Devils and Angels

xxii. bittersweet farewells

o f f i n g

the foreseeable future

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"I'M SORRY FOR BEING AN arsehole tonight." Caspian leant on the door-frame, sleep glazing over his blue eyes, and wiry arms crossed over his bare chest. "I know that doesn't excuse the...irrational moods, and how I've been acting, but I really am sorry."

I shuffled my feet in the hallway, raking a hand through my hair.

"I can't tell what you were trying to do," I confessed, in complete honesty. "Make me feel bad, or imply that you still hate me, or act like nothing has happened."

His fingers found a tuft of his hair, and he yanked, cursing under his breath. "I'm sorry. I am. I'm just...trying. You'll never understand, and I doubt I could explain it to you even if I thought you could. But it's hard. I don't know how I should be acting. I don't want to make you feel bad, and as much as I'm annoyed at you, I never want to hurt you." He paused, glancing at me. "But I don't want to hurt myself either. And giving myself false hope, and being with you. Well, it does hurt."

Wide-eyed. Plainative. Irises drenched with innocence.

That was pain he was trying to hide; trying to mask with indifference. And I was worsening it, when I forced him to stay with me, forced him to be my friend―forcing him to live with a dagger writhing in his chest, because while he was trying to lessen the pain, I kept bringing it back to him.

"Then I don't want you to hurt anymore." I lifted and dropped a shoulder. "This whole situation is shitty, Caspian, and I don't know what I was thinking, prolonging the inevitable. But maybe it's better we give up now, because I don't want you to resent me any more than you already do."

"Tia, I don't mind―," He protested, but I shook my head.

"Don't become a masochist for me, Caspian," I murmured. "Clearly, I'm not a good friend to you. You deserve better. And so do I. The people in the photograph in your bedroom aren't the ones standing here now."

He scratched his head, shooting me a wry little smile. "You saw that? I―I know it's weird I keep it around, but I guess it's a nice...memory."

"It is," I agreed, with a small smile curving my lips upward. "But memories don't come back. Sometimes it's better to just let them go."

"Wow." Caspian released a short chuckle. "This is starting to sound like a friend breakup."

"Maybe it is," I replied. His words had the reality of the situation pulsating through me, and I felt my shoulders drop, and my bottom lip begin to tremble. "Time to go our separate ways, you know? Not that I don't care." I swiped a stray tear from my eye. "I know you think I don't. But I do."

"I can see that now," He said gently, affixing a smile on his face.  His hand left his side, briefly, as if to meet with mine, but he dropped it before it could have the chance. "And, yeah, I guess."

"Yeah," I echoed. "So...I should―,"

"Wait." He intercepted. His arms were slightly out, raised by his sides. "One last time. Please. I'll even go grab a shirt, but please."

"For last times, it's pretty bittersweet," I noted, stepping into his arms and reaching on tiptoe to bury my face in his shoulder, for what―achingly―felt so final. His aroma near brought me to tears; a sweet smell of finality. "At least you'll not get an annoying wet patch in one of your shirts."

"I never minded," He replied, his voice hoarse and textured. "And I'd keep being your crying shoulder, you know I would."

"I'm not going to let you," I said, with a breathy chuckle, but it was humourless.