On the Antagonist.

I was a few steps behind him, keeping my thoughts to myself when he interrupted them: "You don't ever have to see or speak to me again. I'd understand." 

I don't understand why people say things like that. If I don't ever see or speak to you again, I'd expect you to understand. I don't need confirmation of your abilities. However, regardless of what I can or cannot understand, I've learned he hates when I don't give him some kind of response. So I nodded, not in agreement but for acknowledgement. My fingers found his and hooked on securely. He squeezed my fingers. 

"Please, don't write about this." We laughed in unison. 
"You know, it's funny you mention it. I wanted to ask you if I could write about you! Why can't I?" 
"Fuck you! Damn you! You just can't write about it! I'm not just another fucking story!"

With that, I let go of his fingers. 

It's not the first time I've heard it. It's unfortunate to know that they see themselves as stories. Or maybe it's more unfortunate that I only see the experiences as stories to be rewritten, retold, and shared for my own benefit. They all feed my insatiable need to write. They are just another antagonist to my protagonist. Another chapter to be written. Another conflict to be resolved. Another theme to be explored. None of them have ever been introduced as heroes. 

"Fine! Whatever! Do what you want."

I said good bye to him but because of my horrible timing, got stuck at the crosswalk. How convenient: I couldn't stomp off in my true dramatic style. I must've looked pathetic. I felt him nearing me. 

"I just want to give you a proper goodbye. You know, a hug." Like, what normal people who are attracted to one another do, right? I didn't resist his embrace but I didn't accept it either. I stood there while he held me, which was surprisingly longer than our usual embraces.

"Good night X."