Page 160 of Isolation
Nothing was better than that feeling.
I’d never fall in love with her again, but I can’t live life denying what we mean to each other.
She will always be my best friend and my other half. I can’t change that.
This codependency we have on each other is not only sick but it’s also the only thing that makes me feel complete. So, I negotiated with myself.
I can allow myself small glimpses of her. It will be enough to make me feel again but not enough to destroy me.
She can’t destroy me again if I take her in small doses. Right?
Despite what I told myself, I counted down every single day till my flight to Paris.
Initially anxiety seeped through me at the idea of spending the summer in Paris again.
The last time I spent a summer in Paris with her, she sprung a boyfriend on me along with leaving my ass over a text message. But this time it was different.
I have heard through the grapevine that Raven had become quite popular with Parisian men over the last couple of years. That information created an odd sensation in my stomach, a feeling I chose to ignore.
Ever since we have reunited, the tune of that gossip has changed.
I think, and I can’t be sure, that Raven has figured out that I used to be in love with her.
In Costa Rica and in Paris she was diligent about never looking at another man. If anyone hit on her, she would immediately scoot away and stand behind me.
She deflected any and all male attention.
Raven has always been unaware of male attention, but suddenly she was on a mission to be extra cautious as not to flaunt anything in my face.
Which means that she knows and she is trying to be sensitive.
I never corrected her assumption that I have moved on. To be honest, I don’t know how I would feel if I saw her with another man.
It’s best if she thinks I have feelings for her and continues to never date anyone ever again.
I don’t want her but I don’t want anyone else having her either. I spent the first seventeen years of my life putting her happiness first. Now it’s her turn.
She owes me that much after all the shit she put me through. She can die a spinster, never knowing another man’s touch and that would be just fine by me.
It’s not like I am jealous or anything.
She is nothing more to me than just a friend.
A very beautiful friend.
A friend who seems to define my very existence.
A friend who I would never want to share with another man.
But just a friend nonetheless.
Yup! That’s all she is.
A friend.
Which is why I couldn’t understand why my heart sliced open yet again after the summer in Paris came to an end and I had to go back to New York.
And the entire semester I looked forward to my next break so I can fly back to Paris. The cycle repeated itself. I itched for every break so I could be back in Paris.
