Where the Stars Fall

22 | Armours

THE WORDS HIT ME like a punch to the stomach.

'Dear Liv,

Let me just say it for one last time: I still love you. In a way, I didn't know existed. I still miss you. In a way that hurts so badly sometimes I think I'll go insane.

But I'm letting you go now – secretly hoping it's true what they say: if you ever return to me, it's because you've always been mine.

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Love, Brian'

2004.

Eleven years ago.

I read the old note once again and the sick, unsettling feeling deepens even more. It's the same burn I felt that night when I got a laconic text message saying she didn't want to see me ever again. The same ache I felt all those hundred times I called desperate for an explanation, but no one ever answered.

I slide the wrinkled piece of paper back into the book and put it back on the shelf – as if by doing so I could stop the torrent of painful memories flooding my mind right now.

How is it even possible? It's been such a long time and I still remember the stabbing pain that shot through me. Damn it, I'd almost forgotten... how empty I felt during all those months of unanswered calls and ignored text messages to the girl who'd left me without so much as a goodbye.

I take a deep breath.

Running a finger along the spine of that same book, I can't help wondering why the note I wrote back then is still in it. Or the book, for that matter. Why hasn't she trashed it – like she'd done with me?

P.S. I love you. But is that even a book you give to someone who's just dumped you?

I can't help laughing at the younger version of myself. Well, it's not really a laugh, it's more like a painful chuckle of self-commiseration. The stupid things one does when you're young and life hasn't yet given you enough reasons to become bitter.

But it's all just a question of time, I suppose. At a given moment everyone goes through that, collecting the bad burns of rejection and gathering a handful of stories about how we were once hurt or disappointed.

Fuck. Rejection hurts like hell.

And after a while, you become a narcissistic coward hidden behind your armour, so you can pretend you're numb to feelings and therefore able to dodge pain. This is usually how you get into this fucked up cycle of damage we're all trapped in: the more you get screwed over, the more bitter you become, the thicker that armour becomes. Out of self-preservation, you don't allow anyone to break in, instead, you just keep shutting everyone out. Everyone. The ones who could hurt you again, but also the ones who could be worth knowing and loving. Then you carry on hurting these people too, up to the point everyone is living in a bloody shell, pretending that they're not jaded, that bitterness hasn't taken control of everyone's lives, and that–

"Thank you for the flowers."

A barely audible voice interrupts my erratic thoughts. I turn and find her staring at me fixedly, holding a jar with the flowers I picked from the floor.

"You're welcome."

"Peonies are my very favourite flower." She places the jar on the mantel. "And thanks for cleaning the whole mess in here."

"No problem. It was my fault anyway, so I guess it's only fair that I take care of it." I force a smile and a playful tone that doesn't really match with the tense atmosphere in the room. "You okay? How's your foot?"