A Residual Haunting

The couch groaned in commiseration as I flopped down. With a sigh, I rubbed my eyes, then began to take off my jewelry. It took minutes to carelessly unmake what had taken an hour and half to assemble, but it was sort of cathartic. Almost like I was cleaning myself of yet another disastrous date. 

“Bad night?” 

Slumped low in my green velvet chair was the reason why I wouldn’t go on a third date. Tristan raised his brows, his eyes alight with eager anticipation of a good story.

“It was fine,” I finally answered and got up to go wash off the makeup, grabbing the clothes I had already begun to take off. 

“So it was bad?” He followed me.

“No, it was fine. He was fine.”

“Yet, you’re here. Alone.”

“Not having sex doesn’t mean it was bad,” I challenged, finally looking back at him. He was leaning against the bathroom’s door frame, arms crossed and with that infuriating smirk on his face. 

“No, but that depressing little groan you did when you got home says otherwise.”

I didn’t answer, turning on the faucet and furiously washing the makeup I had carefully and eagerly put on, hopeful this one would be different. But I had known. I had known after the first date and still tried to fight against the impending thoughts by forcing myself to see him again. 

Lowering the towel, I discovered Tristan was still there. The humor was gone from his face though. Now he watched me with those concerned eyes and furrow between his brows, like he wanted to help but debating how. It's far from the first time he’s made this face around me. I closed the door on him and got changed. 

When I reemerged, he was back in the living room. Clink. Clink. Clink. He absently dropped coin after coin back into the hollowed-out candle jar I got while in Sweden. Sometimes, if I put my nose right in it, I could smell past the metallic tang of the coins and still catch whiffs of the tart lingonberry smell. Currently it’s being used as a cute piece of decoration to display the coins I’ve accumulated while in Europe. 

“So what was wrong with this one?” Tristan asked while continuing to watch the coins slip past his fingers. Clink. 

I sighed, once again flopping down onto my couch. “Nothing was wrong with him.” 

“So you would see him again?”

“No,” I hummed before more definitely saying, “No. I don’t think so.”

“So?” Clink. “Nothing was wrong with him, yet you do not plan on seeing him again?” Clink. Clink.

“At least not romantically.” I swiped the jar off the side table, moving it to the center of the coffee table. 

“Why not?” Tristan extended his legs out in that sort of taking up space way. 

“I…” Lunging forward, I swiped the little cheap, plastic flag that he was playing with. “Stop,” I snapped. 

“If you don’t like it, then why keep it? Why keep all this?”

I tossed the flag down beside the jar. “I like that they remind me of our time studying abroad. I like those memories. At least some of them.” 

“Don’t you think that might be the root to your problem?”

“What problem?”

“Why didn’t you like this guy?”

I blinked, thrown adrift. “What guy?”

“The one you just went on a date with.”

“I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes, slumping lower into the couch. “We just wouldn’t work.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I insisted. Meeting Tristan’s eyes, something in my chest sank. Or maybe it grew heavier? Like a weight had settled on top of it and is trying to drag me down. Looking away, I said softly, “I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“Try.”

“I can’t! I can’t. It’s just a feeling.”

“No it's not.”

“Oh and how would you know? They're my feelings, not yours.”

His mouth hitched up to one side in a sad sort of smirk. “You know why.”

I snorted. Crossing my arms, I twisted away, giving him my back. 

“You know it’s more than just a feeling,” he continued softly. “You’re seeking something.”

My gaze fell back on the jar and flag. Then darted to the picture frames scattered about. 

“Sage,” he prodded. 

“What?” I whirled back to face him. Heart racing, I glared. “What do you want me to say? What? That every guy I think, just maybe he could be the one, he falls short. They all have fallen short because they have never given me the same feelings I had around you!”

Curling forward, I cover my face with my hands. “None of them,” I said quietly. “Yes, some have given me butterflies. But none of them made me feel comfortable with the butterflies. I grow awkward and uncomfortable in my body.”  Lifting my head, I met Tristan’s warm brown eyes. “Only ever with you did I feel like I was still me, not putting on an act or turning into a shy, giggly girl. Only ever with you did I become braver. Only you ever saw me as someone who was sweet. But not the dismissive, ‘Oh she’s a sweet girl,’ but as someone who was also sexy. In a strange paradox, you made me simultaneously excited and nervous. You were my best friend. You also were probably my greatest love.” With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes. 

“But we never dated,” he stated.

I flinched. “I know. It definitely wasn’t because you were unwilling to cheat on your girlfriend.” With a smirk, I looked up at him again. “You wanted me. And the extent of it only became more apparent after we parted ways. But sometimes, sometimes I wondered if that was why. That you knew I was never going to be the side chick. That I was the girlfriend kind of girl and it didn’t matter because we both knew it would never work between us. Not with an expiration date on our program that meant we would both return to our respective homes and lives.” A heavy sigh deflated me. “Yet, you continue to haunt me.” I held his gaze, though I knew he was not there. 

“Am I haunting you? Or do you refuse to let go?”

Licking my lips, I caved and broke from his stare. “What if I never find someone like you?” I say more so to myself, because in the end, I was just talking to myself. 

“Like you said,” the imagined version of Tristan moved to sit beside me on the couch, “we would have never worked.”

“No. We wouldn’t,” I agreed. “I wish you stopped haunting me.” 

He extended his arms along the top of the sofa. “As you said, I’m not really here. I’m just a figment of your imagination. I’ll be gone when you finally let me.”

Falling back, I closed my eyes and pictured us sitting side by side. Indulging in the dream. But when I tilted my head back, it fell against the cushioned top, not onto a sturdy arm. 

I let out a heavy sigh at the candle jar, still sitting in its proper place, the coins equally undisturbed, then got up to go to bed.