“Just you wait,” I told him one time we were on a curb. Three weeks into the relationship and we were on a trip. I remember not being drunk with alcohol, but with the fresh air only a province can still provide. My chest expanded as the cold breeze entered into my lungs and…
Ouch, Guia Galvez. Ouch.
Your worst fears and true feels are the best source for short fiction. Now let’s collab and make a Gia at TIT and GTH romance.
“Just you wait,” I told him one time we were on a curb. Three weeks into the relationship and we were on a trip. I remember not being drunk with alcohol, but with the fresh air only a province can still provide. My chest expanded as the cold breeze entered into my lungs and all of the sudden, I was light-headed and honest. I smiled at him knowingly, only for a second. Just you wait, I thought, and out loud, “I’ll say something horribly wrong, then you’ll leave me.”
Beside me, he breathed in as well and looked at the tops of trees that led into the woods. The trees aren’t random potted plants on a sidewalk; they own this place and the paved streets are unwelcome additions. “I don’t think so.”
“I will. Just you wait,” I tell him again.
Weeks turned into more weeks and by now we’ve celebrated a couple monthsaries. On one, he was feeling very generous and sweet. He took me to a fine dining restaurant and had me wearing heels and a dress. He looked at me and I learned it was truly possible for someone to knock the air right out of you with a gaze. He told me I looked beautiful and he told me I was perfect.
I shook my head. “Just you wait. One day you’ll wake up too early and see my bare face and you’ll be embarrassed how wrong you were. Then I’d do something disgusting, maybe fart if you pinch my butt and then I’ll never see you again.” I nodded my head, completely believing my words. He playfully threw his table napkin at my face.
A year into this relationship and just as I knew I was happy, he surprised me with a quick trip, an island getaway. “It will be just us two,” he whispered intimately in my ear, holding me close and the heat of his body pressed on my back warmed my heart.
As he was kissing the shell of my ear, I murmured that he should just wait. Those moments alone with me will drive him crazy and he’ll rethink all of the times he brought up a future together. He put his hand over my lips and turned me towards him. He kissed me and didn’t say anything.
Eighteen months of this love and I was feeling anxious. I had panic attacks often. I’d wake up, too late or too early, and the blackness would blanket us both. I’d search for his hand, and touch his face. Groggily, he’d mutter, perhaps knowing in his sleep, “I’m here, I’m here”.
I’d settle down, calm myself and inch closer to his body. I’d kiss his forehead and with my eyes closed, wonder aloud, “But when will you leave me?”
Five years and a wedding, a child coming soon, I sit on his favourite recliner (“You make it sound old,” he’d whine). He’d be grumbling about having to sit on the couch, but would settle down. He’d become engrossed, watching a sport with the seriousness of an athlete playing in the actual game.
It’s been sixty months and I’m still scared he’ll leave me. I know it’s not him and it’s me. That constant, niggling fear that I am not enough and that everyone I end up loving ends up hating me just as I’m about to truly give my all. So I watch him silently, hoping I’m wrong this time. And that this time, I don’t have to wait for what I’ve always known was inevitable.
Sixty-nine months later, we have a child. I’m lying on a hospital bed, tired but so, so, content. He is beside me, cradling our child and he whispers to it, “I’m going to love you more than anyone,” then, looking up at me, “I’m going to love you so much you’ll never have to be scared that you’re going to be alone. Just you wait.”
by Guia Galvez
It was a present day Disney retelling that was filled with eaten words and the right wrong timing.
It ruined promises to the self, about quitting bad habits and falling for the wrong people. But the forces were too strong and how can one person evade destiny anyway?
Jas was tired. She was tired of the same corridors and the same halls with far too many new faces and far too less familiar ones. Her last year was like her first all over again, with loneliness stronger felt and cradled.
When he entered the lift and stayed by the door, right into the little space she had, holding the door open for people going in and out, Jas liked how steady he seemed against the waves of people leaving and entering. She wanted that. A person who stayed beside her.
He looked her way and their eyes met. A dimple deepened on his cheek. Before Jas knew it, her heart had leaped, and the recognition of what would follow was so instant, she had nervous pangs. She prayed that the seventeen more floors of rising would finish in haste and this can all be forgotten.
It wasn’t. Because she thought he was just holding the door out for her on her floor. But he went out right after her and remained a long shadow just behind her, then opening the classroom door.
That was it. When he wrote down his name right after Jas, and sat beside her, he introduced himself. Nathan. She had whispered the name over and over again, watching her favourite series, in it her favourite character, hoping to have her own. Here he was.
Jas knew this was trouble brewing. But oh, how trouble was packaged. In a wonderful encasing of flesh and bone, he wasn’t hard to look at and all the gazes they shared made it harder to bear.
Conversation came easily. What they had was a math subject and their professor put so much effort in keeping the vein on her temple from throbbing, every time students asked for a repetition. Jas and Nathan quickly bonded through work done and not done together. Pretty soon no lunch passed them by apart. Nathan would eat a lot. He would grin sheepishly and offer up reasons about being an athlete as his eyes dart through the choices, picking up so much that he had to ask Jas to hold some for him. He charmed the lunch ladies with polite talk and small banter. Jas would watch him from the sidelines, trying to mull over why it was so important to him to make small talk with them. Then she realized, with rising panic, that he was truly a good guy.
After the small talk, he’d turn to her, his long lashes framing beautiful eyes, easing onto the small favours given and bestowed. Hold this, hold that, let me carry your bag, let me see that. They developed a co-dependency that just strengthened their bond. Nathan was meeting her at the train station and walking her to class.
It seemed so easy. He made everything easy and he always had a smirk. His dimples would push into his cheeks before his lips would curve and Jas was lost in conversations she would be part of in a haze, recounting every detail only after it happened.
“I wanted to tell you something last night,” that was his opening line, holding onto his phone. “But I realized I didn’t have your number, so can I have it?” Jas blinked because she couldn’t believe it had taken him so long. His lips were pursed now and he was looking down, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.
“Uh, sure,” and with that, she tried to swallow all the awkwardness in the air with one intake of breath, and exhale out numbers, breathy from being held onto for too long.
The smile played on his lips and he walked her to class.
That weekend, a few text messages into this friendship, feeling more brazen after a few sips of intoxication, she called him.
“Come here,” she told him, out of her normal self and into her innermost feelings. “Come meet me,” she said, swallowing when she realized what she had just said, waiting for the rejection and the pang of pain before it had even come.
“Okay,” was his steady reply. There was no doubt, no hesitation and that settled Jas’ fears more than alcohol ever could.
He was there a few moments after, smiling at her, then buying her a drink, steadying her when she slightly swayed, a true lightweight on all vices. He didn’t seem to mind.
Nathan leaned in, and pressed his large hands on the sides of her face, a frown furrowing his brows, smoothed by a smile. “Your face is red. Are you alright?” concerned marked his tone.
“Why are you always smiling?” was her slow motion response. In her blurry sight, she saw his lips tug up again.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he answered lightly, handing her some water which she obediently sips.
Night drew on. He asked how she was going home and she was sure she mumbled “Parents” because she was conscious when he helped her towards the car bay. He sat her on the bench, gentle, warm hands wrapping onto her skin, spreading the heat. Jas knew without having to look that she was getting redder.
He sat beside her, watching out for her. Jas felt safe, safe enough to stare at him and really see him. The lights were blinking from store signs and lamp lights, cars passing by brightened the darkness. She saw his face through passing gleams, illuminated and then shadowed again. And though Jas knew the light was playing with her vision, there was an inexplicable sadness in his stance, a certain grief in his eyes that couldn’t be hidden at the cover of drink and night.
That was when Jas wished for Nathan. She wished for Nathan, who she knew deep down, was trying so hard to live life despite its recurring messes but that was alright. Because so was she.
She was told that magic doesn’t happen if one doesn’t believe and she so wanted magic that she dared to believe.
But after she wished, a large vehicle’s lights blinded her and she was plagued by memories. Of past love, of lies and hurt and she wanted to crumple and cry. She wanted to say out loud the fact that it hurt, but she didn’t want it to, anymore. And there was just a point that positivity can’t reach and was taking time to heal.
“Let’s do this again,” he suddenly chirped up. He chuckled at a memory and one look at her scowl just made him chuckle more. “Don’t worry, I promise to take care of you.”
She wanted to shake her head. So instead she turned away because her eyes were moist and she was cursing herself for being susceptible to bouts of sobbing when she drank.
She wanted to believe him. Those were words she had waited for in another time, but she had never gotten but sorely needed. Now she just couldn’t believe them at once.
I can’t, because yours is the steady road to oblivion and already, I’m feeling myself walking blindly towards the consuming path.
Her car arrived and she got in. He helped her to her seat and closed the door after. She watched him wait for the car to drive away, and her eyes closed of their own accord, imprinting the memory for longer days.
Monday came and Nathan expected a stronger bond, an intimacy that was formed through plea and favour. It had not. Jas was all smiles, but her guard was up. For a week, Nathan tried to no avail to make her open up.
At the end of the week, he braved to ask, “Is this something we need to talk about?”
He wanted a chance and she could give it, but not today.
“Maybe,” she half-admitted, wanting to meet his eyes but the distance was too long and it was easier to bow her head. “I’m not yet ready.”
“Okay,” was his grim reply, and oh, how it ached for the same word to express feelings so differently.
It was another week before Jas could talk. Nathan hadn’t bothered to show up in class, and she remembered the first day and the feeling of isolation. If Nathan had wanted Jas to realize how much he had filled her life, he was doing a great job.
Jas found him on the court. He was concentrating on a hoop of netting. She could see the beads of sweat on his forehead and temples, could see the glisten of perspiration on his form. She watched him. Nathan’s concentration was full on and he poised to shoot the ball.
It didn’t shoot into the ring. It bumped onto the side and flew right over Jas’ head. Nathan’s eyes followed the ball and landed on her.
He was about to walk right past her, but she reached for his wrist and he stayed put, surprised by the contact.
“I’m ready to talk,” she finally voiced out. She wanted to explain, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. She was hurt badly before and she was afraid to go through it again. For a while. But not anymore.
All he said was, “Jas, I like you. It’s that simple.” He turned towards her and his eyes were soft and he wasn’t smiling.
She could only nod her head. A part of her wanted to say it wasn’t. It was complicated and like is the first step to love and the labyrinth doesn’t have a viable exit where no one can leave unscathed. She knew he was right though. It was. It began as simple as that.
So this is what it felt, she now recognized it for how it was, how it felt to want someone and to be wanted back. If they said this was at the end, no matter how unsure it would be, she would have taken it again.
“It should be that simple, and I promise,” and now she met his gaze and didn’t shy away. “I’ll stay.”
By Guia Galvez
For Iris, who knows the secret to making magic.
Gia drags her feet, willing for all of it (insincerely) to end.
Too distracted by thoughts of anger, bitterness and murder(?) she walks past her home, just as Tom opens the door of his. He goes out for his night jogging.
Tom sees Gia’s familiar face and says hey. He points at her deadpan face with an eager grin. “Hey. Sherlock girl,” he says, grin still there. He remembers jogging and hearing her hum Sherlock’s theme song. That was cool.
Gia blinks and nods still distracted. “Yeah.” Boy frowns, and then notices her slumped shoulders, her heavy bag of groceries and her crestfallen demeanour.
He takes the groceries and holds it for her. Disoriented, she squawks “what” over and over again, her eyes darting here and there.
“Where do you live again? I’ll help you with these,” Tom’s Pecs conveniently flex when he adjusts straps of the two heavy grocery bags in his hands.
Gia needs to take her time turning around to point her house. “Oh, I missed it.” It’s a few big houses away.
Tom starts walking without saying much. Or anything at all. Gia tries to keep in step with Tom, dazed by the bead of sweat snaking now the nape of boy’s neck and underneath the collar of his dry-fit workout shirt. If she could just swipe it off and get his DNA…I mean, save that drop of sweat from its long trek down Tom’s muscle-sculpted back, then, well… there was no good reason for that thought.
“What’s wrong?” His question is more of a statement. He knows something happened. He knows it was pretty bad.
All the emotions came flooding back to Gia and she didn’t want to cry so she paused from walking and tried her best to steel herself. No help there. She started bawling. Tom was so taken aback, but had the presence of mind to pull them to a neighbour’s bench (“They wouldn’t mind, I swear”, he reassures her) and lets her bawl out everything.
She didn’t even realize her head was on his chest and she was palming an ab from his 6-pack set and he had a hand on her head, caressing her hair. And if he minded the ab palming, he wasn’t complaining now was he?
Gia finally calmed herself after a while and sat there with her head bowed, apologizing quietly to Tom for the embarrassment she made of herself.
But Tom would hear none of it. “There’s no fault in finally crying over things that went wrong,” he says firmly. And now, more quietly, “I wish I could do that too.”
So Gia looked up, and for once, really looked at boy. Saw him and the strain in his gaze, the pain that lurked. Stared at the person and knew, this man wanted to run away. But he couldn’t, so at night he would pretend he really could. Then he’d come back home and face his life as it is.
“I know it’s weird to unload to a total stranger,” she begins, but gains more confidence as she speaks. “But sometimes a stranger is the best person to hear you out. No judgement, no bias, just, company and ears and shoulders.”
Tom looks down, making his thumbs do a half-hearted wrestle. He smiles a bit bashfully now and lets out a short “ehe” chuckle.
“A while ago I was comforting you. I haven’t even told you anything yet, but you’ve managed to make me feel better. More than anyone else has.” Now he looks at her. He sees her too. Tom does the right thing for the night and takes the bags in his hands and continues to walk her back home. Now Gia doesn’t drag her feet, but there is a hesitant shuffle.
They reach her door and he puts the groceries down. She thanks him again and smiles.
“If you need to talk. Or not. For anything. I owe you one,” she says, very smoothly. But then adds without forethought, “Cause we homies now.”
Tom sputters out laughter and shakes his head. “Nah, maybe not homies.” Maybe something more. He jogs to the street, but turns back around to see her one last time that night. “See you around neighbour.” And then jogs away.
“See you,” Gia whispers back and smiles.
For Gia. <3
Changed the name to yours and Tom. Happy loving.
We are emotionally damaged fools, who know far too many words, far too versed in prose and poems, but know very little about how the heart works or how to treat the ones we care for with intimate caresses and enveloping warmth.
Read the rest here.
I pause after a while and look at the sky. There were no stars. The moon was hiding behind a tall house as if all the heavenly bodies were turning away from this scene in disapproval.
Read the rest here.
Or tell me stories about yourselves. I am in need of inspiration.
Or tell me stories about yourselves. I am in need of inspiration.
I looked at him and smirked slightly, challenging him. He raised an eyebrow. I raised mine. “You like games,” he said. He reaches out and runs his fingers through my hair. He grabs a fistful of my hair and starts to inch forward.
I shook my head no, as I pull away. “On the contrary, I like to get to the point. I value honesty. Sometimes to a fault.”
He moved then, turning his body toward me and then gripping at the sides of my chair. I didn’t move, didn’t shift to make it easier for him. He pulled the chair closer, sliding it near. “Honesty?” He said it slowly, taking his time to taste the word. “I bet you can’t look me in the eye long enough. Eyes always tell the truth.”
I defiantly looked at him straight in the eye, letting on, on nothing. He says it’s so hard to read me. I tell him he can try, but he’s barely scratched the surface. I don’t hide anything, but I won’t let you in. The reason I don’t play mind games is because I always win. I just get disappointed when they lose.
“You think there is something here,” I begin, letting a smile play on my lips. I gesture with my finger to him and myself, halfway between hypnotizing him to come nearer and to signal at our distance. I am in full control. I rarely let myself take full control of my every move. When I do – oh, the feeling is glorious. Suddenly, life isn’t so boring. “There is none.”
He slides his hands from the steel arms of my chair to my hands, to my arms. “I’m playing mind games with you,” he confesses with a cheeky grin. I let him think he’s winning. He thinks this is seduction. He thinks he’ll elicit a response. He doesn’t. Frustrated, he holds on tighter. He pushes me to the wall and laughs as I collide. I just look at him. “I like hurting you – physically,” he says, his fingers digging into my skin.
I could hear the sound of a chess game near to its end. Checkmate. I don’t mind the pain. I don’t wiggle free. I lean in to him enough to make him think we want the same thing. Then I smile. “You know why? Because that’s the only way you can hurt me. You can’t hurt me emotionally.” I tell him things he knows are true. Use the truth against someone and know it is far more horrible than lies.
He let go, turning away and shaking his head. I grin and come nearer of my own accord. His breath hitches as I lean so painfully near and whisper in his ear, “Who’s playing mind games now?”
(Source: guiastar)
It’s instinctive. I know it is as I reach for my phone and dial his number. He picks up on the third ring. His voice is morose but steady.
“Hello?” Uncertainty marks his voice.
“It’s me,” I murmur and there is no need for introductions. “I’m here for you.”
And I listen to him. There is no need for pretense. No lies of “I’m fine”, or “I’m okay”. We crumble into the same desperate heap, needing so much warmth. There is something comforting about being connected to someone thousands of miles away, sharing the same sense of loneliness.
(Source: guiastar)
It was a tragic game of push and pull. Made of pent-up longing and deeply felt sighs. Of love too far to truly reach the hearts that pined. It ends with the bitter aftertaste of sweet, rejuvenating coffee in your tongue, the dregs left floating at the bottom of your cup.
It begins with a mournful goodbye, and two journeys taken separately. Continued with ardent I-Miss-You-s and I-Wish-You-Were-With-Me to video calls in the wee hours of the night just to catch that fleeting glimpse of what paradise is thought ought to be.
And then there is the inevitable silence. Followed by the guilt-ridden, albeit self-righteous excuses. I was busy, it’s difficult here, you can’t expect me to always be there for you now. The bile that rises is swallowed down over and over again until one loses count. Too tired, one simply forgets the reason why this is done.
Until everything soon becomes mechanical. The scheduled talks, the bickering, the misunderstandings, the hefty accusations and pointed blames. The apologies given and received all simply cannot cure distance. Yet the partition cannot be spoken of, the frustrating and regretful promise never to blame the aspect at fault leaves them pitted against each other.
“I still love you.” Every syllable catches at her throat. A proclamation strongly felt when alone in bed, weeping, the ache seeping to the marrow of her bones – now lose their power and meaning once they’re uttered aloud.
With a sigh, words stolen from his chest, “I still love you too”.
Then the excuses pour in. But I can’t leave. You’re not tangible anymore. This is not what I need. And the half-hearted confessions remain just that, in between numbness and vehement longing.
“Where does that leave us?”
In the same place. Still apart.
Guia Galvez
(Source: guiastar)
Note: This is a work of fiction, inspired by many instances from different inspirations.
There is something lovely about staying in class with him after everyone has left. I look at him and remember how much I’ve wanted to see him. He’s been absent for some time and I had missed him. I never told him though.
I let him sit beside me as I open my literature book and showed him the notes I made for him. He nodded attentively and pulled my chair closer to his. When it couldn’t go any further, he put a gentle hand on my hip and pulled me so I was almost sitting on him. I remember giggling and telling him to stop it because I had to teach him what he missed.
“We’re in this chapter already and-” my breath caught when he pushed my hair back to the other side and ran his fingers through my suddenly exposed skin. He caressed the now visible nape of my neck with the back of a finger. I tried to turn away, feeling ticklish. I felt flushed and tried to concentrate looking at the book. I continued on speaking total nonsense that failed to register in my head. It didn’t matter though, he wasn’t really listening. Trying to maintain my composure, I flipped a page and faltered when I felt his mouth close upon the bone behind my ear. I made a sound akin to whining and moaning at the same time. I pushed him away by elbowing him lightly.
Girl was feeling lonely during the quaint get-together. Party thrown right beside campus for college paper writers to mingle. She was realizing that most of the faces in the room were that of strangers. Didn’t know much people now that she’s graduated and she and her friends been replaced by newbies with the same dreams.
So girl just sat between two unknowns. The two were determined to have a conversation despite girl’s physical interruption. Her big bright eyes flicked through people and spaces and corners, seeing and taking it all in. Of course she’d see boy. Hard not to with that height. You don’t get height like that often in this place. You’re tall when you’re five-eight. But boy was six feet tall and yeah she was looking up at him from her five-two.
Few moments later, they were all mingling. Girl felt awkward and uncomfortable, suddenly out of her element. She was used to small gatherings with intimate friends. Not with people who insist on talking about inside jokes that intentionally left others out.
So it was nice when boy who seemed to search for people he knew too, parked himself right beside her and stayed there. He had his elbow propped on the bar’s counter and he offered her a small smile. “You’re in the Sports section,” he recognized and that was the beginning.
Girl nodded and laughed. You have to laugh at those little things. Have to make the boy think he’s got some humour. And maybe, just maybe, he’d actually have some. They were talking about lots of things college paper writers do. Books, quirky hobbies and during late night social events, how they’re going home.
It’s instinctive. I know it is as I reach for my phone and dial his number. He picks up on the third ring. His voice is morose but steady.
“Hello?” Uncertainty marks his voice.
“It’s me,” I murmur and there is no need for introductions. “I’m here for you.”
And I listen to him. We crumble into the same desperate heap, needing so much warmth. There is something comforting about being connected to someone thousands of miles away, sharing the same sense of loneliness.
“I don’t know what I’m doing any more,” he tells me. There is a pause, an incoming confession that needs to be run with one’s soul before the words are uttered. A deep confusion lying with it and then it comes, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
I do. I’m not sure if I tell him with my voice. But I hear it in my head and my heart. If I had stayed silent, I prayed that our bond was still strong enough that he would know if he lost faith in himself, I still have plenty of faith for both of us.
I remember sitting inside the car with him, a moment not far too long ago. He looks straight towards the trafficking lines of cars, his lips slightly pursed in thought. Cheekbones high and eyes twinkling. I tell him he’s beautiful, so he smiles. You say things you truly mean when you’re young. If you have any doubt as you grow old, it’s your cynicism making you doubt your truth. He meant it when he told me he loved me and he always would.
I never said the words back.
The person I’m talking to right now, he has the same distinct lilting voice as the one I’ve always known. I cradle my phone pressed closest to my ear. I whisper to him, I ask him if he’s eaten, I tell him small stories and he laughs in a tone of relief. Like he’s glad he remembers how to go through the motions of mirth. My heart sinks for my broken man and I absolutely break down and tear up because I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad. I cry because I know he wouldn’t break down, even when he needed a pause, so I do it for him.
We are emotionally damaged fools, who know far too many words, far too versed in prose and poems, but know very little about how the heart works or how to treat the ones we care for with intimate caresses and enveloping warmth.
He doesn’t let himself lay in peace for more than a second. His mind doesn’t let him stop from reliving his darkest moments. And no amount of little nothings I whisper to his ear can chase the demons away.
“I wish you weren’t alone,” I admit. I wanted to tell him, find someone, be with someone. I think of all the people who could love him. Faces make a montage inside my head, flitting through the backs of my lids. Your parents? Away. Your relatives?Busy. Cousins? No. Friends? Well, you’re here right?
He hesitates before he answers. “Me too,” he agrees, swimming in dark deep sadness I can’t quite dive in to reach. I’m afraid to swim again, remembering the sensation of almost completely drowning.
So I tell him truths. Because honesty always comforts him. I tell him short anecdotes and for the time being, he is appeased. And then, the clincher.
“You don’t have to believe everything,” I concede. “Just this one”. Finally, after years of uncertainty and niggling anxiety, I tell him my truest truth: “I love you. That’s the only thing you have to remember. Forget everything else. Forget the abandonment, the longing, the hurts and the fights. Forget the heaping experience of their overall pain. But don’t forget, I’m always going to love you. I’ll always be on your side.”
The penny drops and disbelief - the fastest and most hurtful conclusion – does not come. Instead, there is relief and acceptance.
“I know,” he tells me. “I’ve always believed in that.”
So hold onto it. I say. Because I’m not there. Because you’re not here. We don’t have anyone right now but ourselves and that’s fine. As long as we don’t take someone else’s side. At the end of the day, it’s yourself you’re still going to live with, in the eternity you’re here.
Even before I need to leave, he senses it and announces, “Then I’ll say goodbye now,” because he knows I’m scared of leaving him again. I murmur okay and the line gets cut after a last “I love you”.
And that’s what I’ve always wanted him to hear from me.
by Guia Galvez
I wrote this while listening (sobbing) to Florence + The Machine’s song, Heartlines. And, as a more painful treat, her acoustic version to her song, Breaking Down.
Excuse me while I drown in my own tears
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THE FEELS MY DASH PUTS ME THROUGH
