Philophobia

序幕

0.5 p r o l o g u e

"I'm sorry Damien, but this isn't working out." I deadpan, looking at my cup of coffee, thinking about what else I had to do for the rest of the day.

Get bread, check. Pick up my Chemistry book from Aspyn, check. Make sure Klaus comes home for dinner, well, half check. Daily dose of coffee, check.

Everything I had to do today, I have done. I was relieved from all my duties, except, not really. Contrary to common belief, I don't plan my break-ups. I don't write them down on to-do lists. I don't expect them to happen on any particular day. It just happens organically. In fact, I run as far away from them as I can. I try to prolong it. But, I guess I'm contradicting myself because I am, as we speak, initiating a break up. And as much as I would like to say that the crumbling look on his face is tearing me up on the inside, it's not.

So when he protests and tells me he'll make a change and he'll do whatever I want him to do, I say, "It's not about you, truly, it's all me."

It is true, as far as I'm concerned. He was perfect. I mean, he is perfect. Damien was the complete epitome of a gentleman. He would open doors for you. He would pull out chairs for you. He would give you the best of everything, even if it meant him getting the worst. He would never touch you unless, of course, you wanted him to. He would wait until granted permission to kiss you. He most definitely is perfect. Not to mention his dashing looks and his killer intelligence. Damien is perfect, but he was just another boy that was not perfect for me.

Before excusing myself, I apologize once more and tell him that I don't expect to be forgiven or to be understood. I don't expect for him to overlook why I did what I did. I tell him that he's better off without me. I tell him he deserves more. I tell him I sincerely hope that we can still be friends.

Despite saying so, sincere doesn't quite make the cut for how I actually feel. Everything I say is completely recited from a script. Backtrack, not necessarily a real life paper script. Just a mental one. The kind that you've said so many times, it just rolls off your tongue, ever so casually. Like saying sorry profusely to a stranger you've bumped into on a train. Like thanking your waiter for serving you. You say it simply because it is your obligation and it is absolutely inadequate not to do so.

I slide out of my seat after leaving a ten dollar note on the table then slowly make my way out of the café. Another day, another bridge burned. As I walk out, I smile at the waitress and give the barista a courteous nod with my shoulders relaxed. Another weight lifted. Striding down the street, I think of Damien and our relationship. However one-sided it was, he was still a great guy. Someone that should have been appreciated dearly and loved greatly. It could never have been me. Ever.

Do I regret getting into a relationship with him? As cruel as it sounds, no. I never understood why I was never given a chance to try. So I kept trying. Even though I've probably crushed one too many hearts. Was it worth it? I don't know. At this rate, I don't think I ever will.

Suddenly I feel a set of fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me from turning the corner. It tugged at me, forcing me to turn around. Damien stood right in front of me. His hair messy and cheeks flushed. His eyes beg me to do something I cannot do. They burn into mine like ember in ashes. My wrist start to hurt, so I pull my hand back from him.

"That's it?" he says exasperated.

"What else do you want me to say," I shoot him an incredulous look then add, "or do?"

Running his fingers though his tousled brown hair, he shakes his head, as if he were playing tug of war with his conscience. "I don't know. Be someone that everyone said you weren't? Be someone that I thought you were? I mean, the 'it's not you, its me' line? You should know better than to say bullshit like that."

"You should have known, Damien. You should have known better than to believe in something that does not exist." I snap, losing my patience and folding my arms into my chest.

Damien's naïve thinking, I thought, is someday going to get him killed. He saw the best in people, even when that person was anything but. He painted the sky with bright colors and happiness, even when the clouds threatened to pour. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, I reason with myself. He doesn't deserve to be yelled at.

"Look, that person you have conjured in your head, she really does not exist and I'm sorry if I have ever made you think otherwise." Shifting my eyes away from his, I look down at my feet then tuck a hair strand behind my ear. "I have no idea what else to say, Damien."

Without looking at him, I can feel his body pulling the brakes and shifting to anger. His defense flicks the optimistic Damien switch off, and on goes the hatred. "Don't know what to say? Oh, I'll tell you what to bloody say. What about saying you're playing a joke on me? What about apologizing for my wasted 3 months and 16 days? What about telling me you love me?"

Hearing him say that, I stiffen. Then I realize I shouldn't have because it was just another button pushed on Damien.

"Oh my god. You're not doing this to me. You cannot do this to me." He grips onto my wrist again, this time firmer as if he were trying to hold on to the last piece of me that he had. I click my tongue. "Jesus Klaudia, did you even fucking love me?"

I click my tongue again. And again, and again, and again, and again, until he goes, "Stop doing that and answer the damn question, Klaudia." He glares, and I glare back at him, pulling my hand back, like before.

"Fine. Since you're so fucking adamant in fucking yourself up then, no Damien. No, I was never in love with you. I never fell for you, to start with. There, your answer served on a silver platter. Are you bloody happy now?" I spit, looking him in the eye. I was sick of how he was playing the victim, even though he was. I was done with being understanding and patient. No one understood me. No one got why I was this way. Maybe it's because I don't talk about it. Maybe because I don't even know what's wrong with me. But that shouldn't be another reason why someone had the right to push me around.

He looks away, and I do too. He looked at the sky, while I looked back at the concrete ground, wondering when it will swallow me full. He shakes his head again, then nods, in indecision I suppose. I don't need to look at him to know that he's tugging at his hair, like he usually did when in irritation.

"Klaudia. Klaudia, look at me." He says softly, I obey his request. Sucking in a breath, he sighs, allowing his eyes show the hurt I have caused him. But it leaves as fast as it came. Replacing it was the disgust he felt for me. "You know what? You're wrong. This won't fuck me up. It won't. You know why?"

He leans down, his breath warm beside my ear and my body freezes. "Because you're more fucked up than I am. And the worst part? I didn't do that. You did." With that, he stalks away, leaving me on my own, like I have been for every other second in my life.

At least after this conversation, we agree on something.

I am fucked up.

-