I, Desire

"Ahahah... shit," Evan sprawled out of his mouth as he did something less graceful over the bed. After wiping his lips with his dusty white sleeve, he laid down with his hands covering his face, like a child facing their mother after missing the toilet. He was pathetic.

"This is the last time I'm helping you."

I reluctantly voiced these thoughts out loud for the first and last time. As I expected, my sternness made him giddy. I used to love his laugh: carefree and warm. Now, it was a hollow echo of what it used to be. Just like him.

We were links in a chain. Our friends jokingly called us "cold-blooded," always hanging on to each other for warmth but ruthless to others. I liked it this way, just the two of us.

He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me down to his face, his eyes a cross between a crazed psycho and an abandoned child. I could smell the residual stench of whatever he was drinking and see the bits of solid and liquid food around his lips and the corners of his mouth. I couldn't believe I had fallen for this animal. I couldn't believe it was Evan.

I wrapped my hand around his, trying to absorb the chill that spread throughout his body, but his hand felt like a corpse. I knew at that moment, staring into his sagging eyes, that I couldn't carry him any longer. His friends were killing him, letting him slowly collapse into a hole on the ground that I refused to fall into.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered, one foot out the door.

With the dark circles under my eyes turning my face into a permanent shadow, I was doubtful I would make it through April. It was my first year at university, and I felt like someone ripped off a bandaid that never stopped stinging. Class was boring. The students played dress-up as adults. Sometimes, yes, they made me feel younger with this grandiose maturity they manifested; however, most of the time, I felt bad for the professors who had to deal with them.

I wanted to achieve so much with my life. But I was losing track of the days, the weeks, the months since I last saw my family, last slept a full night, last breathed and forgot about assignments and my future. The world wouldn't stop turning, but could I stop spinning with it? I wanted time to stop; I wanted to fall without falling behind. I wanted…...something else.

But I knew what I had to focus on: exams. Nothing else could matter for the next month. I was constantly reading, constantly working, constantly alone. I rose with the sun but had to last longer. Be stronger than the flaming sphere that sustains our world. I knew this was what university would be like. I just thought I could handle it.

I walked to the library one early Sunday morning, watching the sun rise, but it looked tired, desperate, not ready to face another day. I planned to work until my hand went numb, but I saw a familiar face on the snowy streets. Pins and needles, stronger than those in my frozen hands, paralyzed me in the freezing winter air.

He was talking to some girl, laughing with a gentle expression on his face, one I had not seen in years. I stopped, feeling the small flakes of snow puddle onto my cheeks, leaving them wet and dry at the same time, like I just cried. Touching my lips, I felt the scales of dead skin form a scowl.

I walked to the library, sat down, pulled out my books, my laptop, my glasses. I must have grabbed the wrong ones since they fogged up each time I tried to work. I covered my face with my hands. Pathetic.

Walking home hours later, the streets barely lit, I tried to make that soft face. I tightened my lips and opened my eyes slightly but failed. My tears joined the slushy road, washed away by cars and snow. He didn't need my help. I… I needed help.

The next day, I followed my routine. Wrapped the same scarf around my neck and traced back the same road to the library, but this time, I stopped. I looked at that café.

It was bright yellow with daisies sprinkled around. The tables, the walls, even the pastries were covered in flowers.

Even with the right glasses, I couldn't see things in focus. Lines blurred, and my arms felt numb before I started working. I was scared.

I couldn't help imagining his arms around me, holding me and making me feel warm when I felt so cold. I wanted to do the same for him, but when he needed me, I left.

I ordered a latte, unable to read anything on the menu, but the server gave me a compassionate look as she left, a gentle look. I let out a tiny, desperate tear.

The bell chimed with the opening door, and I felt a wave of cool air surround me. Despite my incessant curiosity, I dug my face into my arms but felt a hand on my shoulder. I raised my head, knowing who it was - except it wasn't him.

"I didn't see you at the library today, Ishani," Harry remarked, taking a chair and sitting like a wave crashing onto the beach, trying and failing to sound calm.

"Oh, hey," I mumbled, deflated like a hot air balloon amidst a storm.

Silence followed in a sombre march, trailed by a slow parade of paranoid cars that splashed outside. I looked at my watch – it wasn't even seven yet – but I felt the sudden urge to go home.

"Sorry, Harry, I better head out now," I apologized, tucking my chair into the table and grabbing my bag.

"Wait," he uttered, grabbing my arm and releasing it immediately, surprised at his request. "Er, are you free anytime this week? I was thinking we could study together, maybe…"

I stood silent as a brick, heavy and stone cold. But I remembered. I couldn't be like that anymore. I didn't have anyone to fall back to – I was alone.

"Sure," I answered. "I'll have to… check my schedule, though."

"Yeah, for sure, for sure. I understand. Don't – don't worry about it," he muttered, his eyebrows betraying his composed exterior, ajar and tilted like a spilt glass, pouring out all his inner angst that I couldn't be bothered to handle.

I left without uttering another word, not even looking behind when I heard the waitress come back with my coffee.

I ran through the small crowds of people, feeling surrounded. Everywhere I looked, I saw him – Evan, my Evan… her Evan.

"Oh, sorry," I struggled to articulate with every person I bumped into, scared for my life that it would be him. Seeing him would destroy me and leave me puddled on the ground.

I locked the door behind me and collapsed to the floor. My face was so warm I thought I had a fever, but I knew that I just couldn't bear the embarrassment of hearing myself sob so pathetically. I was alone. I was hopeless. I was worthless, stupid, weak. And what was he?

After that, I couldn't focus. With exams a week away, I couldn't concentrate on anything. My hand shook when I tried to drink my coffee, which I made at home since I refused to study at the library. I didn't go outside. The sun blanketed the streets through my window in a cold, gray glow. I watched, sipped my coffee, let my glasses fog up with tears, and waited until I went to bed.

The week went by. I prepared for exams alone in my bedroom, my thoughts scrambled all over my bed, represented by the sheets of notes and lessons, books and coursepacks that forced me to sleep on the floor the day before my test.

I walked the long route to school that day, which was in the opposite direction of the library. The sun looked like someone dropped a speck of orange onto its pale yellow, and I felt I didn't need to wear my scarf anymore.

Sitting in my seat, ready to write, I looked out the window. I shouldn't have, clearly - he was there.

My instinct was to run to him, forgetting my exam, my dreams, because he seemed so much warmer. But timing got in the way.

"No more chatter, please," the proctor implored.

I turned my gaze away from the window to my empty desk. I glanced once more out the tall window in that room with the high ceilings like it was its own world. Evan stared back at me, and I couldn't tell if it was a look of longing or resentment. Same eyes.

I wrote my exam, trying to not let him cloud my thoughts any longer. No luck. I felt his hands in mine, comforting me, warming me, making me forget everything that happened and everything I was worried about. I took a sip of water, trying to focus. I wiped my face on my sleeve, but I felt sick.

Raising my hand, I couldn't tell what was wrong with me. The supervisor let me go use the washroom, and I barely made it there in time before I threw up.

It was orange. Bits of pasta from yesterday's dinner floated in the toilet, which someone had neglected to flush. The toilet water splashed in my face as I heaped over it, my nose full of bits of snot and old food. Pathetic!

I returned to my exam, my face covered in snot and a menu of what I had eaten that week. But as I sat down to write, even with the many eyes focused on me, I sobbed. Loudly.

I didn't finish the exam that day. Instead, I met with Evan after. I felt his hands again, rougher than the last time I felt them. His eyes were brighter, too: orange, despite their distinctive gray.

Despite the constant warmth I felt after getting back together with him, my stomach never healed. I hurled out my insides every day. But you know what? I was happy. Happy.

We went to dinner last night. We laughed so loudly we got kicked out of the restaurant. We danced in the subway station, caring nothing about the confused and concerned looks surrounding us.

He bought me a dress. It was a pink pinafore dress, like the ones I used to dress up my dolls in. I wore it as I got our new house ready for when he came home from work.

I walked past the café the other day. Harry was studying alone. I felt terrible for him - I could just remember how cold that life was, trying to accomplish impossible dreams alone.

But he saw me. He looked up and smiled.

I touched my lips, expecting them to have that same gentle expression.

But once again, they formed a familiar scowl.