Those words are small, and what I feel is... 

I love her. Always have. Always will. More than anyone else 

her better than anyone else could. I want what's best for her.

I don't remember which bar it was, when I first saw her. She was singing, playing that guitar. Yellow dress snug on her curves. I was 

she's got boobs and a butt... but it's more than that. 

Her face has this elfin quality. Huge, clear green eyes. 

My gaze was drawn to the tattoos on her arms, and (oh!) the tease of ink under her hem, sneaking up her thigh. Piercings: nose (not septum; I hate that), eyebrow, ears (many times). When she laughs, or hits a high note, a flash of silver on her tongue makes my adam's apple bob.

Her hair is thick and wavy. It was reddish-brown then. She changes it often. I love it. Even bright purple or green. (I normally hate that, too.)

She got plenty of attention that night. Gets plenty of attention every night. She seems not to notice. Guys (and girls) hang on her every word. What surprised me was there were people 

vying for a crumb of her attention. She's larger than life. Like the opposite of a black hole.

of guys around her. Plenty taller or better-looking or more confident than me. If I was gunna shoot my shot, it seemed I'd need to take a number and wait my turn. 

What's this, the cheese counter in the supermarket? 

My mate had arrived before me, and needed a hand to carry the drinks. The table was right next to where she was performing. One of 

friends. Just like that, I jumped the queue.

out of my league, and I'd gone straight from work. I wished I'd gone home and freshened up, had a shave. All the sit-ups I hadn't done did a dance of regret across my brain. I felt like there was a spotlight on the shiny patch on top of my head. 

When she stepped away from the mic, I was disappointed. Up there, I had a license to stare. Up there, everyone was looking at her. 

She joined us at the table, and I pretended she was just like everyone else.

In those scant moments, as we were introduced, I catalogued every detail. Her eyes, shining. Her smile, wide. Her face, flushed.  I tried not to let my eyes drop to her tits. 

Don't want her thinking I'm just another creep. 

) and let myself look closer for another second. Her make-up looked good, (at least, I thought so) but she didn't really 

it. That's her all over: makes an effort, but would look nice anyway. Makes an effort, makes it look effortless. She could throw on a potato sack and look fantastic, but she has this distinct style that's 

at me. Talked to me. If I thought I was lost before, it was nothing to this. We added each other on socials. 

In some cruel, twisted paradox, I was so captivated by her, I wasn't paying close enough attention. She drained her drink, and one smooth floppy-haired 

oiled his way up to her with a smile and gestured to buy her another.

She jumped up with a little squeal, throwing her arms around him. 

. Those breasts I definitely hadn't looked at nudged against him.

"Think it's my round," he laughed and disentangled himself from her. The smile she shone on him punched me in the guts. 

Their manner together was easy, but there was no careless ass-patting, no kissing. I guessed they weren't together but she'd known him a while. Just a friend, then. 

She did the gig circuit, and I learned it so I could be where she was. The rest of the time, I could watch her from afar thanks to technology.  

That flair she has, that confidence to strut bold colours, to perform... it's only one side of her. Seeing this chick with a guitar, the guts and talent to sing in front of a bunch of people, all that metal and ink... you might think she's tough. A hard-ass

Her friends (I'm one of them now, for better or for worse) see the soft underside. It's 

tender. She's a beautiful person. Kind. Makes friends easy as breathing. She remembers and values each one of us. It's almost impossible to resent her for the hold she has over us, because she's so sweet.

When she needs something, we fall over ourselves and each other to be the one to help. A lift, a stereo setting up, gardening, shelves putting together. 

bathtime! now all I need is someone to bring me wine&snacks

Some sucker would be at her doorstep with what she wanted. 

sucker, who laughed me away from her door.

" he said with a wink. I wondered if he told her I was skulking outside with pretzels and Merlot. I wondered if she laughed at me.

A couple hundred years ago, we'd have duelled over her. At least that would've thinned the crowd. Can't be jerked around on a string if you've got a hole in your chest. 

Most of us mere mortals, we say, "I'm moving house next Saturday, can anyone give me a hand?" The next thing we know, we are surrounded by cartoon dust clouds and unable to move for tumbleweed. 

 are swarming around her like wasps around an oh-so-sweet honey-pot. She tweaks her perfect pinkie, and we dance like fools.

I don't remember how she knocked me back the first time. I must've had a skinful to finally make a move, so no wonder the memory is fuzzy. She must have to let guys down many times a week, so she's practised at it. She dances you through it gently, and you come out the other side still smitten. Still hoping. 

She acts like she is doing us a favour by talking to us, giving us her time. Fact is, if we stopped doing favours for 

she'd be screwed... so she keeps us on the hook, and she does it with skill. Careful to give each of us 

the right amount of time, and then moving on to the next. Like rotating burgers on the grill. Always circling back before we go cold. How does she juggle so many of us? Gotta admire her for that.

I've burned hot for her, and I've burned cold. I've burned with lust, and jealousy, and resentment, and anger. But even when I'm mad at her, it's hopeless. I love her.

She's not single much. Always with someone, usually an asshole. This gives her the perfect "out" when a guy makes his move. She uses her loyalty as a shield, and keeps us at arms length. 

I waited. I took a lesson from that oily ponce with the cheekbones and the boy-band hair. 

. I waited for that miniscule window of singledom, and I asked her again. The tops of her boobs looked 

. I wanted her more than ever. Every other guy around her was thinking the same thing. It was now or never. 

I cornered her outside the bar, determined not to be dangled. When she tried to duck my kiss and dazzle me with her bullshit, I shot her with an ultimatum. 

"I can't do this anymore," I told her. "I love you. I can't stand by, seeing you with these other guys. It hurts too much. If we can't be together..." She turned those emerald headlights on me and I nearly caved...

"...then maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore."

her, she agreed with me. Voice cracking, eyes shining too brightly, she hugged me and apologised

that she couldn't be what I wanted. I died a little. 

Oh, but you're everything I want, everything. Everything. 

I took my balls back, ducked my head to keep my own shiny eyes out of the light, and walked away.

I knew, even as I went, that the love around her was like liquid. When some left, more trickled in to fill the space. I kicked myself. 

I wanted to be wrong. I wanted my absence to be an ache, a loose tooth, a void in her life. I glared at her latest pictures and opened another beer.

I crawled back to her eventually, balls proffered. Some of her friends gave me side-eyes. I wondered what she'd said to them about me. Worth it, though, to be near her again. 

She was wearing the same off the shoulder blue top as when we parted ways. It was like no time passed at all. Like she 

her arms and her perfume around me, pressed against me... Any resolve I might have had to 

I've been here, on her sidelines. Beer belly growing to match that shiny spot. She's changed, too of course. Gained weight, lost it again, changed her hair... but always that strikingly beautiful face, smooth skin, and distinctive style. 

I've dated, but it never goes anywhere. Usually they break it off. They see I'm no catch, or that I have a thing for another woman. 

Once, I even dumped someone because I heard her boyfriend had been removed from her home by police. My chance! I could go and 

then, it'll be different. I'd ask her out, and this time she'd say yes

. Held her. I was a gentleman. When she passed out, I put her to bed. 

I brewed some coffee and got to work. The ex was a heavy drinker with a temper. The evidence was everywhere. I cleaned up so when she woke, she wouldn't be greeted with the wreck of the night before. 

I lay down beside her at 5am. Both fully clothed. She was under the covers, and I wasn't. 

When my alarm woke me a few hours later, I fetched coffee and bagels, sure she'd (finally!) open her eyes and see what a good thing she had in front of her. 

I got pretty angry. I don't remember all I said, but I know I threw "all I've done for you

all I've done for you all I've done for you 

I panted in the middle of smashed crockery. The fear on her face finally registered. My hand pulled back from that pale white throat as if burned. 

I apologised. Sent flowers. She wouldn't take my calls, wouldn't see me. I messaged her, but she read it without replying. Sometimes I'd see those little dots that meant she was typing... 

...then nothing. She must be trying to find a way to apologise for angering me. Driving me away. Finding a way to say she loved me. What else could she possibly be saying? After everything?

know this was all just because of how much I loved her. If I could just make her see that, it'd all be alright.

I knocked on her door, bearing gifts as always. Since it was Valentine's, there were more hearts than usual. It's allowed. On Valentine's. 

>pls tell me it's u,because if it's my ex im gona freak out

I dared to hope, looking at those dots. It was getting chilly on her doorstep. But wasn't that my whole life, where she was concerned?

>pls leave. i rly dont want to have to call police again. 

I'd become the monster, hadn't I? At least her ex had the wit to get her into bed. I'd gone from the friend-zone to "

", and somehow managed to miss that sweet step in between.

She blocked my texts. Blocked me on everything I left her voicemail. She changed her number. I emailed her. She blocked me again. Every time I set up a new account, she blocked it. I wrote her. The letter came back unopened. 

I opened another beer, wrote her another letter. I showed up at her gigs. She stopped performing

I went to her place. She wouldn't open the door.

I sit here with a beer and a belly full of being ignored, passed over. Losing her hurt, but it's all I have left of her. It's a thick pain, I can almost hold it. I do hold it. Tight. My mate says I should 

That's all I can do... hold tight, hold on, hold out. 

love. It doesn't die or fade. The most important thing. You don't give up on it or let it go. It might be a naked blade, but you hang on like it's the only handhold on the cliff face. It might be poison, but you quaff it and call it scotch. It's too much to bear, but I'll bear it. 

 worth it. Because after everything, I still love her. Still want her. I'd do anything for her. I'd 

Mickael Gresset

White Hole

(Content warning in the comments.) AKA "Thallium", AKA "Nice Guy's Lament", AKA "The Problem With Romcoms". An Unreliable entry. You may have already read this one. I republished it for the Unreliable challenge. Thank you for reading!

Why doesn't she get it? 

I love her.

Those words are small, and what I feel is... not. She is not.

I love her. Always have. Always will. More than anyone else possibly could. I get her better than anyone else could. I want what's best for her.



White Hole

(Content warning in the comments.) AKA "Thallium", AKA "Nice Guy's Lament", AKA "The Problem With Romcoms". An Unreliable entry. You may have already read this one. I republished it for the Unreliable challenge. Thank you for reading!

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L.C. Schäfer

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Summer Holiday

White Hole

(Content warning in the comments.) AKA "Thallium", AKA "Nice Guy's Lament", AKA "The Problem With Romcoms". An Unreliable entry. You may have already read this one. I republished it for the Unreliable challenge. Thank you for reading!

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of .css-13w9qce-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-accent);}L.C. Schäfer

About the Creator

L.C. Schäfer

Comments (24)

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Keep reading

Summer Holiday

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of L.C. Schäfer