Eternal

The text was like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut: “You need to stop sending me creepy stuff. im tired of feeling bad and i just want to do my work.”

Creepy. I guess it’s official then, I’m a creepy ex.

My body was shaking, shaking, and that little luminescent phone screen blurred as I pulled it away from my near-sighted eyes. Creepy. So that’s what I am now, for asking, for wanting to hold you up to honesty and morality. A creep.

I started to hyperventilate, chest heaving and fingers twitching. Jamal sat up by me and reached out gently to touch my leg, but I jerked away, suddenly furious. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed, flinging open the garage door and slamming it behind me.

He followed anyway. “Meg, listen—“

“No, get the fuck away. Don’t say it to me. Just don’t.” Whirling back I ran back inside and closed the door again, but to my annoyance he slipped inside at the last second.

“Dammit, Meg—“

“No. Just…stop.”

“Meg, I love you, and you’re not a creep.”

I broke down in tears then. Why, why, why. How can you think that of me? How can you love me when the one person in the world who’s supposed to love me thinks I’m disgusting? Jamal, I don’t understand you. Don’t say that.

He sighed and leaned back on his legs, his face uncharacteristically soft. There was silence for a few moments as I stood, hugging myself and sniffling. He glanced out the window and then back at me, eyes deep as canyons, yellowed fur glowing in a stray beam of sunlight. I looked down at him, scared for eye contact, scared that this one part of me could have the courage to say "I love myself", scared of what I don't understand.

"I just do," he sighed. "Unconditionally. Objectively. Always."