June 02, 2018

The Truth Untold


I didn't realize what I was getting myself into when I met you.

You passed by to say hi. We were briefly introduced and I never thought of it. Recalling it now is a bit of a blur. What I do remember was our first official meeting in one of your office rooms. The AC was high, and I felt comfortably underdressed in my black shirt and jeans. I timed our talk. It was only supposed to be a 30-minute discussion, but we almost spent an hour and a half gossiping about that office bitch. Nothing builds camaraderie like a common enemy. 

Fast forward to a week or two, we started chatting, first, about official business, then it progressed to our love for this superhero, and his universe. It was unintentional. I was watching his TV series, and you had a car keychain of this character's logo. 

Then came a bad news that had you drinking in bed. My boss told me to call you to see if you were alright. You were shaken, I felt your loss, and fidgeted.

I looked at the screen, and my thumb as they pressed each letter.

Tara?

You drove a long way to see me.
We had another meeting the next day. Long table. Opposite sides.  I was glancing at you, and I caught you too. I was biting my lips so hard to contain a grin, I was conscious my lipstick would stain my teeth. You looked good in that black and grey checkered shirt I saw you in, that morning.

We then proceeded to a presentation a few blocks away from our office. Upon entering the vicinity, we chose a table with a laptop on, to eat dinner the hosts had prepared for us. Door opened and in came this guy who had been flirting with me during a shoot last Sunday. I liked him even before we started talking, but I forgot about him. He touched my back and kissed my cheek. Not your typical beso. He sat beside me because apparently, that table was his work space and it was his laptop in front of us. Pleasantries were made, you shook hands, and I felt my soul leaving my body. 

I excused us after eating. We told him we were getting something from the convenience store down the street. My legs were shaking as we walked down the stairs. I asked you to sit down with me. We huddled together on one of the steps. Slowly, I placed my head on your shoulder. We were bursting.



One fine day, a colleague of yours told me about how you were hitting on one of your subordinates. She didn't know anything about us, she was merely relaying it to me as gossip.

I asked you several times before if you were single or if you were dating anyone, because I wasn't. You said "no one." I should've specifically asked if you were flirting with your subordinate who happened to be your bestfriend's love interest. Maybe, then I would have gotten a more definite answer. Maybe.
I didn't realize how it has affected me until it did. We were never an item. We were nothing actually. But it hurt. It really did. 



Months passed by with a sinking feeling. Work never really improved, it just got more confusing. I stopped trying to date altogether. We never had anything for too long. Again, we never had anything at all. 

Reassessing now, you accidentally tipped something over; like a last stone that fell on a surface of a glass so full, a slight hush would've sent water trickling down the edges. 

It wasn't entirely your fault, but I guess, something in me finally unravelled after all these years. My spine finally broke, much like what happened to our superhero who started it all. 

I worked hard to earn my promotion. I had new friends, and a supportive family. Everything seemed to be going great, and my logical self was thankful for every single thing I didn't think I deserved, but received. I tried telling this to myself over and over and over in front of the mirror, in my head as I struggled to sleep, in the bathroom as I washed my face, in the lobby as I waited for my ride, or even when I looked at a picture of my family. 

But I just felt empty, and it would not register why. 

Have you ever loved someone for almost a decade and suddenly he disappears, as if he never existed? How about the death of your child?



But that's another story I wish I could tell in the future. Let's get back to you. 

You became a reminder of how hard I have struggled to do everything right; cleaned up the wounds, swabbed the right medicine, dressed the cuts gently, then violently stab the same spot again in one fell swoop. I wouldn't even give it time to scab. It's not all you, don't worry. They've been there for years.

So I quit. I gave up. I gave up on everything and everyone. I stopped moving forward. I was just really exhausted.

But a part of me still wanted you.

I created stories for you. I waited for you to see them. Your view was the only one that mattered. I rejected others because I wanted you. But I did nothing. I didn't say anything. I never contacted you because I knew this sounded crazy, and you wouldn't have believed me anyway. 



After several months, we saw each other again. I told you I missed you, and you scoffed. You thought I was lying, as if it were lip service. I looked at you, biting my lips so hard, conscious of my next words. I felt uncomfortably undressed. I timed our encounter. I was only supposed to be there for an hour. I excused myself. 

I just passed by to say hi.

One fine day, a friend of mine told me how you were now working closely with that office bitch. I couldn't fathom how you, of all people, could stomach servicing someone so repulsive. I guess it's back to business as usual. You had your reasons, and I had my conviction of dying rather than working with a corrupt person.

You stopped watching me, and I stopped making stories for you. It's been a year. I can finally write about it, which meant you are slowly fading from my mind, that I needed this as a reminder on how everything is delicately interconnected. The glass is still overflowing, but I'm trying to find a stronger lid altogether. 

I looked at the screen thinking of all the things I've gotten myself into. You didn't know this and maybe, it was all nothing to you. It's okay, I'm not mad at you, I actually don't know how to feel about everything anymore. But, this is the last time I am writing about you.


-------------------
I really like his name. 
This could be fiction.

x
Millie

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Listening to: The Truth Untold by BTS feat Steve Aoki English Cover by Ysabelle
Loving: 
Watching: Suits



2 comments:

  1. Excise the things that hurt you with clinical precision. Burn bridges if you must.

    ReplyDelete

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