RED "The Color of Her Favorite"

Continued...

Days have slipped by in a quiet haze, each one heavier than the last, and the silence only deepens the longing for her, as if every moment without her stretches endlessly, leaving me with a constant ache I couldn't seem to shake.

It's been several days since we last met, and I haven't seen her standing on the balcony like she used to. I can't help but assume she's resting, trying to regain the energy she's lost, both physically and emotionally. I hope she's been taking warm baths, soothing her body each morning and night. I pray she's eating well, nourishing herself. I found myself wishing she would cut back, delay, or even stop drinking altogether, hoping she found a way to heal, to take care of herself.

Now, it's my turn to stand where she once did, gazing out at the cityscape. I found myself wondering which view she loved the most—whether it was the sunset, the tops of the buildings, or the long stretch of road that seemed to go on forever. She once told me that the sunset was her favorite. And now, I find myself drawn to it too, as if the sunset holds a piece of her heart, and in loving it, I felt closer to her.

It's half past 10 p.m. and I've decided to head inside when her door creaks open. She stepped out, her hair a tangled mess, wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray pajamas, holding a bag of trash.

"Hey," I called out, surprised by the sudden appearance.

She paused, glancing at me, her steps faltering as she took me in.

"You…!" Her voice stumbles, and I can see the awkwardness, the embarrassment in her expression. She's clearly uncomfortable with how she looks, but I didn't care about any of that.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked, concerned about lacing my voice. She didn't seem like she wanted to talk to me right now.

"What do you mean?" she replied, her tone defensive.

"You haven't seen in days. Did you know how worried I've been?" I pressed, as the anxiety I've been holding back spilling out.

She let the bag fall to the ground with a soft thud.

"I thought it was clear between us," she said, her voice cold. "I didn't want to bother you. Didn't you remember?"

I took in a sharp breath, the hurt gnawing at me. She won't even look me in the eye.

"It hurts my feelings," I said, my voice breaking slightly.

She hesitates, her eyes flickering to mine.

"You said it had nothing to do with me. Didn't you remember that?"

"I do remember, I do." I empathizes, and continues ask her back

" But why are you pushing me away?"

"You're too much!" she snapped, her frustration evident.

"Pardon me?" I stepped back, trying to absorb her words.

Without another word, she picked up the bag and walked away, her back turned to me.

Why was she being so heartless, is she lacking empathy? A headache started to throb behind my eyes. I've been overthinking her every move, consumed by her, but she didn't even seem to want to talk to me. Why couldn't I just let go? Why was it so hard for me to step back?

"Hey!"

She reappeared to stand in front of me, just returning from throwing away the trash. I'm taken aback, unsure of how to respond, as I remained rooted in the same spot, frozen in place…

"You?" I responded, my voice a little uncertain.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"No, no, it's not like that," I assured her, my words are a bit softer than I intended.

She nodded, but there's hesitation in her eyes. Then she asked,

"Why are you still here? It's getting late."

"Because I want to see you," I said, my heart racing as I try to keep my emotions in check.

She looked at me, her expression soft but distant. And I can't help but continue,

"You've been sick, and then you disappeared for days without any word. Didn't you ever think about how I feel?"

She glanced down, guilt spreading across her face as I kept speaking.

"It's okay if you don't care, but I do. I'm worried something's wrong with you…"

She cut me off, her voice quiet but firm.

"Then why didn't you do something about it?"

I choked on my words, struggling to find the right response.

"I was fine," she says softly. "And I appreciated everything you've done for me. I care about how you feel, but… I can't do anything about it. I'm sorry if it made you uneasy."

I walked toward her, standing just a few steps away.

"I'm just happy to see you're feeling better, looking fresh again."

She didn't say anything, just listened quietly, waiting for me to continue.

"But if things were different, if you weren't fine—would you ask for my help? Could you think of me when you need something?"

She remained silent for a moment, her eyes wide, stunned by the weight of my words.

"Or… it's okay if you have someone else instead of me," I add softly. She didn't answer right away. Then, almost as if lost in thought, she asked,

"For how long?"

I furrowed my brow, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"How long can you keep doing this?" Her words hit me harder than I expected.

"Doing… what?" I'm still not sure if I understood.

"Doing good to me!" she said quietly, the vulnerability in her voice unmistakable.

"Did you think I'm pretending?" I asked, my voice filled with frustration and confusion.

"Are you not?" she responded, her tone skeptical.

"Of course I'm not!" I replied quickly, but there's a hint of hurt in my voice.

She seemed disbelieving, eyes narrowing as if she couldn't fully trust what I'm saying.

"I didn't understand why you think that,"

I continued, the frustration growing.

"But my concern for you… it's real. It's from my heart. If it makes you feel like I'm just playing a game or scamming you, I didn't know how to prove it. But it really hurts my feelings."

She looked down, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I knew."

"You knew?" I asked, stunned.

"Yes," she said softly, almost too quietly for me to hear. "I knew. Knowing me… will hurt you even more."

"I want to understand why," I said, my voice filled with a quiet desperation.

She hesitated, her stare distant.

"I'm just in survival mode. I didn't want anyone to come into my life…"

She couldn't finish her sentence. The words seemed to break off in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

I didn't know what to say, how to reach her. All I wanted was to hold her, to hug her tightly, to show her that I'm here. But as I took a step toward her, she pushed me away gently.

"Please…" I begged, my voice cracking slightly.

She waved me off, a silent plea for distance, and I'm left standing there, helpless and aching.

"I know you don't feel anything for me," I said, my voice strained, "but if you really wanted to heal, you can't keep distancing yourself. You're forcing yourself to be alone, drinking all day long. Is that your 'survival mode,' or are you just trying to destroy yourself?"

"Whatever! Whatever, just stop bothering me!" she snapped, her frustration boiling over.

"You're lying!" I responded, unable to hold back the accusation.

She seemed confused, not understanding what I meant. I took a breath and tried to explain.

"You're feeding your own despair. You're feeding the darkness inside of you and rejecting everything that might pull you out of it… everything that could bring you light."

She froze, looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes, unsure if she should be angry or vulnerable.

"Why… why are you saying all this?" she asked, her voice shaky, caught between her own confusion and the storm inside her.

"Am I right?" I ask quietly, almost pleading for her to admit it, to face the truth I can see, even if she can't yet.

"Yes, you're right," she says, her voice tinged with arrogance, but I can hear the fragility beneath it.

"You're not drinking to escape reality," I continued, my voice steady but full of concern. "You drink to numb or to sustain your negative emotions…"

"Don't act like you understand me!"

She snapped, the frustration in her words clear. She's on the edge of a tantrum, her emotions slipping beyond control.

"If someone hurt you, instead of letting yourself heal, you spend all your time questioning why they hurt you,"

I said, my voice softer, but unrelenting.

"You place more value on their actions than your own well-being. Did you see that?"

She fell silent, but I could see it in her eyes—the deep sorrow, the weight of my words. Her gaze held so much pain, but she couldn't speak it.

I took a deep breath, pushing forward, my heart aching for her.

"Please, stop doing that, okay? It's killing you. You have to take care of yourself, You have to take care of your health. Don't let your pain turn into self-destruction. It's eating you alive."

Her tears came quickly, but she turned away in a rush, retreating to her room. I followed her, my steps slow but resolute. I knocked on her door, even though I knew she wouldn't open. Through the thin barrier, I hear her crying, the raw ache in her sobs reaching me even through the threshold. I sit down on the floor, resting against that door, my heart heavy. I didn't know what else to do.

She said she loved sunsets, wine, and silence, but I wondered now—was that ever really her, or was it just a mask? A way to hide the parts of her that still ache?

My heart is shrouded in vagueness, tangled in complexity. I yearn for love, even as I know we are two fragile souls, vulnerable in our own right. Am I gathering the scattered pieces of a bleeding heart, willing to endure whatever agony comes, just to see them come together?

Continued...