Hades's Ballad

He had attempted to win her back with a movie ticket, dinner, and a speedy late night drive home from Taguig to the darkened alleys of Fairview. The evening was carefully chosen, to be followed by a loose morning and a possibility of a follow-up call. He didn’t know which prospect appealed to him more; his mind was singular, eye on the prize, his words stranded in his throat.

They continued in silence. He kept a careful distance from her as they strolled away from the theatre house but each minute without touching her was becoming a lifetime of agony. He had spent the past ten years exploring her well-kept regions freely; not being able to so much as stroke her now, the mere thought caused a strong sense of defeat. His one arm, dying to be wrapped around her waist, stayed in languish. The contrast heightened with time.

The night was the wrong one for his purpose, he thought just then. He wanted to punch at the space in front of him, knowing in the end he’d be the one to get hurt.

She stared at him, smart in her bohemian shirt and pink lipstick. Her olive skin had turned deep orange under the street lamps. She was steadily breathing the air around them, as if it was easy for her, as if she was hogging it all to leave nothing to him. He couldn’t spot her smirk but he imagined the white even teeth disclosing and widening. Those teeth would bite the hope out of him.

He thought he was ready to give up the world for her at that moment when the clouds hung purple above them and the starlight beating the light years. He could ask her to love him back, and she might agree, say yes if it meant so much to him, but she would never let him touch her again.

The night had served its purpose, this time vowing never to be used this way again.