thewhitelily

Oh, dear. They think I don’t know, they think I never knew at all, but I knew. Right from the moment I saw them together, I could see how they looked at each other, and I knew. Such silly boys, so much time wasted between them.

It’s all such a mess now. He’s been in love with him for so long, and he loves him too, but he hurt him so very badly, and that kind of thing doesn’t go away for wishing it: the love, or the hurt. I should know.

I know just what it is to love and hate the same person, to want them desperately but in the same breath to know you shouldn’t go back, to know that however bright they sparkle you mustn’t let them in again or you’ll only get hurt. Again. Worse. If I’d got out when I should have, I wouldn’t have the hip, after all. Then again, I wouldn’t have had to give up the dancing for the typing, and he never would have showed me the pictures of him with her to convince me to give him those carbon copies to take to the police, wouldn’t have hidden me when he came looking, and perhaps then I wouldn’t have got out at all.

So I can understand why he thought he couldn't have him, and why he thought he couldn't have him either, and of course he had her, and then he had her.  But he didn't love her, not really, anyone can see that—anyone except him, of course, because he was too busy with her to realise he was only consorting with her so he wouldn’t be so alone without him.

But really, now there’s been shots fired and blood spilled—now everyone’s seen everyone else for who they really are—you would think they’d sort it out, wouldn’t you? But they’re still up there tiptoeing around each other: he’s pining for him while he pines for her, but of course he’s pining for him too, and thinks he’s hurt over what she did to him, as though he cares about that kind of thing, instead of what she did to him when she took away him, with a bullet in the chest as an afterthought. He still can’t put her out of the picture even though he really should be able to see there's no excuse for that kind of thing. But he still thinks what he did to her means he’d do that to him, too, even though he was only with her because he thought he could never have him.

He wants him to forgive her, now; he thinks what she did to him shouldn’t matter because he loves her… and he loves him enough to let him have her. And he loves him enough to trust him in that, but can’t trust him enough to love him like that, so he’ll go back and trust her with it instead, even though he’s not sure if he can trust her at all.

And he won’t even have her to help him forget about him anymore.

Lord, at least, I hope he won’t. Worming her way in and taking advantage like that when his heart was broken over him, it’s disgraceful.

Still, you never can tell anyone anything, can you? We do do such silly things for love.