We were sitting outside the front of the house, on a little white stone bench. I was holding a stick I’d found on the ground, poking at the petals of some flowers growing next to where I was.
'So have you heard from him lately?'
'No, not really'
Candice looked at me. Her eyes always looked suspicious. It didn’t suit her. She had a beautiful heartshaped face, a straight nose, and long lashes framed her dark blue eyes.
'So you won't tell me about it?'
'There's nothing to tell. It's just the same old shit.'
'You mean the same old shit that throws you back about two miles every time you hear it?'
I carried on poking at petals, leaves, the earth. Anything.
I took a breath, and dropped the stick. Pulling my sleeves down over my hands I shrugged
'I don't really care anymore'
'You don't, huh?'
I leaned back against the wall of the house and looked over at her. She was looking at me hard, like she was trying to search me for the truth. I was sick of this conversation, the same one everyone seemed to feel they had to have with me. I gave her a pressed, tight lipped smile and looked back down at my sleeves, the ends of them bunched up in my fists, so my fingers wouldn’t get cold.
I hated how people had now somehow decided that I was like the walking wounded, and you had to inquire about my well being all the time. I thought it was fine to not want to talk. I didn’t want to talk. To anyone. I knew that my friends were just concerned, but I didn’t want their concern. Everyone was worried and sweet, and always so sorry and sincere. Always so apologetic for what had happened, it shouldn’t have happened to me. But it did and I wasn’t sure why they couldn’t just let it die. I had decided a long time ago that things weren’t going to change, and we all have our cross to bear. This would just be mine. It was OK. I think everyone has this one person they’ll be forever fucked up about. You know the one that you can never decide if you love them or hate them. And even years down the line you will still argue about how it all went wrong, and you will still always blame each other. And every time you speak, or see each other, you’ll tear your hearts out and throw them on the ground, swearing you don’t care and this isn’t what you want.
I don’t know. I guess no one ever knows how things truly end until you die. Most likely, you’ll lay there on your deathbed, and your life will flash before you. And there will be that one face, that your forgetful mind will linger on just a few seconds too long, and you’ll feel that pain again, and remember why you chose to forget that same face so many, many years ago.