Artwork © Eric N. Peterson

 

Wilting

She felt like half of a person. She drove into the night, each passing streetlight a blink on the dashboard window, trying to bring her back to civilization, and her senses.

She’d never felt more of a mess. And she’d felt like a mess most of the time. Her eyes felt cracked and dry, and her face was that kind of swollen that only days of crying could produce. The dark sky flitted down around the blazing red and white haze of headlights, like it could be lifted at any moment.

Amaya couldn’t care what time of day it was, or where she was. Because the only thing that was on her mind, the only thing that was on her mind, at all, all the time, if she was being honest. Was that she and Marley had broken up again. No matter where she was, no matter what she was doing, that simple fact dragged her down and split her apart, over and over.

It wasn’t even that they had ever even properly been together — they texted constantly, they wore each other’s clothes, they shared Spotify. They cuddled, they kissed, they touched each other.

Marley was the only person that Amaya had undressed for. They spent years being there for each other, endless phone calls, days and days of cuddling on Marley’s bed. Amaya adored her more than she adored anyone. She loved her so deeply with a passion that shook her very bones. And Marley—just seemed to want her body?

Amaya didn’t understand it. She had done everything for Marley, been there for her always, but it didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t seem to be enough. It was like she had always fallen short somehow. She’d made peace with that fact, that they wouldn’t be together. But every morning her chest hurt with the pain, she cried about it constantly, and every time she thought she was going to get better, she ended up feeling worse the next day.
It was torture.

 

So here she was, with very little means of holding on, or moving on. Another person was almost out of the question, Amaya found it hard enough to make friends, so being as awkward as she was, it was nearly impossible to find girls that she liked. All she had to do now was pretend to be happy for Marley when she told her about all the other girls she wanted. Find a way to cope with being forever Marely’s friend. Amaya tried not to think about how lonely that sounded , and how hopeless it made her feel.

The press of her soft lips. Amaya fought the urge to squeeze her eyes closed in pain. It was worse when she remembered how it felt to be in her arms.

The thing about being in a lot of pain is, it feels good when you make others feel that pain. Amaya had felt herself growing meaner, more curt and snappy when with others, and feeling the feeling of empathy she usually had quite quickly slipped through her fingers. She was impatient, she was deeply hurt.
She wanted her reality to change.
And she wanted to be the one to change it.

What she had with Marley was so close to what she had always wanted. And how she could never get it back again. Desperate. Bargaining. In her mind she was flailing, pulled under by regret and pain. Will it ever end?

The thing was. Marley was Amaya’s first. First everything. First love. First kiss. First time she ever showed her mostly naked body to anyone. Amaya had spent literally years pining after Marely waiting, painfully waiting for something to finally happen between them. And when it did, she thought it would be everything she had dreamed. It was not.
Because Amaya was not Marely’s first anything. Marley had flirted before, flirted around, felt everything Amaya had felt before. Maybe she was jaded by everything she’d already experienced. Maybe Amaya was really just something to pass the time for her, nothing more.
Amaya offered a pale copy of what she had experienced, nothing more.

Maybe that was why Marley didn’t feel like the whole world shattered and rebuilt when they met. Maybe that was why she didn’t feel anything. Amaya didn’t bring anything new.

There were better people out there than her, which was why Marley kept choosing them over her. It was no one’s fault. Just the curse of first love.

 

Thandie Grant enjoys writing about complex and serious matters, such as LGBTQ issues, generational trauma, the cost of living crisis and navigating different relationships with friends and family as you grow older. She also loves listening to music, the theatre and creating comics.

Eric N. Peterson is from Atlanta, Ga. He’s been drawing cartoons all his life. He leans towards the absurd, imaginative, and the surreal, as that’s where all the flavor is.