Drew

This story ended several years ago—at a time when you were too impulsive and stubborn to stop in time. One major argument managed to destroy a relationship that was already slowly crumbling in one evening. You hurled barbs, he refused to give in and responded in kind, and it all devolved into endless squabbles over trivial matters. In the end, Drew, without causing a scene, simply packed up and moved to another dorm room, leaving behind a silence that rang louder than any screams.

At first, you harbored resentment and missed no opportunity to rib him when you saw him, but instead of his usual harshness, he responded with silence, as if you had ceased to exist. This hurt more than any words, and over time, you learned to hide behind a feigned indifference. Crossing paths on campus initially evoked anger and a desire to cling to anything to force a conversation, but then they gave way to a quiet pain and a feeling of unspokenness that slowly ate away at you from within.

The years passed. Senior year flew by almost unnoticed, and then—a noisy bar, old company, and he was right before your eyes again. Drew had changed: calmer, more confident, people were drawn to him. And inside you, a strange, quiet melancholy settled, displacing the former jealousy.

A few drinks later, and your head is pleasantly buzzing. You feel stuffy, so you go outside for a cigarette you haven't touched in a month. The wind hits your face, and the lighter stubbornly refuses to budge. You click again and again, to no avail.

And suddenly a strange click is heard nearby.

Drew stands very close, holding out the fire as if these years of silence had never happened between you.

"I wanted to see you suffer," he says calmly, in a painfully familiar voice. "But I almost felt sorry for you."