Valentines story

  “You look like you’ve met a train... face to face... full throttle with flames coming out of giant exhaust pipes and all that.” Her eyes were distant and anyone would’ve guessed she was enjoying herself with the view. Her attitude was complicated to cope with, but she wasn’t as evil as she seemed to be. Who could blame her? A childhood as hers would also change your view on the world. Still, she was innocent on some aspects- but never let the guard down around that devil!

  “I haven’t slept well...” I used as excuse. Excuse sounds like I did something wrong, but the reason of my troubles wasn’t me. It was just that “...since last week” I’ve been feeling crushed. Sometimes life kicks your ass without a warning.

  “Still bummed?” She asked as if I was a precious exhibit that was about to shatter only because her. Yeah, her life was full of events that destroyed pretty much anything. I was surprised that, after hearing her whole story, we are still friends. Starting her journey from the other end of the country and living as an outlaw until she had the opportunity to settle down. each episode reminded her the same: "Everyone cares only for themselves, Trevor". And we met because she landed a kick where it hurts on me. It was an accident, but I tolerated it (if toleration means laying on the ground while she chased the real target).

  She wasn't sorry, but I was curious. It was a time where I had a hunger for good stories, either making one or remembering it. She gave me brutal honesty,  cold indifference and mortal threats when I started pestering her. But after she was done with her usual meeting routine (and me surviving it) our camaderry started. Well, it was more of she calling me whenever she felt like having a public for her mischievous acts and frankly, I'd clap at the brilliancy of them. It didn't took long before I realised that I wanted to write adventures (If this all sounds familiar it's because of Cervantes, the spanish writer). And since those first days of college, I've been writing and she's been causing havoc. While she thinks reading books is for dorks like me, she acts with heroism when she's messing with the tranquility of everything. And me? Well, after being friends with someone that bullies the whole world in any way possible, your view of yourself morphes to something more honest: I am the dork she told me I was, I am -as she would say- too nice, I allow myself to be pushed and I never push back. Also I take everything seriously and she says that will kill me some day.

  "No, what makes you think that?" Read that with sarcasm and I'm sorry I had to introduce the characters in between a dialogue. I try to get better at this. Now, thinking about it, it's not often that I use sarcasm to express myself. But this wasn't an often situation. Last time I saw Jacqueline was three days ago and during those three days I was pondering hardly on the injustice of life. Demons of the past wouldn't even let me sleep, I had been on my bed asking the haunting memories to show some mercy; to let me sleep and escape reality. And when I was finally asleep, no dream came to me. So I was cranky and yawning my way to college to see the people living the lives they'd like to have and Jaqueline, that had her way with everything.

  She punched my arm leaving it almost numb. I would've complained, but I recognized that I was living a dejà vú.

-----•-----

  "What was that for?!" I asked, rubbing my scales. Jane didn't have a strong arm but her punching technique was almost perfect.

  "Sarcasm is my thing, moron" She crossed her arms "you don't get to use it."

  "Why?" And that came out of anger "Maybe I'm tired of being nice all the time!"

  "Have you ever seen two keepers using using sarcasm at the same time? It's a battle about who can say something serious the stupidest way." I was angry, tired and had it been someone else, I'd have left my fingerprints on their face. But it had to be Jane, the little chaotic orange furball. She could leave me sitting on the ground with just a slap (and she did it with bigger guys, so i had to ask how many times I'd spin before I fell).

  In situations like this there's just one logical thing to do "You're right".

  "Of course I am!" She said, "and I'm right when I tell you you'd be worse if she said yes. You fall in love too easily, Travis." Oh boy, rub my failures on my face that oughta be helpful.

  "You just say that because you can't fall in love" I figured this one out long ago.

  "If I wanted to I could-"

  "Wrong! You would never risk being in love because of the fear of breaking your own heart if you put it out there" Sad but true. there was one thing she was afraid of and that was herself. Her shock allowed me to go on. "You're also a victim of solitude and it's not because no one wants you. But you choose to be alone"

  We kept a silence, both hurted by the words of the other, emotionally bleeding and mentally trying to stitch the wounds. The hardest part was that all we said is true. And the only difference between her and me is that I was used to it, but I was hurt already by my break up.

  Life is full of unpleasant truths, we discovered, as we kept this newfound equilibrium. Even lost in grief, I wished I didn't say that. Knowing Jane good enough, I started walking away. But after her shock was over, she followed me. I took longer steps, faster steps, never looking back. She started trotting to catch me "wait!" Came from behind "Travis!" Calling me to face the consequences.

  But when it all caught up with my flee attempt, I tried to take the motivation of my chaser away: "I'm going to class to learn something I don't know if want to know. You can take your day off or find another victim and do what you do best." I was surprised I said that. It was too raw and unthought. And seeing that she didn't stop following, I tried another strategy to lose her: I stopped and faced her "If you insist, go ahead! Take it back on me! Be done with it and go away!"

  She clenched the collar of my shirt and trapped me there. "You are the one taking it back on me and you are going away, moron. I just want to know what I did to make you snap."

  It took me a second to think why. But I remembered and used another second to think if I should answer or not. "Kathy was afraid you would ruin our valentines day. She confessed she had no proofs, but she could feel you when we were together, stalking us... I'd have loved to say that was ridiculous. But I knew she was right, because I saw you. And if I tried to lie, it would be worse than it is right now." I pulled myself away from her. I was pretty sure I left Jane reconsidering her self-acclaimed title of sneak master. And entering the classroom I wondered if Kathy would still be willing to spend valentines together if I tell her I talked with Jane.

  Deep down, I knew that she wanted me out of her life and she just happened to find the excuse to have it that. Being honest, I had my quota of excitement satiated with Jane and if I had to chose between her or Kathy... I would have thought about it and knowing Kathy, not making up my mind was enough to make up hers. I’ve been admitting this whole paragraph, I’ll confess some more, while I’m at it: I enjoyed being with Jane, being verbally outsmarted by her witty comments, witnessing her acts of deviousness malice (which were childish and harmless) and being part of that was probably more of a priority to me than growing up and having a serious relationship. So I lied when I told Jane I snapped back because she was the reason Kathy left me. Maybe, when I was curled in my room, spiraling down with nothing but my thoughts, I didn’t wanted to do anything else other than writing down whatever adventures me and Jane had. I didn’t know how to process the fact that I don’t want to love. Subconsciously, I wanted the answer from the one that was always right when judging others.

  Why is everything so clear now that I bother writing it all up? In the heat of the moment, everything’s blurry and the compass keeps on spinning violently. There’s no north, metaphorically speaking. You can’t tell what’s good or wrong, you just know you are you and you only care about you. Maybe that’s why -pardon my language- dicks exist. Perhaps, someday someone makes a selfish decision because that someone can’t see the situation straight and people punishes that somebody and they are already branded and don’t have a reputation to keep, thus becoming dicks and scum of the group they belong to. My question was: had I just been a dick to Jane or was my egoistic purpose of finding knowledge an excuse to my means? And it’s all clear as water now. I may have practiced my writing and watching out for the details that make a great story, but what good is it when you need the characters to be real, to be yourself? I'll tell you right away: knowing how to do something doesn't mean you can just do it. Right now, as I write this, I think of many ways I could have solved everything. But I'm not one of my created heroes.

The day went by and I didn't know what to expect, I learnt that you can't escape the orange fate if you had an appointment with her. If she decided I had to go through one of her tricks, I was bound to do so.  But, to my surprise, since I escaped her, there were no surprises, no attacks, and the rest of the day was as monotone as the lecture of history making something as the seraphan as equally dull as calligraphy (this is where I say "long live data scrolls!" Even though I have to lime my claws for hours to not scratch mine).

  An uneventful day passed by and I was already doing my sleep routine, which consisted on staying up all night reading, writing and/or chatting. (might as well say that by that time, almost everyone I knew was another writer aspirant trying their luck with words). But when I tried to talk with Jane, I discovered she blocked me. And so, I started taking advantage of the situation and decided to create a draft of what I was feeling (you've got to be ready and prepare for the future, even as a writer). When I was revising it, I understood that the character was completely confused, hadn't I knew him better, I would've thought of him as the villain.

  It felt like motion sickness, the guilt of realising that I unleashed my fury on the one person that would help me. I never knew if I even locked the door behind me, I was just knocking on Janes' door and I was exhausted from running. Had it been raining, I would have been a walking cliché, but I was knocking on her door, not sure what I wanted to say. "Jane? Are you... are you there?"

  Behind me rushed a wind, pushing the door open. I was almost convinced by that point that I was just a character in a horror story. I walked inside, without knowing what to expect. But luckily for me, she was standing on the other side of the room. "I really thought you wanted me gone." Saying hi was a bit overrated to her. Especially in situations where there's no need to welcome someone. "So what is it? You don't understand what go away means or am I tormented by memories at midnight?"

  "I am sorry" i said in between gasps "I wasn't mad at you for saying too much..." I decided to push my luck and step closer to her. I wasn't afraid to be crushed by her and that was because she looked broken to me. "I was mad at myself because I say too little."

  At that point my knees betrayed me, god knows how much they have been through on their way here. But Jane didn’t. She catched me before I fell. “Idiot!” She muttered and now that her pose of rudeness was broken, her eyes began to shine with tears. “Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!” And as always, she was right. I was an idiot. Not because I lied to myself, not because I didn’t know what I wanted, but I hurt the only person that ever cared about me. “You were so serious I really thought you wanted to be left alone.” And I never saw Jane cry, but many wrote there was a first time for everything.

  We ended up both on our knees, holding each other and I was hushing Jane. Reader, be aware that her tears were as mythical as snow in Talocan. “I won’t go... I won’t go”. I repeated as she tried to put herself back together. Which happened as fast as it started. But we still were in that hug, just saying nothing, but feeling how we were there. “It was just something I had to tell myself, but I took it out on you.” I tried to explain. At that point I wouldn’t expect her to care. But she actually did.

  “Then you’re more of an idiot. How can you design a fate so evil for yourself?” I write too much, think too little what I write about. “Bad things crossed my mind, to be dark dreamkeeper or com-” And this is the smartest thing I did in my life: interrupting her and reassuring her.

  “Had you become a dark dreamkeeper, I would have still followed you. Good guys, bad guys... you’d make interesting stories to write. Like that one time you convinced a professor it was friday instead of thursday and we had friday off.” I thought to myself, if the future separated from each other scared us so much (it scared me, deeply) maybe talking about days of our past together would make us feel better...

  “Why do you write about me?” She asked. And the answer was as simple as the question:

  “Because my life is boring. And you make it bearable to go outside and not hate the world. Even if it isn’t appreciating the beauty of it and all that cheesy stuff.” By now, her voice was almost recovered and that climax of emotions was dispersing.

  “But I mean... Will anybody ever read those stories?” I didn’t answer because I didn’t know the answer. I even looked to the floor looking in the case it had fallen away from my head. “Would you read them to me?”

  “Of course!” And that’s how we spent the rest of the night, laughing at things gone with time, until we were both exhausted and we had no strength left to smile and my monotone voice induced us both to sleep.

-----•-----

  I felt as bugs walked over my shoulder and I opened my eyes instantly. On one side, I had Jaqueline cuddling with me. On the other hand, my phone. It took me a little bit to remember about yesterday. The fight, the runaway... and coming to her place. The tiny room was even smaller than I remembered. I doubted how would she react when she woke with her head resting on my shoulder. Her tingling hair, getting inside my shirt and crawled inside. I just thanked god we were both wearing pants or else it would have gone pretty badly for me. But as I was still in the process of waking up, I heard her ask: “How did you sleep?” And for the first time in days I could truthfully say:

  “without nightmares.”