Lame traffic earring- part seven

No.

I can't do that.

I can't kill him.

I can't watch him die,

not again.

And this is him,

the real number 3.

The one that I still care for,

Even if he's not who he used to be.

The brush in her hand stopped moving.

Then you stay, she said simply.
You live here, in my perfect fake world, with the boy you can't save.

I looked back at the hallway,

back towards the pool,

where I left him waiting.

The choice was a weight I couldn't carry.

I didn't want the perfect world.

I didn't want the real world, if it meant losing him again.

There had to be another way.

A third option.

I swore I'd find one.

You know, I see what you meant,
When you told me what the old me used to say, before I died for real, and became the me I am now.
But that's the thing, you don't care about me, do you? You care about the old me. Well he's dead!

The words hit me harder than any punch,

harder than seeing the one who killed him smile.

We were back in school now, but not the real one.

The hallways were silent, and empty, everybody else on the roof watching the meteor shower. Including daikon girl and her favorite apparition.

That's not true, I said, but my voice was weak.
I care about you.

He laughed then, a sharp, bitter sound that didn't belong in the light.
No you don't.
You just feel guilty.

He leaned closer, the pink in his hair like a wound against the light.
But you know what?
Even if I don't remember the exact jokes,
even if the person who died in your arms is gone,
the feelings he had were real.
And the feelings I have now, when you look at me like that, they're real too.
He looked down at the floor, 
I think,
the old me meant the world to me too, actually.