This is a work of fiction. The author retains all rights. Reproductions are not allowed without the authors consent.
It is the first story I have submitted. I would love to hear from you so email me on exuinoxneo@hotmail.com and be honest with what you think (but not brutally!). You can even email me if you have any questions - which overseas readers may do because I'm Australian and you may not understand the meaning to certain slang words. Enjoy.
ONE
The hardest thing about being alone is the knowledge that you are alone. My greatest unvoiced fear would have to be that; to be alone and to die alone. I feel like I have no one to turn to when times get rough, no one to share my thoughts with at the end of the day, no one to quip at with stupid remarks that only they would understand, no one to laugh at my spontaneous jokes. But my greatest yearning is to have someone to listen to, someone to break the silence that is so pervasive in my life. Sure, I've had plenty of girlfriends in the past but I grew tired of not knowing what I wanted and not knowing what I felt. But I know what I don't want and I know what I don't feel. I guess that was the problem with my past relationships. Those three small words uttered in a whisper within an embrace. How can they mean anything to me if I don't feel it too? I tried to explain it those times they were spoken, but there was nothing I could do to keep it from ending in tears. I knew what I didn't feel, I knew what I didn't want, and that was that. Am I a cold-hearted bastard who turned into an unrecognisable monster? Well, that was how one of my ex-girlfriends described me, but I've now come to realise that my real problem wasn't that I didn't know what I wanted or felt; my real problem was that I have always known what I've wanted but didn't know how to get it. I have lived with invisible walls around me for so long that they've become invisible even to me.
I could regret the past, I could relive them and imagine all the ways I could have done or said something to make things better, but some things can't be changed. What can be changed is how we let it affect us. I try to keep a positive outlook and learn from my mistakes, but I know that those walls are still around me, always there as a reminder of why I'm still by myself when I go to bed at night. It has become hard to motivate myself in the mornings, hell it's hard to motivate myself altogether, but I remember a time when getting up was never a struggle and a battle with my own will. Sometimes I wonder why I even try, but then if I ever entertained that idea I may give in to it and sink back into a slumber never wanting to get out from under the sheets where the world can't touch me or see me. I can't allow that because the world would still be there and hiding from it doesn't mean that it still can't see me. So I go on because I know that one day I will find that something that I have always known I've wanted. But I won't be looking too hard though, I also have a life to live.
I guess that I never thought I would find what I was looking for on the university's inter-campus bus. I turned around in the bus aisle to seat myself and there I saw his eyes, they sparkled like green gems in pools of water. The moment was only brief but it felt longer than I could remember. At that moment something within me stirred. I felt a need greater than the pull of the tides. I felt a longing for something that I could only want or imagine in the deepest part of my dreams, but never allow myself to want or express for fear that I was undeserving of it. I couldn't understand where those feelings were coming from or why with such intensity they were there. Then he smiled, my first thought at that moment, though it was for a split second, was how much we take a person's smile for granted. I never knew how much a smile could light up a persons face so much, or how it could change those planes into a terrain of warmth and kindness.
He raised his eyebrow and suddenly I realised I was blocking the aisle.
Clearing my throat I stuttered, "S-sorry."
I stepped into the vacant seating to let him pass.
"You're okay," he said still smiling but with a hint of amusement in his voice.
I sat down, trying to understand what had just happened. I could always trust myself to react really inappropriately at the strangest of times. It occurred to me that even though he was practically less than a foot from me when I turned and found myself in his way, I couldn't remember what he looked like in general. I stole a glance towards the back of the bus in the direction he had gone just in time to catch him settling into his seat. His hair was dark, almost black, cut short, not into anything stylish but the fringe was frayed giving it a slight unkempt messy look, his skin was fair, a contrast to his dark hair that suited him but begged the question of his origins. He had very short facial hair that was groomed neatly into a goatee.
He was looking out the window when suddenly he turned his head and our gazes locked. It didn't last very long because I quickly turned away to face the front of the bus. I could feel a surge of heat rise to my face as my cheeks reddened and I told myself how foolish this all was. Not to mention strange and unusual. I focused my thoughts on my next lecture and absorbed myself in evaluating my plan of attack for the future assessments of my first year Psychology degree.
The bus rolled to a stop at the university's next campus. As I was walking to the lecture room I was still engrossed in thoughts of the looming assessments while I found a spot to sit down somewhere between the middle and back rows. It was crazy, I hadn't even started my first assignment and already I was worried. Maybe if I was a pure genius I wouldn't have anything to worry about, but as it is, you can't choose your I.Q. when you come into this world.
There was still five minutes left before the lecture started so I pulled out the course outline from a pocket of my notebook and began to go over it for the umpteenth time. It was only the second week into studies and the first assessment would be due in a few weeks. I resolved to begin the assignment this week to give myself enough time to write a sound piece.
Behind me I heard the rustling of someone seating themself. I took no notice; I was more preoccupied with studying the course guide.
"Uhm, excuse me," I heard a deep voice say from behind.
I turned to see if this person was addressing me and my breath caught in my throat. He was leaning close to my head. I could see the contours of his face, chiselled into perfect proportions. It was the same guy that was on the inter- campus bus. There was a questioning look on his face.
He glanced at my course outline and asked, "Do you mind if I take a look at that? I forgot to bring mine today."
His voice was peculiar, it was soft yet did not convey any shyness. The intonation and pitch of his voice rose up and down at certain words creating a melody that did not point to any distinguishable accent but rather to a uniqueness of itself. He raised his eyebrow again and once more I realised I was supposed to take action.
"Oh, yeah," I said quickly to hide my stupefaction. I handed him my course outline and he flipped through the pages until he found the section he was looking for. His eyes darted across and down the page and stopped near the bottom as he began to read.
"Hmm, the first assignment is due in three weeks and we have a mid-semester exam the week after too!" he said in near disbelief as he passed me my course outline back.
"Oh yeah, we do too." I said, "For statistics isn't it?"
"Yeah," he said. Then he smiled that smile which spoke of his inner self and which expressed more than a kind altruistic soul. He extended a hand to me. "I'm sorry for my rudeness, my name is Edric."
"Edric," I shook his hand and his name rolled out of my mouth as if testing the sound it would make. It was an uncommon name and I found myself liking it. He raised an eyebrow again and for the third time I found myself lacking a response.
"I'm March," I offered smiling back at him.
"Like the month hey?" he said, his hand was still gripped to mine, they were warm, soft, and firm.
"No," I said, and chuckled at the number of times I'd heard the remark. "Like a soldier on a march!"
Edric laughed at that, he was still holding onto my hand when he said, "I guess you get that a lot."
"More than you know," I said.
"It's a really cool name though," he complimented.
"Yours is too," I returned.
At that moment the lecturer whom I did not notice had entered began to speak. I loosened my grip and he let my hand go.
"I, uh, better start taking notes," I said.
"Yeah, ditto," Edric said, his voice expressed something I couldn't make out, perhaps an inkling of regret.
I turned my mind to concentrating on the lecturer and taking notes but my mind began to wonder. I could still feel the warmth of his hand around mine, a lingering sensation that defied any efforts I made to ignore. I focused on the task at hand and in no time at all I was getting into the flow of writing notes. The lecture was over before I knew it. I hurriedly stuffed my notebook and pen into my bag and prepared to leave with the throng of student's amassing towards their nearest exits.
I noticed Edric getting up from his seat as well. I said, "It was nice to meet you Edric."
He gave me another smile that lit his eyes. "Yeah, good to meet you too."
"I'll see you around then," I said.
"Yeah, see you around March."
By now the students had thinned out allowing me to exit the lecture room with ease. It was my last lecture of the day, I felt drained and I couldn't wait to get home so I could relax.
Later that night, in the moments before I fell asleep, I was certain I felt a presence looking down at me with kindness and understanding although I was alone in my room, and a name resounded in my head, echoing with a gentle force that carried me into my slumber; Edric.