to be continued

I remember him for what he was, and who I thought he was at the time. Or maybe it was just what I wanted him to be. Maybe there's no difference.1

He tasted bitter and sweet at the same time. Lazy summer days and cold winter nights are melting into eachother, and I suppose they really did look the same - us curled around eachother, watching movies on his computer and very, very aware of eachother at all times. His features were a masterpiece of brilliant imperfection, and my fingertips still remember his exact outline, down to the last scar.2

I'm trying hard to remember the things I hated about him, lest I fall back into dangerous old habits that I can't break myself out of anymore. Like the way he would assume me a breakable and delicate flower that must not be touched. Like the way he rendered me helpless, hopeless. Like the way he'd kiss when he was sober. Like the quite literal way he drove me insane.3

He had a wardrobe full of polyester-cotton-hybrid duplicate black tank tops and cargo pants. He reasoned that he knew what worked for him, why stray from his signature style?
I was never bothered. Not really. More or less just perpetually amused.4

The story of our first meeting isn't one that I delight in throwing around. Not out of embarassment and certainly not out of regret. It was just unique to our own style, and probably explains why we crashed and burned as we did.
We both held laughable McJobs, typical of an adolescent's first step in to the workforce. I was about 15, he was about 17. A friend who went to his school that I had befriended, and who had started working there before him, introduced him to me as someone I would absolutely adore.5

I loathed him on sight.6

More than that though, I made it my own personal mission to destroy him the moment we both stood within the Golden Arches. I would berate him, "accidently" physically injure him, and ignore him whenever he spoke to me. Horrible, yes, but something in me just had a painfully adverse reaction to him, and it was almost like my body retalliated visciously everytime he drew breath.7

Oh how I wish I had trusted my initial instincts.8

I can't remember exactly how it happened that we became civil toward one another. I think I was bored after work one night and didn't want to go to the movies alone, and he was the only person not doing anything. We saw some ridiculous M. Night Shalma -whatever his name was - movie and chatted the whole way through.
I think it was then that I realised that, despite my earlier dislike of him, this was a boy who could make me laugh, who seemed to think differently than other boys. After a coke and a stroll around our fair city, I had made a decision. 9

I texted him later that night to ask him out.10

No one was more surprised than myself when he actually responded. I has already been factoring awkward work conversations and perpetual embarassment into what I perceived to be a new fact of life, right up there with "peroxide destroys your hair" and "the only thing on this earth that actually tastes like chicken is chicken." So, when my phone beeped and the message accompanying the noise read "how could I say no?" I could have launched myself through the roof. I immediately called my best mate to debrief.11

It would have been perfect except for the factor I hadn't considered. I was madly, senselessly and somewhat unreasonably infatuated with my best friend. My best friend who was wondering why all of a sudden, his tomboy buddy was suddenly acting so...female. My best friend who couldn't find it in himself to want me back, but still managed to pick and pick at my relationship with Q until it was frayed around the edges and rapidly rotting from the inside. So I did what he wanted me to do. I stopped seeing him.12

If only this were merely a story of unrequited love, I would be satisfied. If only it had ended then, I would only ever be asking what if's and never the why's that have tortured me so.13

A buddy of mine had decided he was dateable having gone out with me, and decided it was her turn. The jealousy chewed at me viciously until the day he broke it off with her in a rather ungentlemanly way, leaving her crying in my lap and him smiling smugly as he walked past. Feeling guilty for never having supported her decision to begin with, I promised her I would wipe the smile off his face.14

I strolled over to where he was standing, and rested my hand on his shoulder. God that stung. I swallowed what I wanted and kept in mind what I was intending to do. I whispered in his ear, asking if I could have a word with him. He nodded, and I ran my hand through his hair, sighing inwardly. I cupped his face with my other hand and looked into his eyes, ignoring the painful lurching in my stomach.15

"Q, sweetie," I cooed, "I heard what you did to Mini."
He nodded and smiled, and I assumed he was replaying the event in his mind.
"You know that she's a dear, dear friend of mine, don't you?" I continued, and he nodded again.
"Now, I'm a pretty loyal person, and I don't really like having to see my friends cry, as I'm sure you could understand".
And with one swift movement I raised my knee and hit him forcefully in the genitals.16

"I guess, Q, what I'm trying to say is that if you fuck with my friends again, well, next time I'm not holding back"