the boys i've loved & the end of the world

by Catarine Hancock

  and then, i was standing in front of him. he looked the same; a little sadder, maybe, but i suppose i was wearing the same broken expression.

  he spoke first, just like he always did. "hi."

  the single syllable jarred me. i let his voice wash over me like melted gold-- it was always one of my favorite things about him. after a few seconds, i managed to reply. "hi. i didn't expect to see you here." a lie, of course, and he knew it.

  but he chose to ignore it. "how have you been?"

  "good," i told him, and it was the truth: i had been good, great, even, but being here, with him, was starting to pick away at my progress. i could feel it decaying, and it had only been a few minutes. "what about you?"

  "better, i've been better," he answered, and then he gestured to the seat next to him. "would you like to sit?"

  no. but i did, and the fight within me died quickly as i registered just how close we were. closer than we had been in months. almost as close as we had been before. my heart pounded.

  he could tell i was a disaster; i had always been bad at hiding my emotions. but i knew him, almost better than i knew myself, and i could see him cracking. every glance i cast towards him sent another fragment falling to the ground. he was already in pieces-- my handiwork, of course.

  finally, he cut through the fragile silence. "i just, um... i guess i wasn't as prepared for, for... this," he said, slowly, as if he were handpicking every individual letter.

  "yeah," i agreed, as carefully as him, "it's... it's a lot harder, than i, i thought it would be."

  "does that mean that--" he stopped himself. i wanted to press him, tell him to finish it, but when i looked at him, his eyes finished it for me.

  the hope.

  does that mean that you still love me? he was asking. does that mean we still have a chance?

  "no." the word tasted like acid on my tongue, and i almost choked it out, "it just means it still hurts."

  "i'm sorry," he whispered, and i hated it. hated to see him like this, so quiet and cracked. hated to see us like this, the exact opposite of what we were. we became what we promised we never would: strangers.

  "i know you are. and i-- i'm trying to forgive you, i am. but it's hard. and this, this is hard." the truth. it always seemed to come out so easily around him. i never understood it. "i want us to be able to be friends," i confessed, "like we were before. because i was your friend first. and i loved that." almost as much as i loved you, i finished in my head.

  he ran a hand through his hair. "i don't-- i don't know. i don't think i'm okay yet. everything hurts still, you know? and there are days where i'm fine but then something reminds me of you or you show up in a dream and everything just hits me like a brick, that i had you, and now i don't, and i caused it--" he was rambling, and he knew it, but it didn't stop him, "i mean, even this, this is killing me right now," his voice shook, "and i don't know when i'm going to be able to look at you and--and not love you."

  i said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. i knew all of this. he'd told me a thousand times; begged for me to come back, and each time, i said no. i had to. for myself, and for him. we were breaking each other.

  "i just wish... i just wish i could do it all over again." his hand grazed mine, and i flinched. across the room, the ghosts of us sat together, fingers intertwined, heads huddled close together in a tender conversation. they had no idea of what was to come. i remembered how sweet it all was, and the taste seemed to wash over my mouth like syrup.

  he touched my hand again, and i jolted away from the past. it was over, and i couldn't do anything to change it.

  but i could do something now.

  his fingers brushed against mine, and i faced a dilemma.

  i could push him off, and walk away. close this door for good. i couldn't let it stay as it was; left slightly ajar, inviting him inside, but never completely. he always had to push a little. but i could also take the jump. i could reach out and take his hand, and we could try again. i could see it in front of me. i knew we loved each other. and sitting in the place where it all began, remembering how gentle and soft it had been, i wanted to believe that we could resurrect it. that we could learn from our mistakes, and we could make it.

  but i also remembered what tore us apart. his arrogance, and my paranoia. his selfishness, and my tendency to go the self-preservation route. his secrets, and my hypocrisy. the lack of communication, and the distance. of course, always the distance.

  i looked down at his hand, and up into his eyes.

  "take it," he pleaded, his blue eyes glistening, "please. we can do it."

  and i did. i let my fingers intertwine with his and for a second a warmth washed over me. i looked around, and i saw the ghosts around us. us, kissing in the corner. us, cuddled on a bench. us, happy, unbroken. and for a moment, i couldn't differentiate between my memories and the present.

  which was the problem.

  i pulled my hand back, ignoring the cold, sick feeling puddling in my chest. he looked shattered. "why?"

  "because," i said, "because when we're here, we're haunted by what we were. all we see in this place is the beginning of us, the part of us that wasn't torn or broken or poisoned. and we can't go back to that. we just-- can't. you've hurt me too many times. lied to me, made me cry. and i've hurt you, made empty promises and then walked them back, left you behind while i moved on. we can't get this," and i gestured to our past, "back. it's impossible. we're broken. and we need to, we need to be with people who can fix us. and that isn't what we are for each other. that's just... that's just the way it is." i stood. "i'm sorry, i am. but we can't keep falling into this trap. you're not moving on because you keep thinking there's a chance for us. but there isn't. and i hope that, that hearing it from me, helps you break away from this, whatever it is."

  "but, i love you," he murmured, looking down at his hands. they were speckled with tears. "isn't that enough?"

  "no. not anymore." i felt tears gathering in my eyes. it hurt to say it. it hurt so, so much. but i had to. "i'm so sorry. but you'll be okay. i know you'll be okay. i have to do this. it's the only way."

  "only way for you," he snapped, and although it was soft, it was laced with anger.

  "no. it's the only way for you." i turned. "you may not see it right now, but one day, you'll thank me for this. i couldn't let myself keep breaking you." and then i was gone, walking swiftly out the door.

  as i left, the ghosts of us swirled around me, and i took one last look over my shoulder. he had left. in his place, was the apparitions of two broken lovers; he reaches for her hand, and she walks away with the shattered determination of someone who was fighting not to turn around.

  "thank you," i breathed, to nobody but the air.

  "thank you for showing me how to save myself."

  -c.h.

  autopsy

  sometimes, i get into ruts where i relive

  all of my relationships

  and i dissect them

  as though they were frogs

  in anatomy class.

  i peel back the surface

  as though it were a layer of skin

  and then i pick my way

  through the insides of each one

  and i try to make myself

  understand again where it went wrong.

  what it was that made the heart stop beating.

  as if understanding why it died

  would resurrect it

  so i could maybe give

  a couple another chance.

  i especially spend a lot

  of time digging through

  the corpse of us.

  each time, it is

  more rotted than the last.

  and as the organs shrivel

  and the bones begin to crumble

  i find out more about us.

  i pull out lies from between the ribs

  and the things we left unsaid from its stomach.

  in its heart, i discover that it was


  broken long before it stopped beating.

  at some point,

  i will have torn our remains

  apart.

  much like we did

  to each other.

  -c.h.

  soulmates

  my first soulmate was for the young me, the innocent me, the i

  need somebody to call me beautiful or else i won’t believe it

  me, the i’m too young to understand the complexities of

  relationships me, the please just kiss me and call me pretty me.

  he was for the me that thought i was broken because a boy

  didn’t have a crush on me back, the me that didn’t know what

  being broken felt like, the me that didn’t know what being

  broken even meant. he was the soulmate for the me that had

  never been kissed, never been in love, never been whispered

  pretty promises to, never been lied to, never been cheated on,

  never been heartbroken. and when i had experienced these

  things, he was no longer my soulmate. he was first love.

  my second soulmate was for the transforming me, the

  temporary me, the i’m working on getting over the first

  soulmate me, the i’m still not over it me, the i still don’t

  understand how relationships work but i’m getting there me. he

  was for the me that needed a friend, the me that let myself fall

  in love with anybody who wanted me to, the me that didn’t get

  the work it took to make things, well, work. he was the

  soulmate for the me that had too high of expectations, too little

  dedication, too many cracks that i put in myself. and when i

  had learned what i need to learn, he was no longer my

  soulmate. he was fragile love.

  my third soulmate was for the strong me, the i love myself me,

  the i am finally good to myself me, the i don’t really care if you

  want me at all because i’m fine without you me, the but it

  would be nice if you did want me back me. he was for the me

  that wasn’t sure where to go but just knew not to go backwards,

  the me that had figured out that boys aren’t worth hurting

  yourself over, the me that knew that and still hurt herself over

  boys. he was the soulmate for the me that still searched for

  somebody else, the me that was never quite satisfied with what

  i had, the me that should have been satisfied, the me that

  should have stopped looking. and when i didn’t stop looking,

  he was no longer my soulmate. he was selfish love.

  my fourth soulmate was for the broken me, the careless me, the

  i really think you’re my soulmate me, the i know you’re

  hurting me but i don’t care me, the he has to be the one me. he

  was for the me that gave up everything for one little taste, the

  me that allowed toxicity due to circumstance, the me that believed the promises made and the words said, the me that stayed up waiting for you to come back long after i knew you wouldn’t. he was the soulmate for the me that needed to go back to being strong, the me that needed to open her eyes, the me that needed to realize when something had ended. and when i realized it, he was no longer my soulmate. he was toxic love.

  my fifth soulmate is for the new me, the brave me, the i’m

  going to kiss you when you least expect it me, the i’ll text you

  ten times in a row and not give a shit me. he is for the me that

  is now, the me that lives and breathes light, the me that is no

  longer bound by chains. he is the soulmate for the me that i

  love, the me that i am, the me that i have always been. and now

  that the young, the transforming, the strong, the broken, and

  new parts of me know this, we can settle. we can breathe. and

  we can stop looking. for we have found it. he is unconditional

  love.

  -c.h.

  out of habit

  i tore stars from my veins for you

  spit up my dreams into your outstretched hand

  wiped the corner of my mouth and smiled through the burning in my throat.

  you tapped the lock on my chest

  and i should have known then that nothing would ever be enough for you.

  but i handed you the key because for once i was determined

  to not let the voices in my head get the better of me.

  i told myself that i had to stop ripping my relationships apart at the seams

  so i let you rip me apart instead.

  in the end i don’t think my love was unrequited

  but i do think it was unappreciated.

  i want to think that you had no idea what you were doing

  but i know you saw me the day after

  and i also know that you never apologized.

  love is cynical and honest

  i tell myself that it only wants what’s best for me

  yet i keep finding myself bearing my back

  handing them the knife

  closing my eyes

  looking the other way.

  trying to convince myself that the gashes on my skin came from a stranger

  and not the person i slept next to.

  i’m starting to wonder if maybe love is trying to teach me a lesson and i have just refused to learn it.

  -c.h.

  the boys i've loved and the end of the world #5

  "i can't believe i'm going to die young," he says, his arms folded around me, "i thought i was going to grow old and have kids and pay taxes."

  "nothing ever turns out as planned, does it?" i say, tired. we are waiting, tangled up in sheets and blankets and our own bodies.

  "i guess, spending the end of the world with you isn't so bad," he jokes, and i kiss him. he is warm and tastes like sunlight, if it had a flavor, the kind that didn't destroy planets and burn everything to nothing.

  "what if we're already dead, and we don't know it. it happened so fast that we didn't even feel anything, so this is heaven."

  "what if, you're just crazy." i raise my hand to hit him, but he catches it and holds it in his own as he kisses me again. "i thought we'd have more time," he says sadly.

  outside, the sky is glowing. i look at the clock and it's eleven at night. the end is coming.

  "i thought we would, too." he holds me tighter and we watch the sky. it's beautiful, and i smile.

  the wind starts to beat against the walls, and i can feel it getting closer, ripping up the ground.

  "i always hoped we would last," he yells over it all, and he is crying, and so am i, but even now he is beautiful, and i want to kiss him.

  "we lasted until the end of the world, didn't we?" i shout, and he laughs, a carefree, happy sound, and i cherish it, knowing i may never hear it again.

  the wind grows louder and the glass in the windows start to crack. i kiss him, hard, and he pulls the blanket over us.

  for a moment, there is nothing but the two of us and the sound of our heartbeats.

  then, there is nothing but light.

  -c.h.

  excerpt from the story of us

  "i’m giving up on you,” she declared, ignoring the way her voice shook and her stomach plummeted as she said it. "i’m giving up on you, not because i want to, but because i have to. for both of us. you don’t love me anymore, and i know this now. i’ve been holding out hope that maybe there was something there, something lingering, but i’ve figured it all out.”

  she held his gaze as best she could, looking past the pain in his eyes, the protest blooming on his lips. “when we met, we didn’t know what would happen,” she continued, “we didn’t know the people we’d meet or the things that would happen. we had no clue. we tried to predict it by betting on our futures being each other, but you can’t gamble with fate. fa
te will always win. i put, i put my whole heart into you–us, and look how that turned out,” with that, she laughed, all dry and broken. “but none of that matters now. you chose otherwise. and i did, too. i’m not free of blame, here.”

  he tried to speak, reach out to her, but she pushed his hand away, quieting him. “i fell in love with him because i thought… i thought we weren’t an option anymore. because you were always gone, gone when i wanted you and gone when i needed you. i tried so hard to keep us alive. i ignored the fact that the writing on the wall was no longer just writing; it was carved into the plaster. i blocked out what my friends said, because they didn’t know us, they didn’t know you. but what they did know was that with every day that passed, i cracked more and more. they could see it on my face, in my actions, in the way i talked about you. fuck, they realized you were breaking me long before i did.”

  "i’m sorry,” he whimpered, "i’m so sorry, just please–”

  “no,” she whispered, and her eyes clouded with tears, “don’t you see? i can’t. you can’t take back what you did to me. i needed you, you fuck. more than anybody else, i needed you. and you weren’t there. she wasn’t just a friend, and it wasn’t just a kiss, and you knew it too. but you lied, and dragged me along because you knew i was so hurt i wouldn’t have the strength to leave.”

  she smiled, suddenly, “but he had the strength. and he saved me, and he opened my eyes. to the reality of what we were. he gave me everything i ever wanted from you– and i never asked for much. and more. he gave me so much more, things i never dreamed of with you. so you can’t blame me for falling in love with him. you can’t blame me for getting tired.”

  “but you promised–”

  “i know what i promised, and i tried to keep it. i really, really did. you were the one that fell through. you were the one that stopped replying. you were the one that left my messages ignored. you were the one that wasn’t there to congratulate me on my accomplishments, or comfort me on my failures.” she paused, and although her voice trembled, she felt stronger now before him than she ever had before. “but me? i kept the conversations going. i asked you how your day was. i was your biggest fan and the best friend you could have ever fucking had, even after all the shit you threw at me. but none of that seemed to matter to you, so i finally got it. i finally understood what the lack of replies meant.”