You Break Up With Me, You Break Up With Yourself

Oh, how unapologetic. You can almost feel the nausea building up inside. “I still reminisce about that night, you know.” Pharita walked slowly and stood side by side with you leaning against the walls. Your sigh is visible to her even when she’s facing straight forward.

So is your grimace. You don’t bother trying to hide any of the uncomfortableness. “I thought you said it would be the last time.” You knew she didn’t mean it. She’s a bad liar. She has been from the very fucking start. The smile that follows her lies, too. Malicious.

“You don’t want to make this a regular thing.” Still, Pharita is looking down at the floor, as if trying to look hesitant about what she’s going to ask eventually. “No,” It’s cold outside; you would’ve escorted her to either of your places if you loved her.

When you loved her, to be more precise. “ You don’t.” You’ve been through two winters with Pharita. You thought no warmth could replace hers. No coldness couldn’t replace hers either, it turned out.

What you despise is that she keeps talking about that night. The night when she called your phone, the night she came over to your studio to meet you.

It is yet to be opaque in your head the moment she put her lips on yours. It felt so illegal you didn’t want to pull back. Her lies might’ve dirtied her name, but that body, the physique, her face—those lips—never left her. Never left your mind, even though you did your best to reject.

“You need to leave, Pharita.” You say this, yet being dangerously uncertain about whether you’ll be able to turn down the temptation to lay your hands on her flesh one more time.

It’s to the point where you’re beginning to think that you’re no different. Should’ve cut her out from the first place. The first time you met her after the breakup was catastrophic. You helplessly fell for the trap.

“You can’t keep doing this. Find another guy that’s dumb enough to-”

“Don’t say you didn’t miss how good I made you feel in bed.” She then turns to face you, leaving you no space to move or think. She’s unforgivable enough to attempt to lock lips with you once more; you’re dumb enough to let it happen.

You tried to say no—technically, you said no. All she gives you is things to struggle with. You get the feeling that if you go further than this, the mourning you suffered definitely would go in vain. You frown at the look of yourself. Then you pull her deeper into your arms, probably into your naked soul.

The way she lets out a lengthy, satisfied moan sheerly disgusts you. It’s as if you lost, not once but twice.

******

Four months is a long period of time, especially without Pharita. You didn’t want her near you, or, you thought so. Hate to admit that you actually spent a few nights crying.

You felt deceived; you might’ve found out what people call toxic is.

Deceived?

“ Hey.”

It’s nothing more than a cheap comedy. “…hey.” Probably as cheap as her words, and yours. Because what you told yourself, what you carved into your own heart was to never let her near you ever again. That provided, it should’ve been the easiest choice to hang up and block her number when she called you.

“Been a while.” You pick up. For a few seconds, you forgot to move a single muscle. On your way home it seemed like the world around you came to a halt. The way she said ‘ Been a while.’ was obnoxiously calm. So calm it left you speechless.

Several seconds of absolute silence reminds you that you just dramatically stopped walking. Your eyes squeeze shut as you agonize over whether to just hang up and end it.

“Why did you call me?” Questions beget more questions. You just picked up her call, and failed to hang up while you could. Then you yourself started a conversation that could lead to misery.

“Why did you pick up?” Suddenly you remember how sweet she used to sound. But that was until she bittered your heart with her lies. To think she did all that to sleep with someone else, you couldn’t stand the hatred.

The way you can’t just put the phone off of your ear and end the call makes the hatred spread over to yourself. It’s like how toxins take over your whole system. “Are you outside?” You know—sometimes you don’t even notice—it’s ruining you, but you can’t stop it.

You still refuse to reply. How vulnerable can a human being be? “Pharita.” How weak does one have to be to still drown in the remnant of love for the one who had literally ditched you. It’s a rotten love. Spoiled love that is indistinguishable from regret.

You answered the call because you wanted to. Needed to. You knew Pharita was toxic. But drugs aren’t just toxic; they’re addictive. You don’t do drugs to wreck yourself and die, but you still do it knowing it will someday. You realized that the hatred for her was an ugly mixture of misaimed loathing towards yourself.

“It’s cold outside.” But still, abhorrence is what a betrayed love eventually turns into. What makes you feel even more helpless is that you are sure you’ll be giving in to whatever she offers. And you know she won’t offer you anything safe.

“ Pharita.”

“I’m actually near your place.”

Last winter was the last one you shared with Pharita. You still vividly remember that one day when it snowed heavily. You two made a lot of snowmen. It was only a few inches shorter than her, which made it easier for her to cuddle while taking pictures with it.

You are not sure if you ever want to consider it thankful to have such beautiful memories. Heartwarming, wholesome, but that’s what highlights how cruel her betrayal felt.

You thought she loved you just as much as you loved her. Pharita and you made a perfect pair—so perfect once when you were blinded by her you thought it was spiritual. Then she enlightened you that everything has an end regardless of your will.

It all happened within just a few months. All of the night-and-day differences. It went from hot cups of coffee to throat-burning alcohol. From a scarf around her neck to tattoos and piercings. The contrast was clear. It was so sharp you felt it stinging from the very inside of your heart.

What still remained solid were the nights you spent for each other. The true nakedness—of your bodies, of your souls and of your sensations—could never be breached by anything fake. You could always tell it without any doubt because she always moaned for more.

It was perhaps the only thing that she wanted to have no end, while for you it was one of many. But even when you were touching each other, you believed that it was romantic, not sexual. A physical expression of love, not lust. Which didn’t last so long, unfortunately.

“Did you miss me?” Yet she chose to come toxic as never before. You were trying not to say ‘yes’ on the phone but you found yourself almost shouting it. People don’t change. You still love her. So desperately you would probably forgive everything she’s ever done if you could feel her lips on yours.

“Pharita, I need to hang up. I can’t be doing this forever.” But she is with no intention to stop. Rather, it seems like she wants to step on and see how it would end up, because calling you alone must’ve been the point of no return. And you picking up helped yourself make it to the point of no destination, tragically.

One of so many things you fear is that you couldn’t detect any sign of hesitation from her voice.

“…Did you miss me?” You can find no clue of hesitation on her face, either. The decision to ever dress up and meet you on a freezing night like this itself is a vivid proof of determination and need, come to think of it.

Think?

Her hands are already climbing up your sleeves to your forearm for a subtle clench. It reminds you of how hard you had to hold yourself from everything you didn’t want to do. It’s a dilemma, an irony, a paradox: a demolition of your mind. You could’ve said you’d forget everything you had seen and be together again. But even when her shameless ‘ sorry ’ was closer to a mere sigh than a farewell, grabbing her arm and hugging her again was the last thing you wanted yourself to do.

“Because I did.” All you see is her innocent smile without any hint of seduction, as if what her fingers are doing is all she needed to vaporize your willpower to resist. She makes you feel like you didn’t want to reject at all in the first place. “You won’t say no, will you?” To hear her whisper love in your ears one last time. To touch her pulsing chest, to taste her leakage of pleasure for the last time.

To feel her for the last time. You even start to hope that there was no such thing as the last time. You find it impossible for your gaze to stay anchored to a single point. “Pharita, you really should–”

“Is it still set to your birthday, the doorlock?” But from somewhere deep inside, you feel disgusted. Utter grossness. And maybe anger. You sense that if you lose it, there will be no bailing out. And you sense that you are on your way to losing everything.

Pharita entwined her leg around yours, trapping itself between your legs and the brick wall. You try to act fed up, surprised that you have to act that way. Perhaps the disgust has been toward yourself. Raging at what she did to you, but hesitant to push her away unlike what you told yourself more than a million times.

“You don’t want to do this.” You look away from her luring gaze and you are already out of breath. Something is strangling you from the very inside and you might know what that could be. “Oh, yeah?” Her voice is low, airy and hot. You see her breath vanish into the cold air.

Her fingers never leave your forearm alone as she approaches half a step forward, slightly pushing her breasts against your ribs. “What do you want, then?” She notices your eyes unable to settle between her own eyes and lips and gives you a small victorious smirk. Then you feel her whole body pushing upon yours a little more.

Her thigh between yours feels so soft and you are convinced you aren’t built for rejecting her. Her flesh is warm, even through your pants. On the inside you wanted her back, but on the outside you acted angry. Pharita brings her lips closer and closer to yours in the span of seconds.

“ I think you want to fuck me.” You immediately grit your teeth as she unveils what you unknowingly but so obviously want. It is as if she wants to see you lose it. And if that’s true, it is working, aimed at the very bottom of your composure.

You somehow lose any willpower to even resist or dive deeper; it could be considered a good sign, since you don’t sense the flame inside you spark even when her tongue is invading every corner of your brain. There might still be a chance to pull back. It’s just a kiss and both of you are fully clothed.

The cold air visualizes how hard you two are panting into each other’s mouth. It sends you back to when you two were new to each other. The first winter was freezing —freezing enough to emphasize how warm she was. Sex wasn’t in the list of why you fell for her.