Desire and Despair

Chapter 30

Nathan walked Rochelle down to breakfast, trying to forget the events of the last night. He'd barely gotten any sleep at all, tossing and turning all night, in an attempt to prolong the inevitable, to keep from making a decision. When he had dreamed, he'd dreamed of the past, the beautiful days long ago, so free of decision or care. Reality was so far, they were all so happy, Teddy was harmless, time, distance, or mistakes didn't keep anyone apart, it was all so simple and easy. Unrealistic too, he knew, but in dreams, nothing felt too insane. He could jump into a pool he didn't have, effectively ruining a far too fancy suit he didn't own, he could casually talk to the person he missed most like no time had passed, be glad for their success even while he had none, even when it pulled them away. It all made sense, all fit perfectly, for a fleeting moment. Time moved so slowly, every moment drawn-out into hours, existing in a hazy, half-drugged stupor. She stood so close and said so many little meaningless things, about nothing much, or the little they shared, but without the stress of it all, just the pleasantries, small talk in circles, leading nowhere, because it didn't need to. He was just comfortable with her, at home-drained, exhausted, but it didn't matter because there was nothing to do, no task to fail at-leaning against the kitchen counter like he'd lived there all his life, thinking she'd kiss him in a moment, happy to wait forever for that moment that never really came, just hanging around, coexisting-without expectation, without pressure, without commitment-in the eternity he'd dreamed up. But realization dawned with the sun, and in the end, he always had to let go of his peaceful delusions and face the day. For a moment in between dreams and reality, he lingered in comforting confusion, half-believing in the fake story going on in his head. But as his eyes slowly opened he remembered he was all alone, and time, distance, and mistakes had all taken their toll. There was always a strange moment in between dimensions, slowly waking up, dazedly remembering that not everything was as simple as his dreams, that there was a reason for his loudly ringing alarm and vague sense of foreboding, a terrifying day to be faced. It was cruel, to achieve all he'd ever wanted, and have it snatched away, to lose it all, all over again. Still, he chased his dreams, and gladly shut his eyes to the harsh reality surrounding him. It was ironic, he knew, that he was bold enough in dreams to go after things he'd merely let pass in life, that he got all he wanted by closing his eyes to reality, never getting up and chasing after it. But he had to admit it was nice to believe in something better, if only for the night, even though sometimes even his dreams couldn't escape reality entirely. He'd be where he wanted but he'd know it was only for the day. And he'd done that before, his little daylong visits to a world he'd left behind, but there had been places even he couldn't go anymore. In truth at least. But not in the deluded lies of dreams. There, he was free. Free to stand by Heather, walk the same roads, with a powerful sense of nostalgia of knowing his steps in some deep-down muscle memory, of belonging just for the day. And it was fleeting and he'd known it even in his dreams, he'd mourned her so long even his subconscious echoed it, even in his most desperate delusions, his very wildest dreams, she was hazy and only half-there, never quite focused on him, busy planning a future she knew he wouldn't be there for because it seemed his dreams could transcend time and space and distance and probability, but not her fundamental apathy. That would just be too unrealistic. The words echoed through his head as he tried to drown them out. Gone, gone, gone-even as she stood in front of him. It was beautiful and bittersweet and he wanted to cry because in an hour or so that would be it, and he'd go, and she had that one guy posed next to her in one too many pictures if that meant anything-not that he was sure it did. When he'd first pined over Heather he'd driven himself crazy obsessing over how lucky Jackson was, wishing him the very worst, trying to pick out all his flaws, anonymously reporting his Instagram about twenty times just because. But when Heather and Jackson split up he'd felt a strange kind of emptiness. She wasn't with Jackson anymore, so he was forced to realize Jackson had never been the true problem, all the obsessive hatred had been misdirected, Jackson or not he and Heather still weren't together. In retrospect, it had been nice to blame Jackson, not distance or time or his own mistakes. Of course, he was eventually replaced, so Nathan found there was always someone to blame. Not that looking at any of the pictures she'd posted was exactly conducive to happiness. There was something painful about it beyond mere jealousy, even if she'd stood all alone her sheer beauty would have wounded some part of him. She was just so painfully pretty, it stunned him every time he inevitably glanced back, not in a sappy, exaggerated, complimentary way, more of a sudden pinprick straight to the heart, somehow still unexpected every time because he'd figured he'd be used to it by now and he never quite was. It sounded overdramatic and ridiculous, but it really did make his heart ache. There was no warm or fuzzy feeling looking at her, she didn't make him feel safe or at home, it was uncomfortable to look at her in a way, disconcerting, she was in no way "nice to look at", not because she wasn't beautiful but because he didn't have the strength to process it, like looking straight into the sun or at some kind of deity.