the doorman » a.i au

fifteen; "it's not you, it's me."

I blew the hair out of my face. Yet, it came out as a long sigh.

It was 4.43PM. Which meant he was either locking his door or was already walking out of the building with hands in his pocket and a way of walking so familiar. A way of walking which I loved because it made him look tall, muscular, handsome and adequately proud and everything else that he was. A way of walking I didn’t think I could ever forget even if I tried. Inhale.

The sun seemed a lot brighter and the colours just a little more vibrant than it was months ago. Leaves on trees shook each time the wind blew as if they were shaking off the winter blues. As I squinted, the green hills about 7 miles away seemed a lot clearer. I kept doing so, hoping the rejuvenating view would somehow undim my mind. Unfortunately, the howling of the wind along with the sound of my watch ticking and my heart thumping – with occasional beats seemingly skipped – made that impossible; I was far too nervous to attempt to untangle my thoughts at all.

It was 4.55PM. Which meant he was either taking his time or was mentally writing out a script - standing close to where the rustling of the bushes was from, perhaps. Whatever it was, there was something wrong. I knew it not because of the tone he used when he called and told me to meet him at 5PM sharp nor the fact that he would never have come past 5 minutes early (as he usually did; he was always an early bird) if there weren’t something wrong. I knew it because I felt it. Exhale.

“Kara,” he cleared his throat and leaned forward against the back of the park bench I was on. He parted his lips and pursed them into a thin line, as if hesitating to say what he wanted to. And I was, in a way, hesitating too – I wasn’t sure if I should hug him like I usually did or stay still because this situation we were in was definitely not usual.

“Ashton,” it came out as a bare whisper.

He played with his fingers for a moment and my stomach started churning even worse than it had before. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

“I don’t think we’re us anymore,” he finally looked at me. I gulped and restrained myself from saying a word or questioning his sentiments for I know that I would break if I even attempted to utter a word. Unfortunately, I knew this would go nowhere if I were to keep my mouth shut.

“Why?”

“I really wish I could tell you ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, but you just haven’t been yourself lately. You’ve been avoiding me. We’ve barely spoken and even if we do, it’s about the weather,” he scoffed, “the weather, Kara. I think we’re too far into our relationship for small awkward talks about the weather. And frankly, I don’t know what to do about it anymore. So this is it.”

Silence fell upon us. It was suffocating, to say the least. It felt as if my tongue was twisted and my heart was being squeezed. Not so soon, anyway.

“I love you,” I mumbled. For a second, his eyes widened. The next, however, he wore a remorseful expression. Right there and then, I knew that nothing would bring him back to me - except, maybe, time.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and crossed his arms.

I used to think we were end game, Ashton and I. And maybe our break up would teach me something about complacency, about how I shouldn’t mistreat people because even the most unexpected ones would give up someday. As my steps turned into a jog and then a faster one, I found myself brushing my sleeves against my cheeks to stop the tears.

Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying.

And then I tripped.

As my body jerked and my eyes shot open, I sat up. I wiped the cold sweat off my forehead, inhaling deeply and then again as I blew out the air from my mouth. My heart was beating at a speed faster than one at which Usain Bolt could ever run at. I sighed in relief as I felt my sheets underneath me instead of a cold hard pavement. I was in my room with my blanket sticking to my clammy skin and indeed; I was never on a park bench at all. I pinched myself, making sure I was back to reality and not stuck in another dream.

And though it was a mere dream, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was a sign. After all there were a few things that were happening in reality, too. Like how I really had been treating him differently (and not even in a good way) ever since the night my dad told me that I didn’t deserve Ashton. While I couldn’t lie that it was a slap back to reality that was too harsh, I also knew that it was true to a large extent. Ashton was a good guy and I was just me. Ashton deserved rainbows and butterflies and everything good in life whereas I was a self-absorbed bitch who deserved isolation.

Besides, I was almost a hundred and ten percent sure that I was in fact in love with him. 

Times like these I wished he still slept over as often as he used to instead of doing late night shifts. As much as I didn’t think I deserved his company, I needed him. There was nothing worse than sleeping on your mind clouded by self-depreciation and self-doubt but much less to my liking; it was the only thing I could do.

-

“Hey, welcome!” Ashton chimed as soon as I walked through the glass sliding door of the building, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Such a 10 year old.

I laughed anyway.

“I’ve missed seeing you in your doorman outfit. I would kiss you right now but that would be highly unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

He smirked, taking my hand in his. “I’ll be done in a minute or two. I just have to wait for that crap clock to start ticking incessantly.”

I rolled my eyes. He seemed to have a really strong hate for the antique clock located at the corner of the lobby. His father bought it because it was on sale and according to Ashton, mishaps started happening the moment the clock was brought in. For example, on day two since it was, the janitor slipped and fell into the swimming pool. The janitor was apparently the most careful and least clumsy staff in the building so having him fall into the pool was definitely due to an aura of bad luck, Ashton claimed. It was definitely just an excuse to get the thing out of the lobby, though. He never liked antiques, which was surprising because his taste in furniture was generally eccentric.

Speaking of dads…

“Are you nervous?” he asked, although it came out more as a statement, “Y’know, to meet my parents?”

I came to meet him for a dinner with his parents. Having been together for 6 months, I only found out days ago that, by his account, they wanted to meet me as soon as they found out about us. That was the day he first kissed me. I loved how close his parents and him were and maybe even a tad jealous because I knew I could never have that sort of relationship with mine.

“No,” I said, a little too quickly. I was glad that he was no longer holding my hand because right then, my pulse quickened and my palms started sweating, “I’m kind of terrified.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ve met your dad and everything went fine, remember?”

“You call getting kicked out at midnight ‘fine’?” I laughed softly.

“Okay, well, at least we know nothing could be worse.”

With a deep breath and three ticks from the antique clock, we walked together with arms linked towards the lift and up to his family’s suite.

-

dear god

i've been so shit at updating lately and i'm sorry i've been really busy with schoolwork ):

but weeheeh0o how did you like the break up scene (yes it was a dream)

and i will definitely update next week/this weekend i'm sure of it because i can't go without writing for more than a week and a half seriously

so yeah i hope this wasn't too bad