ABOUT: Based on the song by Something Corporate. This was my first story of this sort (being based on a song). The song is so detailed that it just put this story in my mind. It's also one of my only stories that contains relatively sane people, and a happy ending. Click here for more stories.
Konstantine
I could tell she was only staring through me as she sat on my couch that night. My best friend. My only friend. She had been around, that was for damn sure. I could never imagine how many people she had known in her life, or all the things she had seen. And every night she was out somewhere else, with different people, doing something new. She could never settle down. Like that old saying: some birds aren’t meant to be caged.
She had big dreams. She wanted to be a star; she wanted people to look up to her. As time had gone by, I could feel myself slipping between her and her dreams. I kept her here, in this ridiculously small town. I was stopping her from being what she could have been.
I knew her dreams, but she didn’t know mine. She was my dream. She was all I dreamed about, all I cared about. I dreamt of her and I in the future. It was always so real, so perfect. As she sat here in front of me, I could feel those dreams slipping away from me. I could feel her dreams slipping away as well, a more painful loss than my own.
She sipped her vodka and wiped the tears from her eyes. It killed me to see her like this. I sipped my own vodka and watched her suffer. She was so afraid of never amounting to anything, of spending the rest of her life in this stupid town. The poor girl was so disillusioned. Her entire life was based on the pretense that the present wasn’t real, that it was just a temporary stop in her journey through life. And I’m sure it was.
We drank more and more as the evening progressed. I listened as she told me about her many fears. How afraid she was that all her hopes for the future, all the prayers she had sent to the sky, were crashing down to the ground around her and all she could do was watch. I said nothing, I knew it was true but couldn’t bring myself to confirm it. I couldn’t tear her apart like that; I couldn’t tear myself apart like that. Her dreams were crashing to the ground in flaming heaps of destruction and it was entirely my fault.
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I woke early the next morning with a splitting headache and no recollection of most of the evening. I rolled slightly to my right and was startled by the presence of her in my bed. Good God, what had I done? I could only imagine…I didn’t want to imagine. I slid carefully out of the bed and pulled some boxers onto my naked body. Christ, what had happened? I couldn’t remember. We were drinking, talking…went upstairs. My head throbbed as I realized that whatever had happened that night was most likely the biggest mistake I had ever made.
I stared down at the lump her tiny body made as she rolled over under the sheets. The four-leaf-clover sheets she had bought me for St. Patrick’s Day. I smiled slightly remembering the day she had given them to me.
“Patrick, it’s your day, and these are for you!” she had told me with a smile.
My day, St. Patrick’s Day, she thoroughly got a kick out of that.
“My favorite Irish boy.”
“Boy?” I had said, “I’m five years older than you.”
Five years older. Jesus Christ, she was only seventeen years old.
The smile faded as she shifted around in bed some more, restlessly. I crept out of the room silently and padded down the stairs to the bathroom. How could I? I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror. I ruffled my short black hair and splashed my face with water. What have I done? I took advantage of her. She’s only a kid, for Christ’s sake Patrick!
I heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly wiped the water from my face with a towel. I staggered out of the bathroom and looked up the stairs. She stood there silently, her blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back. I smiled hopefully. She was so beautiful standing on the staircase in her underwear. So beautiful, so innocent. What the hell have I done?
She descended that staircase almost silently. As she stood beside me, I reached up to touch her. My hands were shaking, and I could only bring myself to scarcely run my hand through her soft hair. My chest ached more than my head at this point, as I realized that our drinking that night had gotten me less than what I had before.
“I have to go,” she said quietly, staring into my eyes. “I have to get out of here.”
She gently took one of my shaking hands in her own and stared at it curiously. Tears formed in her crystal blue eyes. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, I could only imagine. Or hope. I hoped that she wasn’t hurt by what we had done. I hoped that she knew she had to get away before I completely prevented her from doing what she always wanted to do. And, deep down, I hoped that seeing me like this caused her to hurt and to feel for me in a way she never had before.
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We both got dressed and went outside to my car. I drove to her house. It was still dark outside; it was probably about 4 am. I couldn’t tell, the clock display in my car had been broken for over a month and I didn’t feel like getting it fixed. In the seat beside me, she stared out into the darkness. She was so alone in the world. But then, so was I. But she would never know how well I knew what it was like.
When we arrived at her apartment, I walked her to the door. She asked me to come inside. I agreed, though I’ll never know why. After what had happened the night before, I would have rather felt the pain of being away from her than risk another big mistake like that. Once inside, she asked if I would mind spending the rest of the night/morning on her couch. She wanted to sleep, but she didn’t want to be alone. She was afraid to be alone. She said that if I just stayed on her couch the rest of the night, she’d feel much better and would be able to sleep. Despite feeling a bit insulted and alienated, I complied and settled myself down on the couch.
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When I woke once again, it was nearly noon. The apartment was deathly silent. I forced myself up off the couch and down towards her room. She wasn’t there. In fact, she was nowhere to be found inside that apartment. She had taken nothing of notable significance with her and left. As I returned to the couch, I spotted a piece of paper on the coffee table. On it were scribbled the words:
I’m sorry Patrick, sorry for everything. I had to get out. I’m sure you’ll understand. I love you, Patrick, always will. You’re my favorite Irish boy and don’t you forget that. I’ll be back someday, I can’t let you go. But I have to know if the first star I see is really my star. And right here, right now, there’s no room to live.
Below this was an address. She had been planning this for a long time, she even had a place to stay set up already. There were a few water spots on the paper, most likely from her tears. In some sadistic way, it comforted me to know she had cried over me. But I cried too, staining the paper with my own tears. I folded the paper and tucked it inside the pocket of my jacket. I left the apartment that afternoon, locking the door behind me, with no intention of ever returning.
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A few months later I hooked up with another girl. Her name was Julie, or something like that. I didn’t really care at the time. I was trying to forget. To forget my girl, my Konstantine, “the one that got away.” Maybe I did it out of anger, out of spite. Some part of me thought she’d be hurt that I was with another girl. And I think I almost hoped she would be. I wanted her to know that I was here with some other girl and it was all in spite of her. I wanted her insides to ache and scream like mine had the day she left, the day I lost her.
A part of me died that night with Julie. I died in her arms. But I think it had to happen. I left her as she slept, left her apartment and returned to my own home. I settled myself down in a chair in my room and picked up my guitar from the corner. My fingers graced across the strings effortlessly as my mind wandered. I was in a band now. We got a record deal with an independent local company and were planning on going on tour soon. Wouldn’t she have been proud?
While searching for a pick in my jacket pocket, I discovered a small scrap of paper. Before even removing it from the pocket, I knew exactly what it was. I pulled it out and unfolded it. Emotions rushed back to me as I read the words on the tear-stained paper. I stared at the address for a while before finally realizing what I had to do. I took a piece of paper out of my desk and began writing.
Konstantine,
My Konstantine…I don’t really know where to begin. I’ve got a band now. We’re thinking of going on tour. I’ve dreamed of taking you with me. I know you’re young…you’re so young…but I don’t care. I want you to be with me.
Everyday I remember our last night together. It shouldn’t have happened like that. God, if I hurt you at all, even the slightest bit, I’m sorry. It wasn’t easy to let you go, please don‘t think it was. It hasn’t been easy, and it never will be, but I know you did what you had to do.
We both know what it’s like to be alone, but it doesn’t have to be that way.
The name Konstantine has meant nothing but confusion to me for my whole life. But I’ve finally figured out what it means. I died in someone else’s arms while you’ve been gone. But it made me realize how badly I need you. I may not be your star but I’ll sure as hell try to be as close to it as I can be.
I’ve felt nothing but pain since you’ve been gone. But I know now what I did to you; I know how badly I messed up by holding you back. And if this is what it takes to redeem myself for all the times I hurt you and all the times I messed up, then I’d gladly suffer for the rest of my life. I’d suffer forever if I could have just one more of those nights in my car listening to Jimmy Eat World and being with you.
I’m sorry for all the times I ever hurt you, and I promise no one else will ever hurt you like I did. You’re too good for that.
This letter is to a girl who got into my head with all the pretty things she did. This pouring of my heart is to a girl who I’ll never forget because she made me realized how badly I fucked up and what I could have done to keep her. Thoughts of her spin around my mind at night and keep me up in bed. And I hope someday she’ll be here to keep me up in bed.
Did you know I miss you?
I miss you.
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It had been about six months since I sent the letter. Just over a year since she left me. I sat in my living room staring at the wall opposite the couch. I remembered the night she came to me, when she sat on this very same couch and cried. She had told me how her life was going nowhere. I’d give anything to have her sitting on my couch again. She’d always be my Konstantine, whether she was there with me or not. I’d never forget her.
There was a knock on my door, and I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was exactly 11:11 pm. Curiously, and almost nervously, I stood and approached the door. I rested my hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Another knock. I took a deep breath and slowly pulled open the door.
I nearly passed out when I realized who stood in front of me. Her long blonde hair fell down her back and over her shoulders. She hadn’t changed a bit. I could feel tears forming in my eyes as she smiled weakly and said she wanted to talk. Without a word I immediately led her down to my car. We drove back to her apartment, a friend had been taking care of it for her while she was gone. There was only silence in the car as we drove.
The silence continued as we entered her apartment. It hadn’t changed either. She collapsed in my arms, crying. We both had so much to say, but all we could do was cry. I rested by chin atop her head a cried as well. I buried my face in her hair, which still smelled like strawberries - the same as it had a year ago. We slept that night on her couch, together. It was the first time either of us had a good night sleep since she left. I dreamed of being with her for the rest of my life. I was happy.
The next morning, the apartment was empty once again. There was a note on the coffee table again.
Had to leave. I’m sure you’ll understand.
We took nothing with us when we left that morning. Her friend would understand. By the time the note was discovered, we were far along on the highway. We didn’t know where we were headed, but we knew that we needed a little more room to live. And there simply wasn’t enough room in that stupid, small town. With my guitar in the backseat I drove towards the future.
Just me.
And my Konstantine.