The Unrequited

by Saffron A. Kent

No one has ever made me want to do something as innocent as reading while simultaneously, making me want to get high and drunk.

“I told you, I have many talents. Sniffing out crazy is one of them.”

I witness their love story reaching its peak right in front of me. This is what requited love looks like. Shimmering. Grinning. Teary-eyed. We want it too.

Even outside, he’s without his jacket, leaving his elbows and his veiny, hair-dusted forearms exposed. What is it with me and his hands? I can’t stop looking at them.

“Stealing is a sin,” he tells me. “I’m not stealing.” I smile. “I’m borrowing. And don’t worry, I only borrow things that make me high.”

He is like my personal moon—unattainable, to be admired from afar. He is my cancer, slowly killing me, and I don’t even mind.

“Yeah.” His words drag in a lazy manner. “I was. In fact, I can’t stop watching you.”

Words have the power to make things true.

“Art is painful, Layla. It’s potentially dangerous. Explosive. It takes everything from you, sometimes more than you can afford. It’s a beast, and it’s always starving. You feed it and feed it…until you have nothing left.” He sucks in a breath. “But you don’t mind because you’d rather chase the high of creating something than live in darkness. It’s insanity.”

He breathes flames and lust, makes me forget everything and say yes. Yes to obsession. Yes to stalking. Yes to insanity. Yes to licking.

I go to him. I lift my leg and wrap it around his waist. My hands creep up and lock around his neck. I climb him like an ivy, toxic and poisonous and shameless.

I want him because he’s like me. He’s in unrequited love and I want to save him, somehow.

Could I be that vital to someone? It makes me want to hold her close even as I want to push her away.

I don’t understand what he is to me yet, but I know I can’t afford to find out. Already, I am in too deep. We have crossed too many lines.

“Because I’m selfish, Layla. I’ll ruin you, set you on fire, and won’t even look back. I’ll take and take until you’re empty and hollow.”

“Fuck you, how? With my big, hard cock?”

He is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, big and brooding, his face a mosaic of lust and need. Yeah, I’ll do anything. For you.

“Because unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul. That’s the most frustrating thing in the world, to be that powerless.”

He needs me. He needs to exert his power over me because his love has made him powerless. He needs me begging because his love has made him a beggar himself. The lust he feels for me comes from the love he feels for her.

Because I’m a girl who’s not supposed to be the love of someone’s life, not with my selfishness. I was meant to live in the shadows and secrets. I can be Thomas’ secret, for a little while, at least—until I absorb all of his pain and set him free.

How ironic is it that the only person who can make this go away is the very one who turned me into this shivery, anxious mess?

You want me to fuck you in my backyard, isn’t that right? You want me to bend you over and pound into you so you scream and wake everyone up.

I’ll pour the gasoline, light the match, and watch you burn, Layla—and trust me, you’re going to love it. I’m going to ruin you for every other man out there and you’re going to love every second of it.”

“This is what I think about,” he bites. “It doesn’t even matter if you’re around. This. Bursting every door down so I can get to your pussy. All I can think about is fucking you, Layla. All the time. Every time. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who dares to fucking touch you.”

We shouldn’t look for love stories where there are none to be found.”

If I focus really hard, I can pretend we’re two people in love. This is what happens when your love is requited. You control each other; you live for each other.

I almost want to break this awkwardness between us and be an easy person to talk to. But I won’t. I won’t be an easy person ever again.

Loving myself means fighting for myself, fighting for my sanity, and I will fucking fight.

“With you, I feel that I’ve never had any feelings before, like it’s the first time I’m feeling anything at all. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

“A lover is the one who waits,” he paraphrases. “Then, I’ll wait. Forever.”

Bravery is like falling in love. You don’t know if the person will reciprocate, but still you fall.

“It’s not pretty, our love story.” “It’s not.” “We break all the rules, and sometimes I hate that.” “Me too.” “But it’s ours.” “It is.”