Over
by Derora

//I can see, you're slipping away from me
And you're so afraid, I'll plead with you to stay.
But I'm gonna be strong, and let you go your way.// **

It's over.  I can see it in the way he stays late in his office, as if
he were *so* busy out here in the middle of nowhere.  I can hear it in
his voice, when he hesitates a second too long before saying, "I love
you, too."  I can feel it, oh gods, in the way he doesn't touch me 
until he's almost forced into it.

I should be grateful, I guess.  It's lasted longer than I expected.  
And shorter than I wanted, of course.  Why does it have to be so fucking
hard?  I swear I don't understand.  You want someone, they want you.
You try it out, it works, and you have fun.  And maybe, just maybe, you
fall in love.  Why can't that be enough?  Why is it always so awkward,
so painful?

And you know what the worst thing is?  You can't even enjoy the pain,
bad as it is.  You can't just break down and wallow in it and get off 
on the fact that life just sucks.  No, you have to be a *man*.  You have 
to be a tough guy and tell him, 'Hey, no, it's cool.  No problem.  No big
deal.'

Damn it, it *is* a big deal.  I love him.  Yeah, go figure.  He's the
one who talked me into this, and now I don't want to let him go.  But
he's already gone, isn't he?  I can feel the distance that wasn't there
before.  I can smell his fear, feel his discomfort.  He's ready to go.
I want to fall to my knees and wrap my arms around his legs so tightly
that he'll never leave me, but I won't.  I can't.  Oh, gods, I want to.


//Our love is gone, there's no use in holding on
'Cause your pity now would be too much to bear.
So I'm gonna be strong, and pretend I don't care.//

'Tom, we have to talk.'  Shit, I hate that phrase.  If I had a credit
for every time someone has said that to me, I'd be a rich man.  And you
know, it's always *them* saying it to *me*.  Never the other way
around.  That's kind of pathetic, now that I think about it.  Do I need
sex so badly that I can't dump anyone?  No.  Face the facts, Tommy Boy.
You know what you need.  And every once in a while, you have it for a
short time.  Like now.

So what goes wrong?  They know what I'm like, I know what they're like,
so everyone goes in eyes wide open, right?  But every fucking time, a
few weeks, maybe a few months later, it's 'Tom, we have to talk.'
What's there to talk about?  They just say 'it's over' and assume that
I'll say 'OK' and leave quietly.  And I do.  I'm always so overpowered
by the pain that I can't make my mouth say the words to argue, to 
plead.

You know what he said?  That I was smothering him.  Can you fucking
believe that?  He chases after me, and *I'm* smothering him.  Maybe I
do.  I just want...more.  I mean, if you're going to let yourself love
someone, why shouldn't you want it all?  Is it really that much to
expect, that the other person let you in, offer up everything?  I don't
think it is.

He wants space.  He thinks we should just be friends.  Hell, friends I
got, but sure, why not?  Friends.  We'll have a drink, we'll shoot a
round, and I'll smile and everything will be copacetic.  I can do a 
good 'friends' act.  I've certainly had enough practice.  Sometimes it 
feels like half the people on this ship are my *friends*.

I'm so tired of this.  I honestly wonder why I keep trying.  There's
just this hole inside me that needs so much.  Sometimes I feel like 
it's gotten so big that it's eaten the rest of my body away and all 
that's left is the hole.  No more me, just a hole.  And I don't know 
how to fill it any more.

Come on, Tommy Boy.  One more time.  Tough it out, put on the Flyboy
face.  Don't let it show, don't let it out.  If it gets out, it'll take
me with it.  And then there'll be nothing left.


//When you say it's the end, I'll just hand you a line
I'll smile and say, 'Don't you worry, I'm fine.'
And you'll never know, darling, after you kiss me goodbye
How I'll break down and cry.//


** "I'm Gonna Be Strong" by Mann & Weil, c. 1964, used without
permission.