The best man

Chapter 2

**A Few Months Later**

Months passed, and the pattern with Conor continued, a familiar dance of trust and heartache. I started to let my guard down, allowing him to hug me tightly again. In those moments, his warmth enveloped me like a comforting blanket, but the joy was always tempered by an underlying sadness. When he kissed my forehead, I felt a bittersweet rush of affection mixed with confusion. "Kisses as friends," he would say, his tone light, as if those words could shield us from the deeper truths we both knew.

Inside, I was a storm of emotions. Each time he repeated that phrase, a wave of sadness washed over me. I longed to tell him to stop—to demand clarity on what we were—and yet I remained silent. The fear of losing him, of losing Shelly and James along with him, kept me trapped in this limbo. They were his friends, and I had clung to their camaraderie like a lifeline, afraid to let go.

During our outings, Conor would kiss other women right in front of me. Each kiss felt like a dagger to my heart, a harsh reminder of my unspoken feelings. "You're not my type anyway," he once laughed, referring to the girl he was dating, his carefree demeanor causing my heart to sink further. I forced a smile, the sarcasm nearly choking me. "Yeah, guess I'm more of the wallflower type," I replied, trying to mask the pain that throbbed in my chest.

It became routine. He'd regale me with stories of his latest conquests, recounting them with a sense of ease that felt excruciating. One evening, he plopped down on my bed, a box of pizza in hand. "You have to meet Sarah! She's so fun, and she loves hiking just like us!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Sounds great," I muttered, forcing the words out. "Glad you're having fun."

"Lily, you okay?" His tone shifted, concern washing over his features.

"Just peachy," I shot back, the sarcasm dripping from my voice like venom.

He frowned, leaning closer, his brow furrowing. "Come on, I know you better than that. You can tell me if something's wrong."

But how could I tell him that every time he laughed about another girl, it felt like a reminder of everything I couldn't have? I wanted to scream, to shake him and say, "You're the one I want!" Instead, I swallowed the words, letting them die in my throat, allowing the moment to pass.

Isolation wrapped around me like a thick fog. I was physically present with him and the others, yet emotionally adrift. Each outing felt like I was watching a play unfold, with me cast as an extra, lingering in the background. As he reveled in his new romances, I felt like a ghost in my own life, watching the laughter and love from the sidelines.

One night, as we sat together, I decided to take a risk. "Conor," I started, my voice trembling slightly, "do you ever think about... what we had?"

He paused, his expression shifting from casual to serious. "What do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"You know... that night we kissed." My heart raced as I spoke. "It felt different, didn't it?"

Conor ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "I just... I thought it was a mistake, Lily. I don't want to ruin our friendship."

Each word hit me like a punch. "But it was special to me," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he said softly, looking back at me. "But I don't want things to change. I like having you in my life."

As I looked into his eyes, a mixture of longing and resignation swirled within me. I had to find a way to navigate this tangled web of feelings, to reclaim my identity separate from him.

So, I took a deep breath, grounding myself in the reality of my situation. "I need some time, Conor," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I can't keep pretending everything is fine when it's not."

His expression softened, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of understanding between us. "Okay," he replied quietly, "I get it."

As I watched him leave that night, I felt an odd mix of emotions. A weight lifted off my chest, like I could finally breathe, but at the same time, a wave of sadness washed over me. It was the beginning of something—perhaps a resolution, a quiet understanding settling in. This was the moment I needed to rediscover who I was outside of our complicated "friendship," to embrace my own journey, even if it meant stepping away from him for a while, or maybe for good.

As he walked out of my life that night, my heart ached in ways I wasn't prepared for. The room felt emptier, quieter, like his presence still lingered in every corner. I cried myself to sleep again, but this time, it felt different.