Fingertips | ✓

twelve

I could tell by the way Cheryl kept away from me that she thought I was pulling some sort of trick on her. She must have thought that I broke down crying so that she'd feel it a necessary obligatory to aid me and soothe my frantic nerves.

The tears that left my eyes could not have been more genuine.

I tried to sober up. I wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve and tried to wipe away the tears. But no matter how furiously I wiped at my face, the tears were still ever present. The gift that just kept on giving, I remember thinking bitterly.

I curled into myself, wishing I could stop humiliating myself in this disgusting manner in front of your girlfriend. I was a disgrace. To myself. To the rest of humanity.

I don't remember how long had passed. I was too embarrassed, too sad to even comprehend such a simple thing like time. Sad would be an understatement. There were no words at that moment to describe the turmoil that boiled within me. I still cannot find the words to explain how horribly I felt, curled up against your girlfriend's couch, having reached my breaking point and crying like I would never see the light of day ever again.

I was so consumed in my own self hatred that I never even noticed the soft touch on my shoulder. It was only after I felt a harder shove that I was able to resurface from the own bubble of self hatred that I had absentmindedly formed around myself.

There stood your girlfriend with a box of tissues so kindly gestured in my direction. I met her eyes, hesitant but she merely smiled and nodded, her beautiful and comforting features playing a part in the reason I reached out for the box.

I grabbed the box from her hands, making sure my fingers would not brush hers. I was suddenly aware of all I had done and it didn't make any sense but I felt like engaging in direct contact with your girlfriend would taint her—it would do her harm. Of course, it was a silly notion but it was how I felt.

I destroyed everything.

"I'm sorry," I confessed, rubbing the tissue over my nose before pulling out another one and dabbing at my eyes. The underside of my eyes felt raw when I dragged the tissue across them. I probably looked like a wreck. I certainly felt like one.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice coming out throaty. I tried not to cry but I ended up choking on a sob. "God, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Kareena."

But was it? Was it okay?

I was lying, In that moment I didn't feel sorry. I couldn't. Not when I could barely process all that I had done. It was like I was being struck by lightning, the sudden realisation of how not in love with you I had been all this time. Love does not turn you into a monster. Love does not feed on your deepest, darkest desires and try to manifest them.

Love always makes you put the other first.

I was not in love with you, Bradley.

Maybe I had been, once upon a time, but that inkling of a feeling completely morphed into something else the night you initiated the kiss—the night we made love, or to be precise, the night fucked.

I was not in love with you. I was obsessed with you.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Cheryl's soft voice could barely be heard over all the loud thoughts circulating my mind. I looked up at her and noticed that she still kept a safe distance away from me, the same way you kept at a distance the night I tried to force myself on you. Her hand lay gently over her belly and whether that was a conscious action or not, it was clear that she wanted to protect her baby. I was just an inconvenience. Perhaps I was overthinking it but if I were her I'd know that I wanted little to do with myself. She was split between wanting to help me and wanting to stay safe. To make that decision easier for her, I took it into my own hands.