Page 12 of Heartbeat

We fell silent once again, only this time, I couldn’t really say for how long. Not only did he seem oddly interested, but I also hadn’t been able to either explain myself properly or refrain from sharing whatever stupid thought I had. It was fucking annoying, not to mention that at the same time, I was trying to carry myself as though the booze hadn’t been an awful idea. Every time we passed a bakery or a restaurant I wanted to run from the smell, which I obviously didn’t—I did flinch a couple of times, something I was quite sure only served to further fuck up the idea this guy might have been forming in his head about me.

So I decided to forget about how I seemed to have gone filterless once again and should stop analyzing my every interjection because I was too drunk and, honestly, too tired to keep obsessing. I just spoke. Even though it was probably a (very) bad idea.

“It’s like she represents this…reality,” I eventually said. “One I have no part in anymore.”

He opened his mouth as though to speak, but didn’t.

It was probably the alcohol, even though I wasn’t as drunk as much as lightheaded and nauseous, but in that moment, I noticed how good it felt telling him that.

“Like a parallel universe?” he finally asked.

“Yes!” I said, pointing at him like an idiot. “Exactly. It’s like she knows this version of me that’s not the right one, at least not in this reality.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m getting it,” he said, suddenly confused again.

“You are though. It’s like a parallel universe. As if there were two versions of us out there, in this case two versions of me.” I turned to him. “Only, one isn’t supposed to notice the other, but for a moment—like in the one of me running into Summer—both versions collided and momentarily became aware of the other.”

“But…they’re both you?”

“Y-Yes.” I hiccupped.

“So, you drank because you clashed with another version of you?”

“Sort of. Yeah.”

“Huh.” He looked rather pensive.

“But, like, in a healthy way. Mentally speaking.”

This guy must think I’m insane. Shit, he must know I’m insane.

“Was it really that bad before?” he asked.

Who says it’s good now?

“How do you mean?”

“It’s just… When being around a friend becomes something less than great, it seems kind of…sad.”

I had no answer for that. Apparently neither did he because, for the next two blocks, we walked in complete and utter silence.

“Is that why you stopped swimming?” he finally asked.

“How do you know I used to swim?”

“We competed once. A couple of years ago, in Philly.”

“We did?”

“It was more like, you beat me. It was quite pathetic.”

“Shit, I’ve no memory of that.”

“That’s because you won,” he said, faking bitterness. “I remember though.”

“Because you lost?” I joked.

“Pretty much, thanks. But you were fast. I don’t think I can swim like that even now, and I’m really fucking fast.”

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