye.”
Ignoring her farewell, I randomly say, “’Professional hypocrite’...that's not even a job.”
She gives me a blank stare and again says bye before exiting.

This forever confusion was day four.

Question The Three Day Cycle (Chapter 14)

"What's with the suit? It’s a joke right?"
She laughs.
When she laughs at me it doesn't hurt that much. In fact I laugh at myself in return.
"No. It’s my new look"
"New look? Are you a show dog?"
"I'm a gentleman now. Didn't you see how I opened the door for you?"
"Yeah don't do that again - its lame. This isn't 1942. I'm allowed to vote and all that. Even though I’m a poor defenceless and dumb woman.”
We laugh in the crowded, well known women’s clothes store. She wanted to meet up and talk again but could only fit me in with some shopping. She "needed" some "retail therapy".
Why?
She never said. As always our conversations were loud and raucous. In this well known pretentious clothes store our noise was out of place. I showed her a pleasant looking red top that she may look good in...
"Are you trying to make me vomit in your face?"
"It’s nice!"
"Nice? Like your suit?"
"Nah my suit is the summit of fashion. It’s the equivalent of a sunny day in a hot country, sipping on water."
"Water? Do people do that? Do they go to hot countries and sip water?"
"Well I do! I don't drink."
"Oh yeah. Cause you had a drinking problem before."
I laugh, "No - I just don't like the taste.
"I love the stuff." she says picking up a white top and showing it to me, "What do you think?"
"Hmmmm so so"
"Definitely getting it then...your fashion taste resulted in you getting that suit"
I brushed down my suit, proudly, with sarcasm.
She then showed me a pair of jeans, dark blue, skinny legs...
"Why don't people sip anymore? People don't sip anymore."
She went into a fit of laughter.
"Is that your most intellectual question?" she asked beyond the laughter.
"It’s a valid question. Why don't people sip anymore? They just drink."
"When did people ever sip?"
"Back in the day..."
"Back in the day when your suit was 'cool'?"
"Hey listen my suit is cool - it’s the rage!"
"The 'rage'?" She laughs, "No one likes your suit."
She showed me some shoes with heels like elevators. Is that a correct comparison? Shoes with big heels, basically.
"Can you even walk in heels that big?"
“Yes, I have legs and a brain."
"You have legs - that's true."
"Ha ha - you're too funny." She walks off slowly, I follow. "Especially with that suit on." She adds.

We wait in the queue for her to make her purchases. 1 pair of shoes, 3 tops, 1 pair of jeans. Skinny. Still talking about my suit.
"No one likes your suit."
"You keep saying that. What do you mean ‘no one’?"
"The clue is in the words - 'no one'."
“Have you done a silent survey?"
"No I am the voice of reason. The voice of the masses."
"You know what, people love my suit...I'll prove it."
I turn to the couple behind us.
"Do you guys like my suit?"
The guy, student looking, hair shaped like a bird’s nest and clothes with holes, speaks first.
"It’s alright actually."
The girl nods "yes".
She interjects.
"Quantify 'alright'"
"Well it’s not what I would wear but it looks okay on the older type of guy." The Student replies.
"Older type..." She laughs.
"Older type? I'm not that much older than you." I retort, "How old are you?"
"How old are YOU?" I ask defensively.
"21 - You?"
"Doesn't matter."
I turn back to her, "See, he likes it."
"He thinks it’s 'alright' and 'okay'. Hardly means he likes it."
"It’s a great suit."
"Alright it’s the best suit ever in the history of suits." She says sarcastically before walking off to the cashier ready to purchase the items with her 'hard earned' cash.

Later, us relaxed in a nice Italian restaurant we talk some more...
"So if I hadn't of contacted you then you wouldn't have contacted me would you?" She asks aggressively.
"Hmmm."
"No."
"I wanted to. But our last conversation wasn't too great."
"So you let the friendship go then?"
"Nah. I just thought you didn't want to talk."
"Nice - how about ask?"
"Okay. Well we're talking now."
"No thanks to you."
"Sorry."
"Sometimes I think you don't care."
"That's not true. I do. It’s just sometimes you're a little stubborn."
"So?"
I smile, "Is that your favourite word? ‘So’?"
"Yes it is. Got a problem?" She says with a wry smile.
"No. Not at all...hate for you to storm off."
She laughs, "That was an awesome exit right?"
"Yeah was just missing some water on my head. Drink in the face and all that. I actually over tipped the waiter with your money just to get you back."
She laughs wildly, I join in.
"Yeah I'm offended by that. Please give my money back you gangster. You're so cool"
I laugh and give her a quick poke.

Day Two

It was the second day of her being back in my life -- for once she allowed me to dictate things.
The time. The place.
I chose a walk on a riverbank with laborious yachts - a bit of culture mixed with a nice blend of modern pop culture.

We walked and talked. Occasionally stopping to let her take a break from her newly brought, excessive high heels. I joked that her heels were like elevators - she giggled - mostly from behind the pain. I walked more - rather sadistically wanting her to feel more pain.
Why?
It gave me a satisfaction that cannot be quantified with just one word. Or a sentence even. It’s just the way I’m wired.

She was different now. More receptive. In less of a rush to leave. More devoted to sharing her time with me. That attitude she previously displayed to me on a whim was now subdued. Still her sarcastic and funny self – but now she was the woman I knew was there. I gave the new her feet a break from walking and we sat on a bench overlooking the river - skies dimming and night about to crawl in. She rested her head and soft hair on my shoulder and we sat in silence looking at the off-crimson skies. THE perfect moment. If the earth swallowed me whole and took away my very last breath I would not complain. For time had conspired and given me this moment that was my most cherished in all my life. THE perfect perfection. Not an inch wrong with the frame. The pinnacle of everything. A love story told backwards always has a happy ending.

Day Three

"I've always been used to getting what I want."
"You're telling me."
"When I was younger if I wanted something then it would be mine. I apparently had this face I'd pull to get what I want."
"Yeah I've seen it a few times. It’s like this." I pull a comical sad face with sad puppy dog eyes.
She smiles and playfully punches me on the shoulder.
"That's a scary face. Don't do it again. My face is more cute. Like a little kitten."
"So you think you can get what you want with your kitten face?"
"Yeah - anything."
"I need a face like that."
Day three of US, as I call it, was her choice. Nice quiet bar in the middle of nowhere.
Swanky but efficient.
Efficient but random.
We sat at the back on the black leather sofa that was big enough for three people. Since we'd been speaking again we'd not stop talking. Constant phone calls - up till 4am every day and now our third meeting. Everything was too perfect.
"I wonder where my path is gonna end?" She asked rather despondently.
"Huh? Why do you mean?"
"Nothing." She replied recoiling.
"No. Go on."
"I just...I really have no idea what I want to do with my life. I studied Maths and got bored and then studied English to become a writer. But since I left university I haven't even written a word. I've travelled but don't feel worldly. I just feel like my life has been rather pointless."
She sits, head down, saddened. I lean over and give her a hug.
A consoling moment.
"You’re not pointless. Your life has not been pointless. You inspire a lot of people."
"Oh yeah? Who?" She asks, teary eyed.
I pause for a full 36 seconds.
"Me." Another pause. "You inspire me. I write because of you. I smile cause of you. I do most things cause of you."
She smiles amongst the tears.
"That suit I brought, the first thing I wondered when I brought it was "will she like it?' - I wake up and I think 'I wonder what she's doing today?' - I sleep thinking of you, I wake thinking of you."
She laughs, wiping away the tears.
"I think I've got stalker-like tendencies..."
"Yeah you do..." She agrees with HER smile.
"I guess I'm obsessed with..."
Before I can finish my statement she places her lips against mine. I kiss her. We share a passionate 40 second kiss. Everything we had FOUGHT about, LAUGHED about, CRIED about became that single 40 second kiss. It felt right.

Then it ended and we shared a smile. But there was something wrong. A brief 5 second silence pause spoke loudly. Something was wrong. Like finding world peace...what's next?