The Story I Never Published

one

Adding Salt to the Wounds

~*~

'You won't know one's worth unless it's gone,' they say.

And I didn't believe that. Before, that is.

I was never the type of person to value friendships. Yes, I value the person, but if that certain being doesn't value me as much as I do to them, then it's bye bye. Let's just say that that certain friend of mine leaves without notice and never contacts me back, so be it. I was raised by my parents to stop chasing after the people that seem to run away from me.

And that's exactly what I did.

"He's your bestfriend, you dumb bitch!" Pandora yelled, "pabo!"

I rolled my eyes, "why would I waste my time on someone who avoided me for months and years?" She remained silent, "see? I don't like to waste time and effort in chasing after someone who ignores my calls, texts and me, in general."

Part of what I said was true and part of it wasn't. It is true that I don't chase after the attention of people but when you put it in a situation wherein you are in love with a man you've been friends with for years and he just suddenly vanishes, would you come and look after him? Most of you would say yes, some won't. I respect that. But wouldn't it be regretful if you'd just sit on your bed watching Netflix all day while constantly wondering where he is? Yes, it would be, and now look what happened—I'm regretting everything.

Because I didn't. I didn't chase him after the graduation ceremony ended. He exited the event hall and never presented himself again. It was as if he was avoiding plague.

"Pssh!" Pandora, my 13-year long best friend, exclaimed, "don't give me that 'I-am-an-independent-woman' speech because that's just pure bullshit!" Oh, and did I forget to mention that she loves to put curse words in every part of her sentences? If I didn't, then, this is a disclaimer.

"We both know, maybe even our whole batch, how you looked at him in a different way," she sighed, "stop putting on the mask, Quinn. You can fool everyone, but not me."

~*~

And maybe Pandora was right, my constant pretentious acts are just nonsense. Maybe I need to stop showing everyone how strong I can be.

'And maybe you should stop with all the 'maybe's and just let it all out?' The voice in my head answered.

Okay, that is true. I am getting these thoughts off of my mind—tonight.

A few minutes later...

"That'd be three dollars and eighty-nine cents," the cashier lady spoke as soon as she scanned the products. I handed her the money and left. They were closing soon, anyway.

This small store was literally across a small park—the road is the only barrier between the two.

My feet led me to a wooden park bench. I sat down and silently observed the sky. I'm going to have my snack maybe a little later. For now, observing the stars would be nice. I love how the plum violets of the galaxy are still visible, blending with the denim blues of the atmosphere. The stars make the sky perfectly imperfect. They aren't distributed equally yet they seem appealing.

As I was quietly appreciating the night sky, a shooting star appeared. This made me close my eyes and thought of one thing.

Answers.

I've never asked for anything else in my whole life. All I've ever wanted were answers to the questions that were left unanswered. I want to know why he left without saying a word.

"Come one, dude!" A guy shouted from my left side, "don't be the butt kill," and I heard other men's voices laugh.

I looked over to where the laughing and teasing are coming from.

Ian.

It was as if the stars made my wish come true.

I eyed the man carefully as if I'm a furious teacher wanting to shout at a student for interrupting the class, and I cannot be wrong. It's him.

As I was looking at him, maybe even staring hardly, I was brought back to reality when I saw him look back right at me.

Fuck.

I quickly looked away and opened the bottle of apple juice I bought from the store earlier.

I don't know which one is more painful—looking away from the man you've longed so much for because you realized that he was looking at you as well. Or looking away and having this tint of expectation that he would approach you.

Maybe both.

Because both that were mentioned were done. I hate the feeling of my cheeks heating up because of the way he stared and how I looked away. But most of all, I've always hated the way my heart aches to the very bottom for the act of this guy ignoring the fact we just stared for at least a minute—and I'm not even exaggerating.

After that unwanted occurrence, the cold wind sent shivers all throughout my body up till the very bone. Why did it get so cold suddenly?

I told myself to not look back. But I persuaded myself again.

I saw Ian walking towards the convenience store along with four other guys. I turned and lifted my head to the night sky once again, this time preventing the tears from falling.

"Don't cry, Quinn," I whispered to myself, "you're strong."

"Let's go," I heard another guy's voice. It must be one of his friends. I didn't want to turn around.

But I did so anyway. Why can't I just listen to my inner self that commands to not look back?

He was the last one to walk towards a car, one of them must own the blood red SUV. I didn't look away though—even if he gazed right back at me.

He didn't mind me though. He continued walking, breaking the stare. I was too weak. I didn't hold it in anymore. I poured my tears out. I could care less if people were watching me—maybe even video record my crying scandal.

I tucked in my knees and covered my face with my palms, just to make less noise. Why does it hurt so much? I haven't seen him in years yet I feel as if he didn't give a damn at all. Why do the people whom you love the most, give you the most pain in return?

These thoughts and questions were temporarily wiped off when I felt that someone was in front of me.

I slowly opened my eyes and saw legs, then hands holding a piece of fabric, then a torso—I perfectly know who these parts belong to.

"I-Ian?" I stuttered, trying to clear out my vision.

He remained quiet. Instead of talking, he opened my hands and placed the handkerchief he previously held.

I gave him a questioned look but he ignored it. He slowly walked away from me. Why does it feel like he's walking away from our friendship as well?

As Ian was marching towards the car, I saw him sniff and wipe his face. I don't want to assume again. It just hurts too much.

Before he completely entered the car, he took one last look at me.

I saw how his eyes were a pale red even through the dark night. How his lips shivered from the refrain of crying. But he shed a tear, I saw it, just before he closed the door. And then the widening of a very old hole in my heart.

The widening of the hole of expecting his return is like adding salt to a freshly cut wound.

And this hole existed as soon as he left four years ago.