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ksi-sdmn-trash-blog · 8 years ago

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OMG I WANT A PART TWO

simon one shot - same flame pt 1

They say two people who come back together after losing eachother were never meant to have got lost. But you know what else they say?

Don’t get burned twice by the same flame.

It had been a long time since I’d seen Simon. Three years to be precise. We didn’t exactly end on ‘bad terms’, per say, but we had ended nonetheless. It was a mutual thing. Turns out there is such a thing as loving somebody too much. The relationship we left behind had been a rollercoaster to say the least; passionate, angry, exciting. But there’s only so much of that a person can handle before they realise that love doesn’t exactly work that way. Too much of anything can be bad, even the things you think you adore. I guess we both learned that the hard way.

So when I spot Simon alone, sitting on the bench outside of the nightclub, I don’t know what to say. I’m…shocked. Every memory arises; the good and the bad. Hands in hair, lips on neck, fingers around throats - those are the ones that seem to float back into my mind first. They’re the ones I seem to be unable to swallow down.

When he spots me, it’s awkward. His face is awkward. He was always shy, but you’d think after you get to know a person for so long, like really know them, their ins and outs, it wouldn’t be awkward anymore. It wouldn’t be uncomfortable. I guess you lose that privilege when you lose them, and I’m not really sure what I expected when he found me looking at him anyway.

“Y/n,” he says eventually. His voice is quiet. It cracks halfway through the word and he smiles shyly, attempting somehow to laugh it off, but it doesn’t really come out as a laugh, more of a cough giggle hybrid. Either way I’m relieved to hear him say my name altogether. The insecurities in me had convinced me somehow that he’d forgotten it by now.

“Simon. It’s erm, it’s nice to see you.”

The opener comes out as more of a question and for a minute I lose his eye. When I catch it again, his cheeks are a little pinker, and I look away again as I blink away the thought that that is because of me.

“Yeah?” He returns the weird question tone and I’m thankful. Although, I can’t help but wonder why he would question it. Of course it’s nice to see him. We may not have worked out, but he was still my first love either way. I’ve missed him. I don’t say this. Instead, I just nod.

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” he responds, and I fear that this conversation is dying out before it’s started. I can’t help but notice the ache in my chest at the tension in this situation. If you were to walk past this little meeting as an outsider, you wouldn’t think that we were two past lovers as heavily involved as we were. You’d assume we were strangers asking for a lighter, maybe. At best, maybe a couple who went on a date one time and didn’t get a call back.

He starts to look around him, his eyes shifting a little and for a second I panic that he’s waiting for someone. I don’t know why this makes me panic. Simon and I broke up years ago - obviously he’s with someone new, or at least has been. That shouldn’t bother me…and it doesn’t, right?

“Are you here with someone?”

Fuck. The question comes off needy and uncomfortable, and I mentally curse myself out for voicing my thoughts. I should’ve just kept quiet. I shouldn’t have let him see me at all. I should’ve just admired quickly from a far, all the while hiding myself, like an onlooker at a zoo watching the endangered. I should have fleed. But I didn’t.

“Um, yeah.”

He replies eventually and I look away again. Of course he’s with someone. Why would he not be with someone? It’s been years, I tell myself once more. As if reading my mind he continues his sentence.

“I’m with Jide and Cal, I mean.”

The reassurance in his voice makes me feel guilty for some reason, and I decide to move away from the subject. I don’t move away from him though. In fact, I move a little bit closer - subtly so, but it doesn’t seem to go unnoticed by Simon.

“How come you’re outside?” I ask, and he looks back up at me.

“Oh, I just needed a little fresh air you know? It gets a little too much.”

“What does?”

I don’t know what he’s talking about specifically, but somehow, I know I agree. He plays with the empty beer bottle in his hands. The label looks torn and soggy, and the more he picks at it, the more it deteriorates in his hands.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Clubs, I guess? The atmosphere. Drunk girls and loud music and sweaty strangers. It’s…a lot.”

I feel unjustifiably disheartened by his answer. I kind of wanted him to mean me, which is ridiculous, because we haven’t even seen eachother in three years. I shake my head of the thought and suddenly I wish I had a drink of my own.

“Yeah, that is a lot. Especially with Jide and Cal. If I remember correctly, drunk, sweaty girls were their forte.”

He smiles an amused smile and my heart swells. I missed that smile. I still miss that smile. I can’t help but feel an immense sense of pride at the fact that I’m part of the cause behind it in this instance, and the confidence takes over me as I take another step closer and sit down on the bench next to him. He looks a little rigid for a second but he recovers quickly, looking at his shoes in an attempt to be casual.

“Yeah, you’d be right in saying so. It’s sort of become a game. Seeing how many girls they can bring home in one week. It’s like a contest.”

“How often in a week do you come out and do this?” I ask, although that’s not the part of that sentence I want to be focusing on.

“Me? Not a lot, hardly, actually. But it’s new years, right?”

I watch as he raises the bottle to his lips and empties it of the very few drops it had left in it in the first place. He swirls his tongue over his lips to collect the taste and I look away.

“Yeah, new years.”

My voice is quiet, my thoughts are probably louder. I can’t stop thinking about how much my heart is beating and I wonder if his is too. I wonder if this is the same for him as it is for me.

“Who’s winning the competition so far?” I ask with faux interest, and in other words, I mean how many girls are you sleeping with lately. How many since me. I brush a strand of hair behind my ear to appear casual even though my voice has betrayed me by coming out as a squeak. Once again I wish I had a drink of my own as Simon looks up at me, blue eyes ablazing.

“I’m not playing, if that’s what you’re asking Y/n.”

Suddenly, he’s more confident, and I guess I’m more transparent than I had thought. My face flares as I feel his gaze remain on me. The tone of the conversation is nostalgic and for a second, we’re back there again. The bench outside the party three years ago. The night we walked away, and never turned back.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He clears his throat and rubs his hands together and I get the impression he’s about to leave. I panic. This isn’t how I wanted this to go. I hadn’t known Simon was going to be here tonight, but now that I do, I can’t let him go without a conversation at least. I’ve missed him far too much to just settle with a ‘yeah’.

“How are you?” I ask him in an almost panicked voice. A sigh leaves his throat.

“Now?” He turns to look at me. “I’m…fine. I’m fine.”

There’s so much distance between us, it makes my heart ache. So this is what three years does. It builds a wall so high, I have grazes on my knee without having even yet tried to jump over it. I’m not sure I should try at all.

“That’s…good.”

“What about you?” He returns the question but there’s frustration in his voice. He’s seemingly over this conversation. I guess less has changed than what I thought.

“I’m, uh. Yeah. I’m good.”

“That’s good.”

Are we both lying to eachother? Am I good? I don’t know. I thought maybe I was, but I don’t know if good is the word. I mean I’m not suffering anymore, but I’m not as happy. Not like I was with Simon. It’s strange. You can spend your whole life not knowing someone, but then once you do know them, you forget how to live without them. I open my mouth to talk again and Simon spins his head towards me.

“Why are you doing this Y/n?”

“What?”

I’m taken aback by the harshness of his voice. Does he not want to talk to me? Clearly not. I’d hoped maybe he had missed me…but I guess, maybe not. Suddenly I feel ridiculous. I can’t stand my ground around Simon like I did three years ago, I don’t have that confidence and I’m sure if a fight breaks out now I’ll burst into tears. Surely not what I need.

“Forcing it. You’re forcing a conversation when there doesn’t need to be one. You could have just walked past, you could have pretended you hadn’t seen me. Why do you need to do this?”

He waves his hands around between us and I feel my tearducts stand to attention.

“I…I just wanted to talk to you.”

His eyes soften and for a second, a split second, his expression changes. He momentarily closes his eyes before looking back at me with a calmer, more sympathetic expression. But I don’t feel better. I don’t want him to pity me. I want him to feel the same as I do.

“This is exactly the problem, Y/n. You insist on putting yourself through pain, and for what? For me? Isn’t that where we went wrong last time?”

“You put me through pain too Simon,” I remind him. “A lot of pain.”

“Isn’t that what I’m fucking saying? You let me hurt you time and time again, and it broke us down.”

Suddenly, I’m not upset anymore, but I’m angry.

“Are you fucking serious?” I yell. “I let you hurt me? You can’t be serious. How about you just don’t fucking hurt me, huh? How’s that for a fucking solution?”

“Why do you think I fucking left?” He yells back twice as loud. Some people leaving the club turn to look at us and Simon glares at them, causing them to turn back around.

“Yeah, you left and I hit rock fucking bottom Simon! It felt like I couldn’t breathe, for days, for weeks, for months even, it felt like I could not breathe! I just kept waiting, waiting for you to come back and change your mind, but you never did!”

My anger dissolves as I finish my sentence and my voice lowers dramatically.

“You never came back, Simon.”

I don’t know I’m crying until he leans over and wipes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb. I jump at the contact and he looks somewhat regretful, but I don’t pull back before he does.

“I know, I know I didn’t.”

He pulls his hand back and clasps them together in his lap. When he turns away from me, looking ahead, I continue to look at him side on, watching how his breath forms clouds in the cold winter air. Silently, I wait for him to continue.

“I wanted to come back Y/n, believe me, I did. I wanted it more than anything. I kept dialing your number, I kept telling myself we could work it out one more time, that it would be okay somehow. But…”

“But you never did,” I finish for him. “You never called. You just…disappeared.”

“Y/n you make it sound like it was easy for me.”

“Wasn’t it?” I ask, regretting the sentence before I’ve even finished forming it. I know Simon loved me. I know he did. Just not enough to change, I guess. By the look on his face I know he took the question personally, and I almost take it back.

“Y/n, no! I was a fucking mess after I left, I couldn’t bare it! I kept waking up and expecting you to be there, beside me, but you just…you weren’t. You never fucking were, and I hated it, because it was my fault. I pushed you away and I regretted all of it.”

His words sting.

“All of it?”

Nod.

“Do you regret…” I stutter. “Well, do you regret…us?”

“You wanna know the truth Y/n? Yeah, I do.”

I’m not sure I want him to continue, but when he does I don’t stop him. I don’t know how much of what he’s about to say I can take. But it’s too cold, and I’m too shocked and numb to move.

“I regret us because before you I didn’t know how to feel guilty. I didn’t know how to fuck with people, and actually feel bad about it after. I didn’t know what that was like, to feel so sick, so…unhappy with yourself. To watch someone literally chip away in front of you until they’re skin and bone, and know that it was your fault. And would I take that back, yes, I would. Would I unmeet you? Maybe. Because then, sure, I never would have been happy. But it’s a bitter fucking sweet torture to have everything, and to lose it. You can’t be lonely if you all know is being alone.”

“It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,” I quote to him, and his deep blue eyes look into mine.

“No it’s not, Y/n.”

I nod slowly in response, tearing away from his eyes because I don’t want to cry in front of him again. Instead I just look in my lap at my shaking hands. His words haven’t reached full comprehension in my mind. I cherry pick the negative from his speech, just as I always did. ‘Would I unmeet you? Maybe.’ It’s all I hear on a loop in my mind, and suddenly, I think I should leave.

“You asked for the truth.” He reminds me. Technically no, I didn’t. I didn’t ask for it. I just let him come out with it. Sounds familiar.

On that note, I stand up from the bench and begin to walk away.

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