The guy and the girl
"This is all I'm ever good for" he exclaimed, exasperated at all the things people tried to convince him otherwise. "This isn't the first time. It isn't the second, not the third, and it won't be the fourth and last time. This is the way God made me and forever it will be so." He wasn't wrong. It wouldn't be the last time something like this would happen. For all the good intent he had, the world wanted to punish even the smallest of his desires, and punish the world did. If anyone else heard this story, they would've cried out in advocacy for him. But not many people heard because it wasn't something he wanted everyone knowing. Maybe he thought it showed weakness. The few who did know tried to sympathize but it wasn't much use. They were the ones on the other side of the war and that was the only reason why they knew.
"What about me?" she croaked, tears flowing down her almond-shaped eyes, washing away the make-up covering what she thought were flaws. "You have it all, the things I want. I tried believing in that patience bullshit but there was no truth to that. I wake up to a phone yelling at me and check the weather, while you type endlessly on your phone with little regard for anything since everyone else will tell you anyways.
They were all the usual things that everyone hears but that didn't mean they were any less true. She conjured up fears of loneliness all by herself because it was how each year passed. Deep down inside, there existed a glimmer of hope for the friends she thought only existed on television. She had heard she wasn't pretty and that was okay when it came from a person she didn't care about. The problem was that it too often came from the guy from three years ago or the guy two years from now. Above all else, she envied, not in the richness of expensive purses but the hive of men attracted to the honey of her friends, if she could even call them that.
"I don't know if I can do the right thing" he admitted, not only to that but to the emotional investment he makes too often. "I know what is right, the advice I would give to anyone else in my shoes. I just don't want to live out my own pair because I have this beating heart guiding me elsewhere."
The right thing isn't the thing that nobody knows; it's the one thing everybody knows. And because of this, it's the hardest thing to do. It's the most logical thing, certainly the one a robot would choose, and the sole reason why humans are even human. Had the choice been nothing more than right and wrong, it wouldn't be a choice since there's only one answer that should be relevant. The heart altered anything that wanted to make sense and flushed it out in the most unreasonable fixture of desires that, barring miracles, were simply unfeasible.
"Who said I wanted to stay friends?" she murmured. The eyes were now dry but the sadness still fed off her heart instead. "Do I just give off that aura? Do I scream punching pillow for the weak? What is it about me that suddenly chops my hair off, removes my make-up, and fits me with a baseball cap and sneakers?"
There were no answers, so she questioned. This only confirmed her cynical disposition used to categorize everyone else. All the things people recommended, people she trusted, came into little fruition, so she had little reason to hold an ounce of faith anymore. Why was she Frankenstein and her friends Cinderella. Sometimes the 2AM conversations made her hopeful but they served only to make her hopeless. There were brief moments of mutual laughter, quirks, and the little antics everyone would label as love but none of it longer than, well, whatever she would consider brief. For that? She'd always hope her life was brief.
He crumbled into a ball, hugging the blankets he hoped would make his pain softer and said "There this needle jabbing at my heart and it won't stop. I think you know what I'm talking about. It's an ache that won't go away, incurable by a single dose of acetaminophen but maybe by five."
He would often threaten and to him it made sense. If the world beyond the one he currently lived in was truly better, there was no reason to stay. There was no one here worth enough, or even willing to be worth enough, to make eating and breathing worth a single dime. The things he owned that people called luxurious meant little and neither did his online order list, except maybe the pack of Tylenol that's scheduled to arrive tomorrow. But he won't actually take it, mostly with the sad realization that it'd be the most selfish thing to do in the world.
"You can have him" was the final few words she could mutter. "You're so much more worthy than I am."
People would call it sad, that she actually meant all she said and considered it absolute truth. It was too often a common occurrence, enough so that it cemented into her persona and it lived within her like an insidious parasite. Was it fair to label her passive? Maybe, but what's there really to expect anymore when the logical has become so rare that the only thing left to hold onto is insanity. All the things that used to make sense could now be bent to the extremes and she saw this as an extension of hope of some sort. Even then, the crazy, hopeful faith she had often ended up in smoke. It just wasn't worth putting in the effort any longer.
The two laid their heads on their respective pillows and stared at the ceiling. They let out a sigh and rolled to the side, one to the left and the other to the right. A thin wall separated the two but a wall nevertheless. The concrete slab was cold to the touch, though their backs still scraped it in testament that they haven't become numb just yet. Rain pelted the window but the voices inside their heads drowned all the noise. The world was everything to these two people and the world they couldn't have.
There was nothing else to do but sleep.