Things That Fade

Day Seven

One in the morning; my flight left at three in the morning, and here I was, in an airport, at one in the morning, fiddling with the fringe of my cardigan.

            Have you ever felt such a massive weight in the pit of your stomach? As if there was this bottomless hole inside you, expanding, slowly at first, but expanding incrementally faster, the more you fed it? And it drains you. It makes you wish there was some way to turn it all off, even for a few seconds, because you’re afraid that if you let it all register – if you let it all sink in, you might just actually lose what’s left of your mind. And as I sit here in this airport, I desperately rifle through my mind, searching for answers: why it all had to be this way, how in the world could I ever let him convince me to go through with this… will he be there when I come back. And it was that last one which hit me hardest. When I come back, will he still be there? It didn’t matter to me whether or not he would have found someone else by that time, or if he’d already have a family, or perhaps if he just doesn’t feel the same way for me anymore – none of that mattered. ‘Still there’ was a comfort in and of itself.

            I checked my watch, and as I did so, I couldn’t help but wonder just what he was doing right now. Perhaps he was taking a walk somewhere. Perhaps he was reading. Or, perhaps he was in his bed, sound asleep, softly snoring. Then, as if the universe had heard my questions, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took a peek at it and, the moment I realized who was calling, answered it immediately.

“… Hey. Why are you still up?”

“Can’t sleep. How are you? Did everything go well? No problems, I hope?”

“No, not at all actually.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

“… Yeah, it is.”

“…”

            The silence on the other end of the line was enough to make me want to shoot myself – to just splatter my brains all over the tiled floor, as it was quite clear that I was not at all proficient in using it. But, I suppose that was always how it is between the two of us. He brought out the stupid, insensitive, and tactless side of me that I so desperately tried to hide from him, and I brought out the insecure, emotional, and childlike parts of him that he so vehemently denied. Infatuation brings out the best in us, but it’s love that draws out the worst.

“… Still there, Hope?”

“… Ah, yeah. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“… Yeah.”

“… I’m scared.”

            … And there it was. It felt as if I had just spoken a taboo. It felt as if I had just opened a door that I knew full well I should have kept shut.

“… I’m scared Catchy.”

“Hey, there’s nothing to be scared of. Air travel is still one of the safest ways to travel you know.”

“No! I’m… I’m scared. I’m scared of leaving. I’m scared of leaving you. I’m scared we might not be able to make this work. I’m scared you might not love me anymore when I come back, or maybe you’d have fallen in love with somebody else, or worse, if I come back and you’re not—“

“Not going anywhere. I promised you, didn’t I?”

 “I know, but Catchy I should stay here with you, I mean you’re sick and I just… I should stay here with you.”

“What you should do, is live your life. Besides, if you think about it, this is just something that will help us build a brighter future together.”