Frosted Tears

His eyes are glittering. “Please,” he says, “just one more chance.”

I look behind him towards my kitchen island. The roses he bought are sitting there. They are a vibrant red but too long for their vase. They wilt over the glass rim.

He steps closer. “Please,” he says for the hundredth time.

I shake my head slowly, wondering how many times I must say no before he finally gives up. My heart feels empty. Cold.

He must feel my ice because he says, “How could you stop loving me so quickly? Everything was fine a few weeks ago.” He reaches out as if to warm me, but I step back.

“You pushed me too far this time,” I say. But that’s not true. He pushed me too far a long time ago. I was just too scared to admit it until now. Too scared to be alone.

He cries and begs until I finally convince him to leave. When I shut the door behind him, I hear a clatter. The roses are splayed across the ground, and glass shards are nestled among the stems like frosted tears.

With him gone, there is only silence. Everything within me is silent. My heart feels so empty that I wonder if it is even there. I will not miss him.

I am a phantom. Not quite existing, but somehow there.

I have been drowning for so long that I think my soul has stopped beating. It is so weak I can no longer hear it.

***

It is the same night but a different boy. We are lying beneath his blankets, our arms and legs twisted together. He grazes his fingers across my arms. I want them to graze even lower.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers.

I close my eyes and inhale. He smells light and boyish. The kind of scent that you don’t think about until it is infused with memories.

The ceiling is twirling. Even though I am still, it feels like my entire body is swirling with it. The warmth of alcohol is sizzling in my veins.

Suddenly there is pressure on my lips. At first, I open them in response. I feel his tongue slide against mine, and then I turn my head. My stomach feels heavy. I tell him that I need time. I tell him that I like him, but I need time. Then I tell him that I have liked him for a while. The words spill out of me like fizzing soda. I had tried to push them down, but now they are suddenly outside me. I cannot take them back.

He tells me he is not interested in relationships. He tells me that part of him will never change. I nod my head.

“I agree,” I say as my stomach spins faster with the ceiling. “I don’t want anything serious either.”

***

It is a week later and the same boy. The air is streaming with voices and music. I am surrounded by people and filled with alcohol. I try to keep my gaze away from him. He fades in and out of my periphery like a fish swimming along a current. He is tall, but his shoulders are always slightly resting forward as if he wishes to be smaller. He constantly swipes his hands through hair that is too long. His hair and eyes are dark, but he is bright.

I face away from him and join a circle of people. I am starting to feel bubbles.

And then he calls my name, asking me to play a game. Every time I score a point, his hand circles against my back. He feels warm. I want to lean in, but I turn and talk to my friends instead. He has to pull me back in every time it is my turn.

After the game, he leans close to my ear.

“I want to talk to you later tonight,” he says.

I am smiling. Now I finally lean into him.

I say, “You’re going to fuck me up.”

There is a clatter behind him as my weight causes him to press against a collection of alcohol. Some of the bottles have fallen into the kitchen sink, and he turns briefly to put them back on the counter. Then he is facing me again. He is taller than my ex-boyfriend. I have to bend my neck to look up at him. I like it.

He wraps his arms around me. “No, I’m not.”

***

It is the same night and the same boy. We are sitting at my kitchen counter. I don’t know why we are sitting there. The stools are uncomfortable, and my couch is only a few feet away.

“You’re changing my mind,” he says. “I didn’t think I wanted to date anyone, but then I met you.”

Suddenly, I am not sitting on my stool but on his lap. He is warm and soft. When he kisses me, I do not turn my head away.

We are lying beneath my blankets, our arms and legs twisted together.

“You’re really pretty,” he whispers in my ear.

“You're going to stain my heart,” I say.

“You’ve already stained mine.”

For the first time in my life, I feel light, and when I wake up in the morning, I can breathe.

***

It is two months later and the same boy. We are walking among snow and lights, and I feel like I am in a movie. It never snows here.

I was in my room when it started. When I first walked to my window, there was a gray film along the sky and ground, but there was no snow.

Then I got a text from him. He asked me if I wanted to look at the Christmas lights. When I looked out again, the flakes had already begun to fall, drifting dreamily to the ground. They clung and gathered, and after a few minutes, the world looked like it was swimming in cream.

Around us, students are laughing and screaming, huddled together, digging their hands into the frost to make snowballs and snowmen. It is so cold, and the flakes keep getting tangled in my hair and lashes. They drip down my cheeks, but I cannot feel any of it. I just feel warm. The snow glows with peace. Specks of the Christmas lights shimmer off of them like glitter. They are crystals of happiness.

***

It is a few days later and the same boy. When I get to his apartment, he had made cookies. “Are they good?” he asks.

They are hard, but I nod my head.

Then we are in his bed. The light of his television shimmers on the walls. A movie is playing, one that I have wanted to watch for a long time. He has already seen it, but he is watching it again for me.

Tendrils of gray swirl through the air. He passes the blunt to me, and I press it to my lips. Smoke hits the back of my throat, and the herbal scent clings to my nose.

It is hard to focus. My eyes are heavy, but I don’t want to fall asleep. The main character says something that clings to me. “Treasure the experience. Dreams fade away after you wake up.” I don’t want my dream to end yet.

I edge closer to him.

When the movie ends, he asks if I like it. He is looking at me as if he is waiting for something. He says that his mom and sister cried when they watched it.

But I cannot cry. How can I cry when I am not sad?

***

We are at the top of my apartment stairs, and he is leaning against the brick wall. We are standing side by side, but his body is not facing me. Even though we are close, it feels like there is a large gap between us. I want to walk in front of him and make him face me. It is bright outside, and there is a crisp chill. Both of us have our arms crossed. He looks at me and then away.

He says, “I don’t like breaking bridges.”

He says, “I know this isn’t fair.”

He says, “It’s not you. I promise. I just can’t date. I tried. I just can’t date.”

He says, “I still want to see you.”

He is looking at me, but I feel invisible. I feel like I am not even there.

He says, “Do you have anything to say?”

“I can’t change you,” I say.

“Thank you for your honesty,” I say.

But I want to say, How could you stop loving me so quickly?

I want to say, Did you ever love me?

There are webs on the brick that I hadn’t noticed before. They cling to his sweater like lint. I reach out my hand, and he lets me brush them off. I try to mention the webs, but he does not even seem to notice that I spoke. Then I am looking at my own sweater, which is clean. I constantly glance down at my shoulder, at the brick, and swipe away at nothingness.

My heart feels empty, but my body is full and heavy.

He is glancing at his phone.

“I have to go now,” he says.

I nod, and then he walks away so quickly. He does not even look back.

I step into my apartment. With him gone, there is only silence. Everything within me is silent. My heart feels so empty that I wonder if it is even there. It feels like my heart is splayed across the ground like glass shards, frosted tears.

I will miss that there was a day when I never knew you.

***

It is the same night but a different boy. It is loud and hot and we are both drunk and sweaty. His lips are soft and full.

He says, “You’re really pretty.”

But it is late and his friends are ready to leave. I watch as he gets whisked away in the crowd like a fish floating along a current.

I will not miss him.