LXXXII | Some Kind of Betrayal
❦
You locked me in a cupboard.
‘What? Why?’
I ask her.
The strand of hair
she pulls
taut
breaks off
between her fingers.
She smiles,
apologetic.
If you don’t figure out what you did,
there’s no point
is there?
‘But I don’t remember.’
Tammie shrugs.
You don’t think
you did anything wrong?
Her eyes narrow,
accusingly.
You think someone triggered you?
You think it’s my own fault?
‘It’s not that,’
I say quickly,
‘I just want to know
‘what happened.’
I see the hurt
in her eyes
and know my words
have hurt her.
Frustration hugs my chest
like a new best friend.
Tammie continues
tying
small knots
in my long hair.
I try to recall what happened
on my own.
❦
Lots of blood.
Lots of screaming.
Then, silence.
When I woke up,
I was at the hospital.
She was there too.
The one
in the bed was her.
I stood at her bedside,
my hand cuffed to a tall blue man.
She flinched.
Fear
flooded her grey eyes
when she saw me.
Scrambled out of the bed,
her bandaged head
bleeding again.
She screamed.
Said stuff I didn’t understand.
I listened.
She smiled,
her usual apologetic smile.
I cried.
Then, the blue man
pulled me up,
wrenched me from the room.
The linoleum hallway
was shaky and blurry.
The patterns on the ground
were very different
from the wards I’m used to.
I never
saw her again.
The next time
I woke up,
I was also in the hospital.
A different ward.
A different reason.
I’m the worst.
I really…
don’t remember.
❦
I’m alone in my room.
Her grey eyes
have multiplied.
They watch me
from all the portraits
I’ve bluetacked around the room.
Tammie’s right.
My painting sucks.
They’re all
the wrong shades
of grey.
Her eyes
in the story
are a deeper colour—
not just dark,
deep—
like they’ve got
red
yellow
green
blue
lights
inside the grey.
A fancy way of saying black,
I remember this lonely phrase
out of nowhere.
I turn off the light.
The LED bulb
glows,
angry,
for a moment in the dark.
I imagine myself
pushing her into the cupboard
so hard
she’s knocked out
from the blow.
I must be
some kind of monster
to do that
to my first love.
Even if she said something—
what could
possibly
justify that?
I press my face
into the pillow
and cry.
I cry
until I can’t breathe.
❦
‘You won’t leave me, right?’
I had asked her.
Suddenly.
My eyes
glued to the textbook.
There was a stifling feeling
in my chest.
A fear the struck me
whenever Tammie
closed her eyes.
She’s close now.
But not yesterday.
And not tomorrow.
My skirt rode up my thighs
so her hair
tickled my skin.
Her neck was warm.
‘I might,’ she murmured sleepily.
I stiffened.
Lowered the textbook.
‘Why?’
She opened her eyes.
Deep grey,
reflecting all the colours
of the rainbow.
Apologetic smile.
‘I can’t be tied down
‘forever.’
‘You won’t be. You said you liked me.’
She sat up.
The sun was still shining
but my lap
felt cold
and empty
without her head there.
I pulled the hem
of my skirt
to my knee,
hoping it warms up.
‘I don’t.’
She stares at me,
hair messed up
from lying down.
I wanted
to hold her.
Her skin would be cold.
She was always
cold to the touch
these days.
Was this change related?
‘We’ll go to different schools
‘after O levels.
‘We have different dreams.’
I closed
my textbook.
‘I’ll go to the same school as you.’
She laughed,
pushed me away
when I tried
to hold her.
Her voice
was harsh.
‘Don’t!’
It was distorted.
I thought it was their voice.
She sat back,
crossed her legs.
‘I want my own future, Fifi.’
And I followed her
from the carpark lot in school
to my house
as she described
the future she wanted.
It was beautiful.
It was exciting.
It was a happy one.
But I wasn’t
in it.
She didn’t mention
me
at all.
Her face was flushed
with anticipation.
Her eyes reflected more light than usual.
‘That’s nice,’
I said distractedly,
thinking of the times
she hugged me.
The intimate things we shared.
The way her hand
was always so close,
brushing my skin.
We were so close.
Now,
the future she painted
sucked.
It was too real.
In it, we were
too far apart.
Then our friendship—
our whatever?
What did all that mean?
I was about to ask.
But Tammie took my hand,
dragged me to my room
and took a picture of my bewildered face.
‘Today’s the last day,’
she said.
‘Now I’m free.’
❦
Since then,
I was convinced she was the one
who betrayed me.
Thinking about it now,
head swimming,
throat and lungs
burning,
hands going numb,
I’m wrong.
I was the one
who betrayed her—
and then I was the one
who forgot
because I couldn’t bear it.
I press my head
deeper
into the pillow.
I want to die.
Just let me die.
The smell of vomit
envelops me.
The liquid that fills my nose
is mine.
Long fingernails
scrape hair
out of my face.
Her familiar voice.
Fifi, why aren’t you happy for me?
I’m free now.
❦