A Fiction Story

He invited me to be with him two days ago, but I just can’t. Simply because I have no money, and my parents won’t allow me. I wouldn’t like them to get mad again when I would ask permission a night before.

I got mad, seriously, because I think he could not understand my point–that I have my limitations. I just wanted to sleep that time, I guess my anger would subside if I sleep.

So the next day he went without me. I was not yet okay, but at least I was better. However, the matter was brought up again, and then I got mad. I called him selfish since he could not understand my point that I couldn’t be with him all the time, every second.

He did not quit, on making me realize that I should have my own decisions; decisions that are fully mine not influenced by the society or any other people. Now my anger transformed to grief. I assumed that he could not accept my full identity, my family background etc.

I blackmailed him and said that if he wouldn’t quit, I wouldn’t talk to him anymore.

There was silence, and then he replied that okay he would quit already. He’s giving up a part of his identity for me. And I was guilty, for traumatizing him by blackmailing and shutting his ideas down.

So I calmed down, breathed in and told him, “I’m letting you go.”

I really felt dead when he just mentioned he was traumatized, since I know the feeling of shutting you up, I know the feeling of not given the chance to say anything. So I felt it was better if I should let him go, I thought I wasn’t good for him.

I thought I was the worst. And that, I didn’t tell him.

I just said I thought it was good for the both of us, that I should let him go. I told him that we should stop this as early as possible to avoid more traumatic shits. And then he said he was already crying…

And I felt more dead. More dead–maybe that’s the nearest to what I felt when he told me he was crying already.

I had insomnia that night, had a lot of tossing and turning and rolling on my bed until I decided not to continue in letting him go. I realized that I was so angry that night that I made an immature decision. So I messaged him, and kind of pulled back the decision.

When I woke up again, I received four messages that he wanted me to go online. I can’t because I just used it hours ago. I put a smile on my face since I thought it would be fixed already but what I received was a horror story.

I wouldn’t detail that anymore, I’m just… Scared of him, of the experience. Four years ago, I was battered by almost the same group of words, and I felt the same thing again. The difference was, it was more hurtful.

And all I could reply was ‘okay’ or ‘sorry’, afraid that I might say anything that would make him angrier. Even if my texts looked calm, I was already grieving. I wanted red, my cutter, to be at my side so bad, but I promised him that I wouldn’t do that again. But still, his last text was ‘don’t spam sorry, it loses it’s meaning.’

And I felt really dead, as in not the figurative one. My heart beats once every three seconds. I drank water to avoid palpitation, and since it was my father’s birthday I pretended to be happy, which was way more difficult.

I sent a message to his best friend, what to do. And I think he was the most reliable person to go to that time.

I was… Real scared of him… And every time I go to my inbox, I just felt like crying. I’m scared of him, of being battered by his words again. Scared that he might do that in the future.

When he replied, I knew he was already calm. Though I still asked him if he was still mad just to make sure. And then he asked me if I was all right, I just told him I was scared of him.

I was trembling when I replied that I was afraid of him because he might get angry again. Even if he apologized for making me feel that way, I was still scared, and I was crying that time that my tears could not stop falling, my hands could not stop trembling, my mind could not stop thinking.

I told him that it was okay. I got mad, he was hurt. He got mad, I was hurt. We were both traumatized by each other’s carelessness drop off of words. If there’s someone to blame, it should be the both of us. Not just him, not just me. Besides, pain is a part of every love story, and anger and fear are natural to feel.

I told him then asked, “I’m scared. Aren’t you?”

And he said, “Yes. Yes I am. I’m scared of losing the only person that I hold dear.”

I cried more. Even letting him go scared me that he might get angry again. His image made me cover myself with my blanket.

I told him that I need time so that I would not feel afraid of my own love for my heart to be ready again, to face and love him again without regret, doubt and fear.

He wanted to hug and make me feel safe again, so I cried harder. I thought that his touch might even make me scream. I was imagining myself with covered ears, grieving and begging him to go away, pushing him away from me which I would not like to happen.

He asked me, “Do you still love me?”

Without second thoughts, I replied, “Yes.”

I wouldn’t want to blame himself since both of us were victims of anger, but the fear that I felt yesterday was the worst feeling of all. It felt freezing hell. And until now, as I type this fiction story, I’m still trembling. I’m weirdly scared.

But amidst this fight, I still wanted to see him, just to try if my fear would subside if I would.

And if it fails…

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