He pauses here.
But I don’t think it’s to take a deep breath or gather his thoughts.
He pauses because he wants to let his words sink in. He pauses so he can stare at me, look me in the eyes and say, “The fact that I didn’t see you wasn’t because I was falling in love with your sister, it was because I was fucking blind. Because I’ve never noticed anything other than my soccer. So you didn’t betray her because what you thought was love, what I thought was love, turned out to be a simple matter of convenience. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? That I loved her. That’s why you wanted us to get back together. That’s why you were so tormented over our breakup. Yeah, you should save yourself the heart attack. It wasn’t love.”
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
That it was love.
That’s what he thought too. I can see it on his face. I can see it on his rigid body. He thought he was in love.
He believed it.
He believed it with every fiber of his being but somehow, it turned out to be a lie.
Somehow, Arrow and Sarah were a lie.
They were a perfect lie.
And the pain of it is so visceral.
The pain of it is so big and huge that it almost feels like it’s here. It’s here with us. It’s standing somewhere off to the side, casting its shadow on him and I have to go to him. I have to hug him and absorb him in my body.
I have to hide him from it.
But he doesn’t give me a chance because he goes on. “So now you know what happened. Now you have all the answers, don’t you? Now you know that I’m not only your nightmare, I’m worse than that. I’m worse because she didn’t make me empty, I’ve been empty all along. She didn’t kill my heart, my heart was dead all along. It was dead because I killed it myself. I killed it in my pursuit of perfection. I killed it because I wanted to be motherfucking perfect. I wanted to be the best of the best, to be on top. I wanted to be The Blond fucking Arrow.
“And so I destroyed every other emotion inside of me. And you know what? I’m glad. I’m glad because this is how it’s supposed to be. This is how I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be my father’s son. I’m supposed to be The Blond Arrow. That’s my destiny. Being great. Being fucking legendary. That is why I was born. That is what I’ve been working for.
“So get out of my face, all right? Take your love and get the fuck away from me. I don’t want it. I don’t know anything about it and I don’t care. All I care about, all I’m supposed to care about, is soccer. All I’m supposed to care about is being my father’s son. And my father’s son doesn’t fall in love. He doesn’t have emotions. He doesn’t have time for emotions or love or fucking friendships. I almost destroyed my career, my dream, my father’s dream over supposed love. I failed. But not anymore. So just leave.”
“No.”
I’m surprised that I said that.
I’m surprised that I said anything at all, that I have the strength to say anything after all the things he just said to me.
After all the things he said about himself and all the things he has realized about himself.
But I have to say something because I’ve been wanting to say something for a very long time and once I’ve said that, I’ll go.
I’ll take my love and I’ll leave.
I’ll get out of his face.
“You’re wrong,” I tell him, and his chest stops moving, or at least it looks like it. “You’re not a failure. You never were. You don’t fail because your relationship wasn’t as perfect as you thought it was or because you punched a guy or because you got kicked off your team. Or because you missed a goal or didn’t win a trophy. Falling down and making mistakes don’t automatically mean failing. It means you’re human. It means that along with being The Blond Arrow, the great soccer player, you’re also Arrow. You’re a human being and you bleed and you hurt and you stumble and hit the ground like the rest of us. So no, you’re not a failure. You’re only human.
“But that’s not all. There’s something else. Something else that you’re wrong about. Something very important. Your heart isn’t dead. You didn’t kill it. Because when Sarah cheated, it hurt. When she broke your trust, it hurt. When she betrayed you, it hurt. And when something hurts, it means that you can feel. It means that your heart is not dead. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? Because a heart never dies. You stomp on it; you stab it with a knife; pour gasoline on it and set it on fire; you ignore it and bury it in the pursuit of perfection. You do whatever the fuck you want to it, Arrow, but it doesn’t die. It beats and beats and feels. It feels all the things, good or bad, like this crazy little maniac that doesn’t know how to quit.