Complexity is the Majestic - Book 2

Special Kind of Hell

December.

December is painful for me.

My friend tells me I should recounting the good memories of my father and all I can feel is the countdown to his death. A day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute episodic playback of my father into the close. All the trimmings present, the ambient lighting, the signs of grief and despair on the couch by loved ones, the medications box, the sorted papers of what drug when by who and what dose, the whats working whats not working with Dad. The bed, the sunroom, the ghostly apparition of death lingering on the balcony, waiting for its final departure slip.

My "How do you Feel" log is filling up. I started it 9 months ago, updated once or twice a month, the list of answers gives me insight to who i am, who I was, where i'll be.

Empty, crushing, nothing, glee, up down and all around.

Last Sunday the world got stranger. I met Joe for dinner, after getting fired from the club I've gone into overdrive thinking about what business to build with him, to enable him, to capture what he's lost- to fix what had happened. This is my natural state. I told Vera as it'd give her another moment to see Joe and heal and close the wounds from before- they didn't always have a great relationship. It'd give me a chance to see her, I wanted to see her. Even if just meant I would see her to mostly see someone else. She doesn't just meet me- see me easily, its complicated, or is it? Choice.

After dinner played out, Joe left, and Vera and my partner and I we snagged a drink at the bar, our familiar shots. We talked the concept, something to make, this what we do, we make stuff. My partner who joined us as well went full on every angle of possibility, enacting resistance from me which Vera picked up on and judged me, reflecting my negativity back at me. Dark eyes present.

"You're being negative..." she said ready to fight. A slice of the real unfolding outside the club, our blissful engagement only exists in the safety of a club bound environment, out here in the norm, we're definitely on virgin ground.

An hour later and clearly she couldn't drive. She presented me with the drunk Vera I know well. The one I worry about. The girl i'd do anything to protect, to save, to help, keep her safe. I fear this version of Vera. This one that looks like any stranger could pick her up, abuse what she is, take advantage of, hurt what I've come to protect, keep safe, keep secret.

The bar is close my house. Ally is visiting her sisters.

For a split second I think about this moment in time, how fate has opened the door of opportunity, a test? I take her to my house. I put her on the couch. I pinch myself every 10 minutes. My cats greet her, I make her comfortable, and she sleeps.

Nothing happens. Its not meant to happen. We're not meant to happen.

I'm just the mile marker stuck in a timeless loop, shifting over and over to attempt to gain favor from the delightful little Element that passed it by.

I want her to let me go. I want her to say the words and release me. Tell me she doesn't care for me, tell me she doesn't see me that way, tell me she doesn't want me, need me, want anything to do with me. I want the door to close. The torture, this special hell isn't for me.

I'm a friend. I'm safe. This is my role? An aspect of one?

But my heart if filled with emotion, desire, wanting, we connect in a way I can't explain.

She's my modern day Hiroko, another crush I once had in my late 20's, another girl to crush me, smash me into little bits. I never told Hiroko how I felt about her, leaving it to the edges of wonder, we knew but we didn't know. Connected but not. Transparent but not. And see that loop repeating. Nice guys, we don't just finish last, we destroy planets in our off time between crushes we mostly do to ourselves.

How did Vera sneak in, how did she occupy the space of doubt and wonder? How did she find me? What is it about her that I let in?

Morning comes. She sobers up. I drive her to her car. She tells me of the closest man to her again, like a tale of who could be with her. The sex they've had, like i'm the priest, i'm the confessional now. But I encourage the conversation- I fish it out, helping her express it, i'm here to listen, help. I tell her she won't be single forever, somethings coming for her, love will find a way, just not thru me- we're forbidden remember? Why do I tell her that? I want her happy.

Seeing her get the hook up, closes the door for me, I get the closure I seek.

I get to be the memory of a lost regular.

I distort reality to punish me, to feel that despair because it carries me forward, not used to true love, or i'm afraid of it?

Ally is my true love. I miss her. I wish she could see me.

I take the humble card, I wish to fade into the credits of a happily ever after story.

This is my crucible.

This is the pattern in me that repeats. It has nothing to do with those around me. This is me questioning on whether or not i'm entitled to be happy. In that struggle I am reborn over and over again.

Maybe i'm afraid i'll fuck it up- I look at me and Ally, was I given a chance and did I fuck it up?

Turns out her fling, they actually haven't had sex, just touches every 2 months or so. Reoccurring encounters, modern day fulfillment. Why am I opening that wound, like i wish to relive it, be reminded that someone's had her heart and it wasn't me.

I need to let Vera go.

I need to say the words myself, I need to release her.

I need to tell her I don't care for her.

Tell her I don't see her that way.

Tell her I don't want her, need her.

Tell her I don't want anything to do with her.

I want the door to close. The torture, this special hell isn't for me.

Changing it around makes it much harder, and honestly I don't want to.

Is this the majestic? We're friends- can I be just be that?

My emotional aura of depression is exposing itself. Earlier that night Vera told me.

"You've been depressed Parker lately..." she says noting me. Is she thinking about me, seeing me more so that I realize? Just noting me- is that recognition enough that i'm something?

Back home my cats come to me, they huddle around me, smarter than me. They bring me their purrs in an attempt to erase my troubles.

I am something to her, friend but is that enough for all of me's?