Phantom Honeymoon

Dedicated to all the fuckboys all over the world. Because distant and cold isn’t cool, and nobody will ever dedicate anything worthy to those poor guys.

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Do you even have a heart if no one has ever broken it? Or maybe you have a hole in your soul and are thus numb to feelings? In that case, those who have suffered from loving someone won’t pity you. They will only be madly jealous that you have never spent a night wallowing in thoughts, whether they love you or not.

The question is, how many times would you let the same person break your heart over and over?

How many more times can you get your hopes up and imagine you two being happy together? How many more times can you give him one last chance? Just to make all your dreams shattered and your hopes broken.

Where is the limit? Laila didn’t know either. Even after all those years, she didn’t know.

# Lost Souls

On a dark night, two broken souls, one dead, one yet alive, perhaps not for too long, walked to their last resting place, hand in hand.

Who would you choose? The one you couldn’t live neither with nor without? Or the one who made your life incredibly serene and peaceful?

Who would you choose? The person whose single touch caused scorching flames inside you? The one whose approval could make your whole day, week, or even month? He, whose sympathy could melt your heart? The one whose scorn could kill you?

Or the one whose love healed all your wounds? The one who never made you question the sincerity of his love? The one who would be behind you, make your life better, and whose love would sedate you?

Who would you choose? Neurotic addiction for a person who would give you the highest highs and lowest lows? Or a peaceful life filled with love and happy emotions?

One lonely tomb for two bodies; the two walked there in the darkness. Which one would go, and which one would stay?

Two loving souls, two loving persons. Perhaps they love one another; perhaps they love the same person…

And yet the one who loved the other had to decide, right then and there. Right by that tombstone, once and for all. Whether two souls would go to the same tomb or part eternally.

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But that wasn’t always the case. Back to where it all started.

#1 A fine evening

Everyone donned their best cocktail outfits to enjoy the night full of literary bliss. Perhaps for the importance of the poetry award, perhaps because the venue belonged to an expensive hotel.

The burgundy-red walls of this luxurious hotel had seen much more important events and guests.

“Loving you is like loving the moon,” Laila said, hesitating to the microphone before a small crowd of 50 people. At first, her own voice made her feel excited as it reverberated in the hall. She never read her own poem to even a small crowd, let alone to such a well-read one.

Tonight, the crowd was cheering for the award Laila’s poetry book received. This award would be her first.

Laila invited a few friends and her family. However, that night, her eyes were looking for only one person in the crowd—Ian.

Unable to spot Ian, she continued to read an excerpt from her award-winning poem. Laila’s voice was shaking, but not from the excitement of the award. By that time, she was over it. She shook(synonym) in anticipation of seeing Ian.

Laila remembered how every day she would expect him to come and say hi to her at the plaza. And then come back later for some small talk. Every day, she lived for those few minutes of chatting with him. Everyone around her started to think she was manic-depressive. Laila would wait for him in excitement. Seeing him, her energy would go through the roof, and then after he left, she would be drained and act like a ghost.

What if he won’t come? She did all those beauty procedures leading up to that night just for Ian. If not for him, she would just take the award, enjoy the night, and go home.

Laila wanted to prove to Ian how she made it after he left her. How she deserved to be loved. How successful she became. And most of all, to read this poem that she dedicated to him, looking into his eyes. Perhaps making him feel guilty would cure his fuck-boy energy.

Laila wanted to read all those bitter feelings she had bottled up for two years staring into his eyes. Deep down, she hoped that maybe then he would love her. Oh yes, he would take me back and love me the way he “sometimes” did, she thought.

“You are just as cold as the dawn,

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You are far away, and yet you beam,

Just like the moon, unattainable,

Just like the moon, unforgettable.”

Laila raised her eyes. She looked to Jennifer, her colleague and best friend, whom she appointed to look for Ian and give a sign when he entered.

Maybe I failed to see her sign; she persuaded herself.

As everyone stared at Laila in excitement, she found Jennifer and Phoebe right next to the podium for the speaker.

Here they are.

They weren’t smiling, and they shook their heads.

He hadn’t come yet. But he will. He told me so.

The crowd went a bit emotional with the dramatic pause. Of course, the ones who weren’t staring at their cellphones.

“Just like the moon

Just like the moon

Just like the moon…”

She casually checked her reflection in the side mirror in a black designer dress, accompanied by sleek shoes.

Laila felt already exhausted before even stepping in to read her poem that evening. In the weeks leading up to the opening, she did numerous beauty procedures: clean eating, fitness, massage, skincare, haircare. She even lost weight specifically for that night.

She diligently chose clothes and maxed out her cards for the impeccable outfit and jewelry. Even though this award gave her no monetary benefit, she wanted Ian to believe that she had changed her life 180 degrees. She wanted him to think that she had made it, that she became rich, very successful, and famous.

Her hair and makeup were also done by professionals. She never looked this good. Tonight, Laila enchanted everyone with her beauty. It was all for one person, who had yet to arrive.

The time was passing, and Laila’s poem wasn’t endless after all. She raised her head to look one final time at the crowd, which continued to listen to her poem with a broken heart.

Laila longed to be worthy of his love.

When Laila sent a letter inviting Ian to her award ceremony, he acted starstruck and even texted her.

“I’ll try to come,” he wrote. If anybody else said it, Laila would consider it a no. With another person, Laila would even say; How rude! He didn’t even properly accept or decline to RSVP. However, his maybe meant yes to her.

Since the moment Ian finally texted her for the first time in a year or so, Laila didn’t feel like her usual self. She was flying in the clouds.

Frantically moving like a hyperactive person, surviving on water, coffee, and tea, and constantly peeing from anxiety. She kept changing poses, acting chill or fun, to mark his entrance as nothing important for her.

Ian gave the exact emotion to the news of her winning as she calculated. A validation, an interest in her.

A validation that Ian would promptly cease to give after he satisfied himself thoroughly with her body. However, when she got finally published and received an award, he was starstruck. It was always the reverse. Although Ian had wealthy parents, he lacked a few things like talent, emotional intelligence, and the ability to attain something without the help of his father’s wallet. As all rich people do, he too wanted to connect with the eternal, high art, with the talented crowd. After dozens of cars and holidays, what could you possibly brag about? Of course, about creative, famous people that you know personally. Maybe this was Laila’s last opportunity.

However, Laila loved him, not because of his status. She fell for his magical aura.

I have to show that bastard how I’m doing great financially. Revenge body checked, revenge style checked. Ian only had to come to see her and take her in his arms. She longed for his strong arms and tight grab that almost hurt her ribs.

It was like wedding preparation. Laila’s girlfriends acted as bridesmaids. This award ceremony was their secret, sacred wedding ceremony with Ian, and only Ian didn’t know about their pretend wedding.

Laila caused great pain to organizers. She rescheduled the ceremony from Ian’s birthday to the next day so that he could come. Even though she risked straining her relations with the Publishing House.

On the day of the award, before the ceremony commenced, Laila didn’t act like her normal self either.

However, right now the night was about to end, and he, as every hot ‘n cold guy, as every distant fuckboy, wasn’t around.

Jennifer came to shake Laila to bring her senses, as always.

“Stop ruining your happiest day for that…” Jennifer looked around to see if anyone had listened to her. “What a fuckboy. Is it a surprise though? He failed you every time he could,” she whispered.

Her words had the effect of splashing cold water on Laila.

Laila hugged Jennifer and shook her head in agreement as she battled to let go of her tears.

Every time I would forget Ian, he would rise from the dead and come back to my life. Just to fail me again.

As if the two had a mental rope. Whenever Laila quit tugging that rope, Ian would come to clench it in her hands. When she started to pull that mental rope, again, he would resist.

-0-place, her verse ended before. The last verse was about to end. Laila was going to read the last line, and then everyone would leave. Maybe he’s somewhere here. All these thoughts made Laila spill her tears on the book. She looked at the crowd.

Imagine how he broke my heart as I wrote it if you are all devastated by my poem.

Winning awards came after one too many restless nights and a sink full of tears for the stone-hearted hero of her poem.

Aren’t they all stone-hearted anyway?

Laila felt a sudden pain in her chest. As if her soul had crashed inside. She felt uneasy and knew for sure that Ian would not come.

I lost him one final time.

She felt like she had lost Ian for the last time. She was farewelling him.

Everything started to seem meaningless to Laila. She didn’t care about these people being here tonight. She didn’t care about being successful if Ian didn’t know. She didn’t care about this small, influential award that not many people outside the literary circle knew about. Even though it promised a lot for her future career.

“Just like the moon… Thank you all.”

Laila was shaking, and by the time she read the last verse, her girlfriends had come to lull her. Her “pocket boy,” or the eternal friendzone dweller, Thomas, came out from the crowd.

“Pocket boy” was a made-up term by Laila and her friends. They called the good guys interested in them pocket boys and would talk to them only when they needed something. Most of the time, pocket boys were unaware of their friendzone status.

She could barely stop herself from crying. The crowd thought she was sharing her emotions with them the way modern ballet dancers would. However, it wasn’t for the sake of acting. It wasn’t for the sake of art. Laila was shedding her tears for the bloody gore in her chest that was left unhealed one more time that night. She desperately wanted Ian, who was the solo author of all that pain, to magically change and reverse what he had done.

As her colleagues, sisters, and girlfriends, one by one, hugged her, she felt a terrible, heavy blow to her chest. It wasn’t even because Ian didn’t come. It was a surreal, unexplainable feeling. As they kissed and dropped congratulatory speeches, she shed quiet tears while maintaining a smile. Luckily, nobody noticed. Nobody, but a single person that Laila refused to notice as he kept offering his heart to her, Thomas.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked Jennifer.