"You don't seem very happy."
"I am happy. I am. I have been, for a while, even. So something terrible has to happen soon, right? To even it all out. I don't just get to be happy."
Happy.
The eerie feeling of eyes boring intensely through her ribcage made Djeneba twirl around to face the starer. Lips curved up in a bemused smile, she teased, âSee something you like?â
Her partner startled, and Djeneba chuckled softly at their surprise.
A delicious flush rose up Greysonâs neck as their eyes darted away guiltily. Their left hand rose to brush the back of their neck as they mumbled, âObviously.â
Greysonâs dark eyebrows furrowed together in a frown Djeneba always found endearing. It was a sweet moment until their mouth pulled into a deep grimace and they muttered, âYou make me happy, okay?â
And there it was. That pesky feeling that popped up uninvited far too often, settling in Djenebaâs stomach, curdling her internal systems as rejection spread steadily throughout her body.
"You don't seem very happy."
She couldnât prevent the words from slipping from her lips and landing on the floor between the two lovers, creating an invisible, icy cavern of dread. Djeneba watched Greysonâs shoulders curl inwards as they stared pointedly at the floor, purposefully angling their head to shield any facial hints from her gaze.
Fuck. This had been happening too often lately. Their individual insecurities kept barging into what should be the pairâs well-earned domestic bliss. Was this it? Was this a sign that it was ending?
Djeneba fucking hoped not. Sheâd even resorted to praying it wasnât so. She never thought rediscovering her faith would ever be prompted by the fear of losing the one she loves; the one she thought sheâd made her forever life with.
It all started about a year ago; Greyson developed this unnerving habit of becoming closed off and sombre following happy, light-hearted, and domestic moments that Djeneba loved. Their words would always attempt to placate the blonde, but the simultaneous negative body language made the verbal effort futile.
Djeneba had tried so hard to convince herself otherwise, but in this moment, as her veins iced over with the repeating memory of Greysonâs dour face just now, she admitted defeat.
She needed to know. She needed to know whether this was truly the end. She didnât have the energy to gloss over these moments anymore.
Djeneba cleared her throat and forced out the words, sharper than intended, âYouâve got a funny way of showing it. That youâre happy.â
Shit. Okay, maybe thinking through the words before saying them would be a good idea. What a fucking revelation.
Inhaling deeply, the blonde tried again, âThatâs not how I meant to word my thoughts. Iâm sorry.â
Greyson froze. They still refused to angle their face into view, but Djeneba could tell they were listening. Good.
âGrey, I - I feel like you donât love me anymore.â
Deep brown curls bobbed erratically as Greysonâs head flung up sharply. Sage eyes were wide and fearful as they finally targeted Djenebaâs face.
âAnd - And, I know, okay? I know you tell me with your words. You tell me you love me. You tell me youâre happy, but your body says otherwise. I canât remember the last time you said either of those strings of words without a fucking grimace on your face.â
God, she couldnât say this while looking at the face she was already grieving. Djeneba closed her eyes as defiant tears began their long trek down her face.
âFuck, Grey, it looks like it physically hurts you to love me! Or to say you love me - whatever. And I canât do this anymore. I love you! And whether you think you love me or not anymore, I refuse to keep hurting you. Even if you do still love me, I refuse to continue this if it makes you unhappy,â she sobbed wetly.
Djeneba wiped her dripping eyes and nose with her sleeve, far beyond caring about insignificant bullshit like social decency.
âI love our life together, Greyson. I love you! So much. And other than you fucking grimacing whenever you tell me you love me or that youâre happy, Iâm happy. Iâm willing to work through whatever, as long as weâre together. I want to spend my life with you! I just - my one and only exception to all this is if youâre unhappy in our relationship. If youâre unhappy with me, with us. I - I donât expect either of us to be happy all the time. Weâre both mentally ill; we know the struggle; but up until recently, weâve never been the cause of unhappiness, you know? It was always us surviving through all the unhappiness life throws at us, together⌠Youâre not happy, Grey. I can see it. Youâre not happy with me. I make you unhappy. And I canât - I canât do that to you. I canât do that to me. To usâŚâ
Suddenly exhausted, Djeneba hung her head. Opening her blurry eyes, she stared despairingly at Greyson.
âPlease be honest with me, Grey. Do I make you unhappy?â
Greyson's fingers dug firmly into the faded blue couch cushion they sat on. Djeneba watched as their arms began to tremble and their head hung down low between their sharp shoulder blades. At the sound of a heaving sob, Djeneba wrapped her arms around her own torso harshly and sat down on the single red armchair parallel to her partner.
Deep, wracking sobs ripped themselves from Greysonâs throat as they began to cry earnestly. Haunting wails spilled as they began to hyperventilate and rip their hands through their hair. This harrowing soundtrack filled the living room of their home; the same one Djeneba had carried Greyson over the threshold of, while the pair of them cackled joyfully. The same house theyâd hosted their first through fifth family Christmases in. The same house that currently housed the engagement ring Djeneba had hidden in a false bottom of her desk drawer. The house theyâd discussed future children in.
Each of Greysonâs sobs reverberated in Djenebaâs heart. She feared that the ricochet would tug her heart from her chest, leaving it to fall lifelessly on the ground between the two of them.
Time passed in the mysterious way it tends to, although Djeneba wouldnât have registered this if not for the eventual sunset transitioning their afternoon to evening.
By the time Greysonâs sobs came to a trembling stop, Djeneba could see stars outside the living room window. She heard their initial failed attempts to get words out between silent tears and continued to wait.
Finally, Greysonâs voice grew to replace the lingering echo of their prior weeping, "I am happy.â
They laughed wetly, seemingly realising how ludicrous the words sounded.
âI am. I have been, for a while, even. So something terrible has to happen soon, right? To even it all out. I don't just get to be happy."
Djeneba frowned. This train of thought wasnât new, not for Greyson. But to try and use it now?
Well, it felt like a weak excuse to avoid accepting the truth.
Isnât it funny how weak excuses can hurt the most?
The brunette powered on desperately, âThe fact you make me happy, so happy, fucking terrifies me. Itâs like the universe is taunting inevitable heartbreak above my head whenever you dare to do something as stupid and fucking generous as loving me. And⌠And the longer weâre together; the more you become a stable and certain thing in my life, the more I fear the end. I love you so fucking much, Djeneba. And I feel how much you, miraculously, love me. You make me happy. I am happy. Thereâs just - thereâs a part of me that refuses to acknowledge that this happiness can coexist with my internal, ingrained belief that I am fundamentally unlovable. That all of this will end.â
Lips pursed, Djeneba squared her jaw. None of this was new. Sheâd been hearing this same speech from them since the pair were in high school together. She felt like a fool for expecting anything different. For expecting any real response.
She thought Greyson knew her better than this. That they knew better than to hide behind the same, unchanging excuse theyâve used for years.
Yes, it was true. Djeneba knew, and had known, that Greyson struggled with this. Theyâd had numerous conversations about it. Talked through it. Talked about communicating clearly. Fuck, sheâd actively worked to force words out when her rejection sensitive dysphoria threatened to stop her voice entirely. Sheâd worked so hard to communicate with the one she loved. To evolve. To put effort into their longevity together.
âŚAnd Greyson dared to hide behind the same fucking excuse theyâd had since they were 16.
Djeneba smoothed her jeans firmly and stood up. Ignoring Greysonâs owlish eyes, she sighed dejectedly.
âI donât know why I expected anything different.â
She walked over to the key dish by the front door, patting her pocket for her phone and wallet as she slipped on her slides.
Turning one last time to face the love of her life, Djeneba spoke monotonously, âWhen youâre ready to actually talk to me and be honest, we can arrange a public place to meet. Iâm going to my sisterâs. Your engagement ringâs in the third desk drawer, by the way. I donât care what you do with it. It was never meant for me.â
She closed the front door firmly behind her, thanking God it was raining.
Š O.M.A










