Illusions
SS by Amanda

Don’t set up to close at the ballet, it’ll spoil the illusion.

I was told that once.

Long ago, by someone I don’t even remember.

But that has stuck with me from that day.  Always etched in my head.  Always popping up at the most inopportune time.

But I never really gave it a second thought.

Until now.

I’m 30 years old.  I’ve made mistakes.  Hell, I’ve made plenty of them.  I’ve done and said things that I would give everything I own to take back. 

Part of my punishment for those mistakes, it seems, is that now I have to stand by and watch my best friend do the same thing.

Make the same mistakes.

Youth can do that to you.

It’s an illusion of sorts.

Youth deceives and misleads you.

It deceived Justin. 

His youth convinced him that he didn’t need her.  It convinced him that he needed more than her to satisfy his needs.  It convinced him that she was just another faceless figure in his life that he could abandon and leave without a second thought. 

But it was all an illusion.

But he believed that illusion.

So he cheated on her virtually from day one.  With the dancers, the opening acts, sometimes even the fans.

But, you see, the thing about illusions is that somewhere in the depths of your heart, you know they aren’t real.

So he continued to hold on to her.

And he knew that eventually, he would get caught and he would act like that didn’t matter to him one way or the other. 

But still, he would go to great lengths to keep her from finding out.

He told himself he did this because he liked the attention their relationship brought him.

But that’s not why he did it.

He did it because, somewhere in his disillusioned soul, is a heart that beats for her.

A heart that really doesn’t want to hurt her.

A heart that loves her.

That’s why he held onto her.

That’s why his bad boy façade dropped the moment she walked out the door.

And that’s why he’s living in misery now.

And I’m about to add to that misery.

I walk slowly into the room and look over at him sitting in the same chair he’s occupied all day. 

I know that he hears me enter, but he keeps his eyes focused out the window as they’ve been fixated for hours.

“Angela called for you,” I say softly. 

She’s his most recent fling.  The one Britney found him in bed with.  The one that brought an abrupt halt to his seemingly perfect world.

“You want me to tell her you’ll call her later the next time she calls?”

He shakes his head no as he continues to avoid my glare.

I walk further into the room, stopping at the side of the table in front of him.

“Britney asked me to give this to you,” I whisper as I place the box I’ve been carrying down on the table.

A box that is full of all of their memories.

All of their commitment.

All of their love.

Or as she calls it, all of their lies.

As I take a step back, Justin’s eyes move to the box.

I walk to the back of the room, trying to act like I have a real reason to be there.

And actually, I do.  I want to make sure he is alright.  Even though I know he is not.

I make no noise as I watch Justin slowly lean forward and pull the top off of the box.

He sits motionless for a few moments, his breathing getting heavier by the second, as he stares at the remnants of his relationship with Britney.

And then he reaches inside and pulls out the small, silver band that once adorned her finger.

Tears stream steadily down his face as he holds the ring in front of him for a moment before he slips it halfway up his pinky finger.

A ring that once symbolized his love and commitment to her, now symbolizes his deceit and betrayal.

I begin to walk toward the door as he rests his hands on the arms of the chair and leans his head back.

“Chris.”

I jump as I hear him call my name, turning slowly to look at him.

He doesn’t move as he allows his tears to fall along the sides of his cheeks and eventually onto his shoulders.

“How is she?”

His words are soft and meaningful and I know that his heart is breaking right now.

I struggle with my words as my mind wanders back to my meeting with Britney earlier in the day.

I don’t know what to say.  How to explain to him how she feels.  How she’s hurt.  How she’s devastated.  How she’s . . . . . . . . .

“Broken.”

As the single word leaves my mouth, Justin laughs sarcastically at himself and runs one hand over his face, finally resting his head in his hand as he looks back at the box.

I turn and walk out the door, leaving him alone.

There is nothing I can do to make his heart ache any less. 

He brought this on himself and now he will fight his own conscious. 

Because she is no longer a faceless figure that he can abandon without a second thought.