Selfish bastard

I hold her hand firmly in mine as she quietly sobs; drops of tears cut through the eye liner and mascara, leaving trails of black down her rosy cheeks.
She hasn’t cried like this since she was sixteen, she tells me – When her very first lover broke her heart at the age of sixteen. It was when Daniel Evans cheated on her with her best friend in high school. 
She tells me that it was the most painful time for her in high school. I can’t say that I can understand how she felt, in all honesty – mainly because I haven’t had my heart broken in such a fashion before. Instead, I gently rub her shoulder to provide some consolation, in a bid to display empathy.
I tell her it’s Ok; everything is going to be fine. But I wonder whether it really is.
She wipes her nose with some tissue and looks at me; her dark brown eyes pleading for a little bit of sympathy, a little bit of explanation; her eye lashes, heavy with a mixture of salty fluid and semi solid chunks of mascara.
All I can do right now is bring her closer to my chest and hold her between my arms.
She looks up at me from inside my guard, like a vulnerable child; an innocent victim of cruel circumstances.
I guess I shouldn’t be blaming circumstances since it was my coercion that led to this situation.
I picture a sixteen year old Rosanna, crying on her doorsteps; crying because her boy friend broke her heart; crying by herself with no one to hold on to.
Come to think of it, I am not that different to the guy who broke her heart in high school. After all, I am making her cry now.  And all because of my selfish need to escape responsibility, even though I say it’s in the best interest for the two of us.
Face it, man; you are an asshole. That girl is the best thing that ever happened to you and you put her in such misery.

We always hurt the ones we love; that much is certain. But the real question is how much of if this “hurt” is avoidable, given that we make certain compromises on our part. If only we could put our self interests aside.
I gently move a strand of her dark hair with my finger and tuck it behind her ear. Lowering my head, I plant a kiss on her forehead.
I remember the very first time we met --it was at a friend’s party.  We had locked eyes the very moment we saw each other. Maybe it was the atmosphere – the music; the people; the ambience – but something out worldly was going on.
Call it love at first site, or infatuation; something was happening between us.
We didn’t talk that night, but met each other in-frequently for the next few months. Whether it was birthday parties or chance encounters, we would always feel the need to talk to each other.
The first few months were hard. I felt this strong sense of desperation; a need to be with her. But I didn’t know how to approach her. Sometimes, I would be next to her, but be too afraid to even open my mouth, dreading the fact that I might say something stupid.
The fact that we were continually surrounded by friends didn’t help much either. There were many times I would just wait for her to be alone, but that would never happen. And When I did get her by herself, there would be moments of awkward small talk, which would lead us nowhere.
When I wasn’t around her, I would want to be with her. And when I was near her, I would constantly think of ways to get away
Countless nights I would spend in front of the mirror, practicing what to say. I would reassure myself before going to bed that I was ready and that “tomorrow” would be “the day”. But every time I saw her, my knees would get a little wobbly and all that practice in front of the mirror would go out the window.
After spending half a year of having achieved nothing, I finally picked up the balls to talk to her. This was after a friend of mine warned me of the dangers of “the ship having sailed away”.
I remember the day I found her alone, sitting at one of the cafes in university. I was shaking with trepidation as I approached her. My knees were wobbly and mouth dry, but I knew that if I didn’t act that day, I would never act in the future. 
I knew at that moment that if I didn’t go talk to her, I might possibly spend the rest of my life alone, wondering why I never spoke to her; repenting never having taken the step that could have led my life in a better direction.
They say fear is a great motivator. Well, I guess it was the fear of never having her that urged me to do something that day.
There she was, right in front of me – sipping on a latte and reading some teen vampire novel; sitting with one leg placed over the other, while her long, dark, silky hair gently resting upon her shoulders. Her tight blue top complimented her lean figure, while the mini denim shorts revealed her legs’ perfectly carved musculature.
She was so much into the book that she didn’t take notice of anything around her.
Collecting her hair with both hands, she began tying it into a pony tail. That’s when she looked up and I quickly looked away and started fiddling with my cell phone. For a moment, she stared at me and then went back to reading her book.
With the corner of my eye, I quickly glanced towards her. There she was, gracefully reading the book. I could have watched her all day, just sitting there like that. I knew at that precise moment that if I let her go, there could not be a stupider and spineless man than me.
With determination in my heart and fists tightly clinched, I walked up to her with a big smile disguising my fear. With each step, I could feel my chest getting heavier; my heart thumping faster and faster.
“Do you mind if I join you”, I asked her with a boomingly loud voice; the whole cafe heard me.
She looked up at me, a little puzzled. For a second she seemed speechless, not sure of what to say. But eventually her lips curled into a smile and her cheeks turned slightly red.

“Yes, yes of course”, she said, pointing to the vacant chair in front of her.

I quickly introduced myself, trembling a little with fear. It’s a miracle I even remembered my name.
We started with a rather uneasy conversation; both sides not knowing what to say. My face felt like a furnace, while my shoulders went stiff. Every time I tried to speak, the side of my lips would shake uncontrollably. My neck muscles had become immobile, holding my head in an awkward position.  Between sentences, I would take frantically stroke my chin without even realising. 
For some reason, I kept recalling the time dad had asked me to join the free public speaking classes. Funny how certain things seem so important in retrospect, even though they seem worthless at the time.
Lucky for me, though, she found my behaviour cute – unlike other girls that I had met before. Most girls would have politely walked away by now or given me some stupid excuse.
As time went by, I started calming down. My heartbeat settled and breathing got slower. Before I knew it, we had a conversation rolling. Soon, we were talking about what schools we went to and the music we liked. It started becoming clearer to me that everything would be all right.
So, when I left, I did not leave empty handed – I had her number.
The rest, as we know it, was history.
Rosanna tucks her head under my chin. Her ear, pressed up against my chest, listens to the beat of my heart – Thump, thump, thump...
I have seen her do this many times. It’s as if listening to my heart has a soothing effect on her. Hours would go by and she would just lie on top of me, listening to the drumbeat in my chest. Sometimes she would ask me if something was bothering me, if my heart beat a little too fast. Most of the time, she would just fall asleep on me with a smile on her face and I would have to mover her gently and tuck her in.
“Do you think this is the right decision”, she asks me, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course it is. It’s for the best”.
Rosanna clutches me tighter with her hands; her fingers digging into my shoulders.
The poor girl; I am blatantly lying to her. The only reason I want this is so that I can cater to what I really want. There is nothing in here for her, except maybe pain and grievance.
I tell her it’s the best decision for the two of us; I tell her we are young and ambitious and we have a bright future ahead of us; I tell her that we are only twenty four years old and that we ought to enjoy our lives to the fullest.
Lying to myself is worse than lying to her. I have been telling myself the same lie so many times that I actually believe that this so called “bilateral decision” is not something purely driven by my own selfish desire to prolong an undeserved freedom. 
And yet, here I am, trying to remind myself that I am one of the good guys.
I guess that’s how they all feel – the bad guys that we see in movies and hear about in stories. The bad guys who, in the end, discover the suffering they have caused. 
Words like “It’s going to be all right” seem to have lost their meaning and become systematic chants for me. Every time I utter them, I realise just how vacant my words of consolation are. 
“Listen, you should have something to eat. I don’t think you have had a proper meal today”, I whisper into her ear, as I rub my cheek against hers.
“How can I eat? That’s the last thing on my mind”, she replies.
“I am such a”, she pauses and looks at me, “...horrible person”.
“No, baby, you are not. This is a perfectly rational and logical decision”.
“I just so wish that we didn’t have to do this”.
Another couple sitting not so far away is watching us, with concerned faces. I glance at them and they quickly look away.  Even the cafe workers are watching us now.
“I think we should go. We have a meeting in two hours”, I say to her.
----
Outside the cafe, we stand quietly, holding on to each other firmly. The heat from our bodies provides a little warmth on this cold winter evening. I gently rub her back and shoulders. Slowly, we move towards the car park.
It’s five thirty and already the sun has begun setting. The after work rush has just started building; people are pouring out onto the streets from their offices and workplaces.
Together, we walk past a bunch of school girls who are gossiping away. We also walk past some retail workers, men in suits and Asian tourists. All of them seem too busy in their own activities to take notice of us.
All the cars have started making their way out of the car park. I open the door for Rosanna and let her in. Quickly, I take the driver’s seat and turn the heater on.
We have an appointment at 6.30pm, with a couple by the name of Gillian and Steve – both in their thirties.
Gillian works for some fancy marketing company in Downtown, Auckland. While Steve works for some finance agency. I don’t know much about their work, but I do know that both of them are making a killing.
Last time we went to their house, there were martinis, fancy looking little seafood snacks, and some French cheese – the type that has blue and green fungus. We had chicken parmesan for dinner with some other dish that I can’t even pronounce.
Basically, we had the type of fancy food that they sell at high end restaurants.
Later on, Steve and I had some Mexican beer and watched the game on their 55” LCD television. Meanwhile, Rosanna and Gillian drank some non-alcoholic beverage on the deck, while taking in the see view.
The couple were leading a lifestyle that many of us only dream of. Dinners at restaurants that served exotic foods; attending social functions, where at least five people owned private jets or had deep connections in political and corporate circles; visiting Bali for vacations. They did all of that stuff.
Essentially, they had just about everything, except one thing.
Gillian found out last year that she couldn’t have babies. Since then, the two have been looking for someone to help them out with this problem.
I look over at Rosanna; she’s sitting with her feet up on the seat and lost in her own sorrows.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror and take a deep breath – This is it, man. 
Tomorrow, at this time, I will be flying to Japan, to start my new job as a journalist, while Emily will be going to her parents’ and living with them for the next nine to ten months. She’s going to need all the support she can get. Unfortunately, none of it will be coming from me.
I turn the car key and stat the engine. In less than two hours, we will be finalising everything. The legal advisors and any other support providers will be there. In less than two hours, I will receive the cheque that will not only support Rosanna till the end of the nine months, but also financially help me settle in Tokyo and give me a good start.
In less than five minutes, we will be on the main road and heading towards our future benefactors. Soon, we will be given the financial aid for a better future, in return for something that could have been ours.
All of this is happening because I refuse to face the consequences for something unintentional. If only I could man up and accept my responsibility.
I look up in the mirror and see tears flowing down my cheeks.
Rupert Clay, you are one selfish bastard.