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That isn’t me anymore, it can’t be.
Lukas
Walking into the familiar clearing, I startle at the sight of Micah sitting on the low hanging branch. He’s holding his head in his hands, and I can see the pain coming off him in waves. My heart drops and I want to reach out to him, to hold him, to support him. Instead, I swallow down the rejection of the past two years. Schooling my features to conceal my conflicting emotions, I greet him.
“Well, I didn’t expect to find you here.”
He looks up, a mixture of shock and shame flashing across his face.
He looks the same, but also different. He’s obviously been working out - a lot. His biceps and calves are more defined than ever. His broad chest and arms are bunched with tension, the muscles straining as sweat makes his shirt cling to his body. There’s a vein in his neck, throbbing beneath his smooth brown skin. I miss licking that vein.
I try to redirect my thoughts, even as I subtly check him out. I’m not trying to make him uncomfortable or push him further away, but it’s been over a year since I’ve laid eyes on him. A few months after he left, I drove up to Cambridge to see him and try to get him to talk to me. I had tried to call, text, email - all with no response.
The campus was large and confusing, but I eventually found where the freshman dorms were. I nearly ran right into him, but pulled away into the crowd before he noticed me. It looked like he might be on his way to basketball practice, and there was a pretty girl with her arm wrapped around his.
I left without making the speech I had prepared. Heartbroken, I didn’t try to contact him again and haven’t seen him since that day.
There’s a moment of stunned silence where I see him rake his eyes over my features, but he quickly directs his gaze away from me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his gaze shifting to the path behind me as if he is looking to escape.
“No, don’t get up. I’ll leave if you want me to. I come here a lot, to read or think, or get a nap in between classes.” I hold up my portable hammock bag, trying not to be embarrassed.
Pathetically, I’ve been coming here almost daily since he left. It’s one of the places I can remember us being completely happy, and it gives me comfort even if it sometimes makes me angry or sad.
“No. No. It’s fine. I was just taking a breather. I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you to it.”
The silence expands around us and I’m sure it’s obvious I come here because of the memories of us. He still won’t look at me. His eyes dart around, I assume looking for any clear exit other than the one directly behind me.
I almost roll my eyes.
“Micah, look at me.” He acknowledges me, but his eyes don’t meet mine. “I’m not going to stand in your way if you want to leave. I’m not this villain you’ve obviously made me out to be. I’d like it if we could talk, clear the air, but that’s it. I’m not asking you to come back to me.” I almost choke on the words.
My stomach clenches the longer he stands there, his body stiff and eyes shifting, clearly uncomfortable in my presence. Seeing how uncomfortable he is in my presence twists the knife that has been buried in my heart these past two years.
I take a deep breath. “You obviously don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. I just wanted to talk, not make you uncomfortable. I guess I didn’t expect the animosity.”
“That’s not it, Lukas.” He finally shifts his gaze to mine. “I just… you wouldn’t understand.” He moves around the clearing, and I give him space to walk past me, not wanting to box him in.
“Then make me understand, Micah. Tell me anything and I’ll listen, you know I will. The way you left…” I search for the words I need to explain to him how hurt I was. How hurt I still am.
But I don’t get a chance, I’m cut off by him moving through the tree line and out of the clearing. I don’t deserve this.
My limbs are quaking, palms clammy, heat prickling up my spine. My brain is buzzing, overstimulated by memories and longing, pain and pent-up tears. This whole time I never let myself be truly angry, but right now I want to rage. I want to roar and hit things. There’s so much pressure in my head and body I feel like I might explode. I throw the hammock against a tree as hard as I can and look around for something, anything, to throw or hit.
This feeling… isn’t me. I’m not an aggressive macho alpha guy. Usually I’m pretty level-headed, but everything is catching up with me at once and I don’t know what to do with all of this energy. It’s crawling through my veins like ants, making me uncomfortable in my own skin.
Squeezing my trembling fists against my legs, I follow Micah down the trail. He hears me coming and spins around, checking to see if there’s anyone around to hear or see us. Seeing it hurts and pisses me off more.
Straining not to yell, my voice comes out forced and gravely.
“You can’t just pretend to be something you’re not, Micah. It’s going to tear you apart. And the way you left, blocking me out without a word, it tore me apart. I never knew what I did to deserve that.”
I swallow hard, curious about the way Micah tracks the movement with his eyes. He used to have a thing for my Adam’s apple. Will I ever stop thinking of him that way?
“You didn’t do anything to deserve it, I-” he’s cut off by a scream and calls for help. We share a look between us before running towards the commotion as fast as we can.
Micah beats me there, taking stock of the situation before closing the distance between himself and a young woman who has apparently collapsed. A man in a construction vest is holding her, gently guiding her to the ground at Micah’s instruction. She is covered in layers of caked-on dirt and blood and who knows what else, knocked out cold. Micah kneels on the ground next to her to check her pulse.
