Track 15 When Love Goes Wrong #3
“It’s our song!” he sang, then held out his hand.
“We have a song?” I mused.
“We have many songs, girl.” I laughed at that. I placed my burger down and took his hand, hopping off the hood of his car.
He swung me around in an effortless twirl, then pulled me in close as he began to sing.
“You want my love, and you can’t deny. You know it’s true, but you try to hide.
You turn down love like it’s really bad.
You can’t give what you never had. Well, bless your soul, you can fool a few… I know the truth now. So do you…”
We stopped swaying as the weight of the lyrics fell upon us.
I don’t think E realized what he’d be singing, but once the words left his lips, it was too late.
My heart was beating too hard, and my limbs felt weak and weightless.
E’s smile fell flat, and I noticed his breathing had quickened.
He was just as affected as I was, and his eyes said it all as they bounced between mine.
When they fell to my lips, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. But the moment he leaned in closer, I had to.
“E…” I closed my eyes, and he froze.
We were silent for a moment. Nothing but my pounding heartbeat and the strains of Earth, Wind & Fire’s Can’t Hide Love beating in my eardrums.
“I know,” he whispered. The air of his breath kissed my lips, and I almost succumbed. Almost gave in to every need I’d ever had.
He let go of my hand and my waist and backed away. And for once, I was thankful.
I wiped my hands on my jeans, as if I could wipe away the shame. The regret. The wants.
“I should probably—”
“Yeah.” He sniffed, looking away from me. “I’ll take you home.”
We tossed what remained of our burgers and climbed into his car without a word. We didn’t try to fill the silence during the few-minute drive, either.
When we pulled up to my house, he turned to me with a sad smile, and I sucked in my bottom lip as I mirrored it.
“It’s going to be okay, right?” he asked, and my heart broke in two.
“Of course.” I lied as I grabbed his hand. I didn’t know if it would. I didn’t know if it could be. But I couldn’t let him down.
“We’re friends again. We’re good at that,” I said. “We’ve always been good at being friends.”
He gave me a knowing look with that crooked grin that made my heart quiver and my legs shake. “Ha,” he let out a feigned laugh that was low and deep.
“Don’t kid yourself, Syd. We were never good at being friends. But we can pretend we were. If that’s what you want.”
He saw right through my lie, like he always had. Like it was he who was letting me believe it, not the other way around. That might have been the worst part of it all—not that he knew I was lying, but that he loved me enough to let me keep it.
But the time to be honest was long gone. The window had closed, sealed tight by obligations and choices we couldn’t take back. So, I nodded, swallowing the truth like glass, pretending the sharp edges didn’t cut on the way down. Because that’s what I had gotten good at—pretending.
At that point, what else was there to do? Rip our hearts open again? Burn down what little peace we’d managed to find just to admit what we both already knew? It was pointless. Redundant. Pretending we were only ever friends was the last kindness we had left.
“I think we have to, E. I think we have to pretend now.”
“What if I can’t?”
I took a deep breath, knowing my next words would take more strength than I had.
But I had to say them, because I also knew, somewhere deep inside, that this would be the last time I’d ever see E.
It’d be the last time we’d ever speak. He was getting married, having a baby.
I no longer fit into his life. I had to leave him with something that would help him move on without me.
“Ten years from now, when your son or daughter looks you in the eye and asks you what to do, you’ll be able to lead them.
You’ll be able to say, ‘I did the right thing, even when I didn’t want to,’ and they’ll look up to you for it.
They’ll be good people because of it. That’s all that matters, E. This is bigger than us now.”
He looked down, jaw clenched, a war behind his eyes. I knew he wanted to fight it, wanted to scream that none of this was fair. But instead, he just nodded. Once. Silent and broken.
And then he whispered, almost too quietly for me to hear, “I hope they never have to choose like this.”
I turned away before he could see the tear slip down my cheek, because if I didn’t, I knew I’d stay there with him forever. I knew I’d let him drive us anywhere and risk everything we had—but this time, there was too much to lose. I couldn’t afford to break any further, and now, neither could he.
I got out of his car and walked into my mother’s house, never looking back.
I swallowed the harsh truth that time had failed us. That we would never get the chance we were probably meant for—the one I was never brave enough to take.
When we’re young, we think we have so much time to figure things out. So much time to avoid the decisions we’re not ready to make. We don’t realize that more time only gives us more room to mess everything up. More space to ruin the exact thing we were trying to protect.
More time is the rope on which we hang ourselves.
That’s what happens when love goes wrong—we hang ourselves with the belief that we’ll always have time to right our wrongs and fix our mistakes.
Instead, all you really do is shatter what was once whole and force yourself to settle for the crumbs of what’s left.
You spend the rest of your life in a lie, trying to convince yourself this could be enough.