My room has never been so lonely.
It seems strange, since I’m sitting here staring at the shelves and walls and every inch seems to be filled with some memento of you. Of us. And yet, it’s lonely. And cold.
Empty.
Empty because you’re not in it anymore.
What’s worse is that you’ll never be in it again. Even if you do come back, you’ll be gone. I know that, because of everything I did and said. I’m as good as invisible to you now.
That’s why you called him, isn’t it? Just to show me the truth? That this time, I’m the one who can’t be forgiven.
You don’t give a shit about his friendship anymore. You’ve been without it, and you’ve been better for it. So the only reason you could possibly have for calling him is because you know him, and you knew it would get back to me.
I’ve lied to everyone. You probably knew I’d do that, given my propensity for lying these days when it comes to you. I tell them that I’m fine, that it’s all for the best, that we were at the end, anyway. I tell them that what we had couldn’t have lasted.
None of them believe me, but they all humor me.
Except him.
He believes me because he wants to, needs to. He’s still looking for that one victory over you, and I guess I’m letting him believe that he has won it. I lie to him, like I lie to everyone else; except to him, I lie differently.
I tell him that our love is gone. I tell him you can never be what he is to me. Actually, that’s my one truth. You could never just be my friend, my fallback, my safety net.
You’re the high wire, a hundred feet up without a net. We’ll never be friends, you and I, because I’ll always want so much more from you. Your passion.
Do you remember how you used to tease me about lusting after him morning, noon and night? I denied it then, because I didn’t want to admit to the feelings I thought I had. In retrospect, I deny it now because I’ve never lusted after anyone but you. All those feelings I had for him are nothing now that you’ve shown me what they really feel like.
You’re the man no other man will ever be able to match. You make my skin burn. You make my blood boil. You electrify me. Even without you here, you do that to me.
Do you know what I’m most afraid of? Not of being alone, although that’s what everyone believes. And even that isn’t true; I’m more afraid of being without you. But my greatest fear, the one that never leaves me now, is that you don’t hate me.
You see, if you can’t love me, if I’ve ruined that for you, I hope that you hate me. I hope you feel something for me. Something other than the cool indifference that you’ve convinced everyone of.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. A few short months ago, we were planning on being together in ten years, I was swearing that then, you’d know me best.
I think you’ve always known me best, looking back. The real me, not the one I want everyone to see. You know that I lie. You see inside me, all the twisted darkness, pain and self-loathing. You know my secrets even when I’m too afraid to admit them.
You knew I’d go back to him.
Knowing me, knowing that, knowing you knew that, I have to wonder why you did this, why you risked it all – your friendships, your heart. Knowing me, Pacey, why did you do it?
I find it impossible to believe that you think I’m worth it, worth the risk. I’ve been telling everyone all my life that I’m not worth much. Hell, you used to constantly tease me about my social standing, my everything. You used to tease me and, although I’d never have admitted it, I loved the attention you gave me. I loved that you saw me.
But still, I’m nothing special. Certainly not the sacred thing you made me out to be. Certainly not worth the risks you took. Certainly not worthy of how much you loved me.
I guess you know that now.
Over on the wall is the postcard you bought me in New York. I framed it since neither of us thought to bring a camera to capture our trip. You scanned it into the computer and did some stupid cut and paste, and so you and I are kissing on the big screen in Times Square.
From the other room, I get just a hint of Carolina jasmine. When I got it for Bessie, I knew it was a gift for me too, a sweet scented reminder that could carry me back to the best days of my life.
Now it smells like bitter disappointment.
I can’t think of a single aspect of our relationship where I didn’t let you down. I thought of him when I was with you. I lied to him about you and to you about him. I kept secrets from you. Secrets you still don’t know.
I run my hand over my flat stomach. Secrets you’ll never know.
Unless he told you. I could see him letting it slip that I turned to him, told him and never once told you. Would you be angry?
Or is it true that you don’t care anymore?
On the shelf over there is the stuffed platypus you bought me. You kept pestering me to name him, and I always told you that I wouldn’t name a stupid stuffed animal.
I lied about that, too. I named him after you, and I’d sleep with him at night, wishing it could be you. And then it was you. And I ruined that, too.
I ruined it with thoughts of him; I ruined it by not trusting you, not trusting us. I think of all the things I did wrong. That’s what I do as I sit here and stare at the places you used to be in my life.
You’re gone now, but for me, you were gone long before the plane left, long before the boat sailed. You’ve been gone since the day we got of the boat, Pacey. It just took this long for me to make you leave.
I’ll be alone this whole summer, both of my best friends gone.
I’ll be alone without him.
But God, I’m so lonely without you.