There was always a look in his eyes. One that should have told me the truth all along.
But I was happy, for once. Complete. I reveled in my ignorance and, for the moment, he was there with me, making my world spin.
It was always the worst after long days. He would get into bed with me, after he thought I'd fallen asleep, and I'd hear him sigh. I'd peek, and he'd look at me, never with hatred, but always with sadness. Desperation. Longing.
I pretended it was me he longed for.
Pretending was easier than facing the truth.
So lie to me and tell me that we're gonna be alright
I knew it was coming, because he hardly ate at dinner. He picked and pretended to be fine, but I knew he wasn't.
He came to bed earlier than usual, early enough that I was still reading.
"We need to talk."
I removed my headphones. "I know."
He tried to tell me it wasn't my fault; that it was him, not me. I refrained from telling him that his excuse was bullshit and everyone said that.
He gave me that look again, but I knew it was the last time.
I had to let him go; the lie was over.
Lie to me and tell me that we'll make it through the night
I racked my brain for days on end for something that explained his sudden change of heart. A reason, a sign. Something that helped me realize he was really gone and never coming back.
To my knowledge, there was nothing. Nothing I had said or done—and nothing he'd said or done—explained why he'd abandoned me.
He came over a few weeks later with Riley in tow to pick up his things. At first I didn't understand Riley's presence—we didn't exactly need a chaperone—and then it hit me.
It was never me.
It had always been him.
I don't mind if you wait before you tear me apart
I try like to not to resent him—Riley, that is. It isn't his fault Ben acted like he did. Still. I can't help but hold it against him. If they hadn't spent so much time together. If I had been more attentive. If they hadn't been friends in the first place.
If, if, if.
I see them sometimes—galas, conventions, the like. And Ben always looks so damn happy.
I hate that.
Because, try as I might, I can't move on. I can't seem to get over him.
I can't help myself; I don't want the lie to end.
So look me in the eye and lie, lie, lie