Myrtle Cay – Maybe (part 2)


“I can make you very, very happy, young lady.”

His lips were stretched in a lopsided, cocky smile, showing the barest hint of a set of perfectly white teeth. His dark hair was tousled and yet perfectly set, in that amazing casual fashion that I almost never understood, the formal fashion that intrigued me. His eyes were clear and large, blue as the ocean, and I was sure there were ancient secrets buried deep into them, swimming in their expanse, secrets so twisted that I couldn’t begin to fathom. His jaw was angular, not square as one would have expected me to say right now, angular with a slightly pointed chin and such kissable bow-shaped lips that I stayed up many a night, thinking about them. His smart cut clothes made him look dapper, a striped button-down and classic denims, the material a soft cotton maybe, or linen. And on that first encounter, I had this strange urge to ball up and grab the fabric with my hand, twisting it around my fingers, but of course I didn’t take any action on it. I just watched him, my gaze intent as he smooth talked his way around my head, around my mind, and maybe, just maybe, around my heart too. I stood still, not raising a finger, totally entranced. Maybe I even encouraged him in some sort of way, let him grow on me, giving him initiative to go on, to work his utterly irresistible magic on me. And I know, if confronted with questions, I would never admit it, never own up to having played a role -vital or otherwise – in my own destruction. And if I did agree, I would probably conjure up a thousand excuses to justify my behaviour, my ego getting to work, triggering my defence mechanism to respond fast. His voice was like honey, smooth and gold, his words were sugar, creating a sickly sweet web – a web that I, with my sixth sense and strong sense of judgement that I quite like to pride myself on- couldn’t detect. I got trapped in it, terribly trapped, its thick vines wrapping around me so tight that I eventually couldn’t breathe. And it happened so effortlessly, so discretely that I almost didn’t feel its power until it came crashing upon me in its full force. But the worst part is, that it never seemed to weigh on me, it never seemed difficult, I always liked it, enjoyed it even, playing an even greater role in what came of it all. I think my trusting self, which in every relationship turns out to be a virtue, avoiding conflicts, I think that trusting nature turned out to be a vice in this one. But then again, he was different, unlike anyone I had ever met before, so I should have known that the laws of universe would work differently around him. Some would say I was too naive, and maybe I was, but I like to believe that I was indeed smart. I didn’t grasp the truth of our equation until it was too late, which believe it or not- saved me a lot of undue pain. If I would have figured it out earlier, sensed the tiny inkling of the truths, the trail that I am sure had existed – for what sin does not leave its impression? – it would have shattered me like it did anyway, but I would have still pined for him, for I wouldn’t have known the true extent of that darkness. And I would have fallen into the trap again, and again, and again, until I would have been so reduced, I couldn’t have managed an escape. I am broke now, yes, but not shattered. I can still mend, still heal, I can learn. In some disguised blessing sort of way, it was better to have been stabbed once, than scratched away slowly with the sickening knife that was him. However, maybe this is my ego again, trying to protect my unawareness, trying to shield me. Maybe I would have had the sense to let go had I got a tiny hint of the dark, bitter truth. Maybe I would have gotten away with just a scratch. Maybe, in real, I did get a clue and overlooked it for my other want was too strong. Maybe I placed myself in the rose garden that he presented, all soft and sweet petals, all sharp and dangerous thorns. And maybe I am paying the price for it. Maybe I did not lose him, maybe I lost myself and am still wandering around, seeing the petals but feeling the thorns.

“I can make you very, very happy, young lady.”

Maybe he did, in a very twisted way – the weak undercurrent of happiness that comes with realization of being doomed- maybe he gave me that.


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