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This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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I've been looking around now and I'm seeing the same thing every time. I don't know if it's just me or is everything fake out here? Fake People. I'm seeing misery under fakes smiles and it makes me wonder what are we actually feeling?

How many people cry behind closed doors every night? How many cut? How many drown themselves in the endless sea of alcohol.

No one cares enough to go to a random person that looks downcast and genuinely ask, "How are you really?"You don't have to lie. I was hoping someone would ask.

As I walked into the house and I was greeted by a very excited Liam Stander. He stood next to the riempie bench my parents got in South Africa. It rested between two large windows which let in an abundance of natural light. There was some basket work under the side tables and on the wall. It kind of added a cottage style to the house while the lone blue vase added some colour.

I was standing just before the fireplace that offered our winter warmth, near the pair of white armchairs covered in heavy, off white fabric. There was a thick black throw for additional insulation. And on the floor, a roughly woven rug contributed to the atmosphere.

There was an exotic mask accompanied by family portraits that adorned an unusual, curved, modern wooden drawer unit. Silk cushion covers of interwoven beige and black mixer happily with the subtle floral motifs of the couch's fabric. Crete-stone walls were sealed with clear lacquer.

An electric mix of shapes, colours, textures and designs in our living area opened into a balcony overlooking Crystal Bay. A beautiful wooden framed door with a curved handle and etched sandblasted glass panel in the centre connected our dining and sitting room. A pair of chunky armchairs face couches upholstered in yellow textured leather.
The blond wood of the modern, custom made coffee and side tables echoed that of the door frame. Right where he walked to stand.

You know what's funny is we argued two months ago and now he's standing here like everything is okay.

"What are you doing here? I'm surprised my voice came out clear and strong. It definitely didn't feel like it. My heart was thumping against my chest, I swear he could hear it from across the room.

I've never seen him this happy. Not even with me...he had a wide grin on his face and his dimple popping out. His green eyes shined ever so bright.

His nut-brown hair was dishevelled as if he'd been running his hands through it many times. He often did it when he was nervous. He was wearing his favourite Nike hoody. It was a plain black hoody with Nike written across in white.

He took a few steps towards me raising his hand to brush my face, ever so lightly. If I hadn't been watching him I wouldn't have known he even did such a thing.

"I missed you." He said with a heavy sigh. His smile still lightly dancing on his face.

"Leigh...my home away from home."
He pulled away but still looking into my eyes. He was looking for something, an emotion of some sort. I wasn't having it. I kept my expression as blank as possible.

"Don't call me that. What do you want?" The moment those words left my mouth everything changed. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife, it was giving me a headache.

"Look Leigh I know this doesn't justify my actions or what I said that day but I'm going through some of the worst phases, I spend days high as a kite and come down harder than a plane falling from the sky. The fact that I feel amplified emotions rips me to shreds, right now I'm in the phase of not feeling like I belong here." He said as he ran his hands through his hair.

He looked genuine but why should I believe him. I mean you don't just do that to a person. I'm sorry but I won't be getting over it anytime soon.

"So what do you want from me, Liam? Pity? You want me...You want me to be compassionate? Sympathize with you?" I was getting angrier by the second.

"Let me finish okay." I could tell he was getting irritated by the way he gritted his teeth. Gone was his crooked smile.

"Life is full of choices and sometimes the choices affect us who have no voice to protest. I'm at a stage where I recognise that I'm not one of those people who see positive. I can't handle it anymore. Knowing I might hurt you."

"Oh, so you're going to start making decisions for me now? I can handle it Liam can't you see, you didn't even give me a chance, us a chance.? This is what you always do and you know what? I'm getting tired of it." I was on the verge of breaking down. I will not let him see how much he hurts me.

"Leigh please understand, I'm about solutions to problems, my problem currently is feeling. Master control over your entire body's surface yet your emotions can stop all this. I'm not the same, I know I'm not. And the worst thing is that I'm walking down this road and I don't know where I'll fall. I don't want you going through all the hurt. For once, I'm not stuck I just have this constant struggle with myself and I'm truly sick of it." He said out of breath, I could tell he was trying not shout.

Tears were threatening to spill out, I simply looked away.

"A few months ago I was suffering from success, now lately I'm suffering from the scars of my past. The success has come but it's brought the ghosts of my past and I can't stand that shit." He continued. He looked at me desperately trying to make me understand.

"I hate how much I give only to receive nothing back, it's like the people who give out the most just want to keep taking and not returning a dime!"

"But I've given you my everything, I can't even help because you refuse to tell me anything about your past. What good will I be if I don't know? I was disappointed that my voice betrayed me and came out barely above a whisper.

"I know and I appreciate it but it's not only you. I need a little something from everyone. You know normally I'd go ballistic, throw curses but I won't. I just wanted to say. I'm not giving up or anything especially on us, I just need my own thing. And I seriously don't have room in my life for negative results." With that, he placed a soft kiss on my forehead and walked out the front door.

 I kept repeating the same thing over and over. It's all a mistake. How often do we make mistakes and why do they cost us so much. How is it remotely possible for us to make the same errors and expect different results? Are we insane or just so imperfect that we have to mess up every second good thing we have?

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