Your Not-So-Gentle Hands

Ajani/him - he who wins the struggle

Alexandra/I - defender of mankind; helper

Zoe - life

Some bitch - whoever that girl was

“What was that?” He asked, right after the door shut closed, way too calmly compared to the storm swelling inside me. “Why?” He added, his look darted at me; accusing. Disappointed. Full of questions. 

“You don’t understand,” I said coldly, nothing like how I’ve spoken to him from the start. The walls are starting to close on me. It’s getting dark in here. 

He sat in silence for a whole minute. Probably doing what I always advised him to do when things are escalating quickly; something I failed to do earlier as I blew up. 

“I’m not aiming to understand how you feel because I’m not you.” He looked at me while something inside me snapped. 

“Tell me your reasons. I want to see things from your perspective.” He looked so mature and collected. If this was to happen before, I will be the one in his shoes saying what he’s saying right now and he’s the one on my shoes, enraged and fully swayed by emotions. I know, because what he just said is exactly what I told him when he lost his shit about his father.

He told me that was his turning point. He never knew there could be someone who looked beyond actions and put an effort to look for reasons, not until he met me. 

“Your hands were always gentle with me.” He said as he reached for my hand and enclosed it with his, resting his forehead on it. 

I can’t bring myself to say it. I was never gentle, not to anyone, not even to myself. He was an exception. 

We saw each other

The night when we first met, he thrashed around outside the local gig bar. He didn’t notice me. I was smoking my cigarette, trying to get rid of the alcohol in my system. I let him be for a few minutes; just kicking the ground, repeatedly uttering ‘fuck,’ and running his hands through his hair. Upon taking a closer look, he seemed disheveled and heavily intoxicated.

I have no intentions of stopping or calming him because if I was in his position, I would love to be left alone too. 

Just like in a cliche movie, I happened to topple over a metal trash can when I stepped back to stay more hidden from his line of view, causing his eyes to snap at mine. 

“Fuck,” this time it was my time to utter a curse. I thought this shit only happens in indie movies. I immediately raised both my hands to assure him that I’m no threat. He was heaving hard, probably from the tantrum he just threw. His eyes literally reflected the chaos he was feeling deep within. I figured he was not here with me.

I straightened my back then puffed my last smoke then stepped hard on the cigarette, all while he was looking at me. My stomp seemed to bring him out of his trance. 

“Who the fuck -“ he started but like the feisty woman that I am, I didn’t let him finish. I will not allow any disrespect especially from a man who just thrashed around in front of me like a kid whose candy was stolen. 

“Easy there, tiger,” I teased.

“You were the one who barged out then started doing whatever ritual you just did, without checking if anyone is nearby,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone.

He threw daggers at me then seated on the pavement. It was past midnight already but the night was still young. It was only the third band playing out of 5. I had time to spare.

He placed his arms on his knees then rested his forehead on it. He looked almost asleep. I silently sat feet away from him, making myself comfortable as I look at the sky. The moon was barely lit up, if it wasn’t for the light outside the bar, it would’ve been pitch black out here.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to comfort a sulking man. For all I know he might be just crying over an m&m he dropped and couldn’t find inside because of the crowd. We never really can tell how dramatic a drunk person can be. Trust me, I know.

He suddenly jerked his head up which caused me to look at him. He shut me down rudely saying, “Why the fuck are you still here?! Is it entertaining to watch me lose my fucking mind?” He said with spite laced on his tone like he was so sure I was judging him and laughing my brains out. Fucktard. Who am I to judge? 

I stayed silent and just looked at him. He looked really devastated. I guess it was a Ferrero that got lost. Man, was that delicious. 

Honestly, I didn’t know why I stayed. I guess it felt so wrong to leave someone, who’s obviously should not be left alone, alone. I wish I didn’t leave her alone that night.

“What?! Stop looking at me with pity. You don’t understand what the fuck I am feeling,” He spitted. I wasn’t even looking at him with anything intentionally. 

I withdrew my look and placed my chin on my knees while I hugged my legs. “I’m not here to understand. I will never understand,” I looked at him. “I’m not you.” 

I was never the type of person to want to ask someone about their personal feelings or experiences because if they wanted me to know, they’ll let me know themselves without having to force it out of them. I am not a kind person but I respect people.

But right now feels different. It feels like if I won’t ask him what was eating him alive, it will devour him whole with no way out. 

“Tell me something. Anything. I want to see things from your perspective,” I said without looking at him. I never cared about others. I was never gentle and it cost me everything. It cost me her.

I saw her

It was all too sudden. He grabbed my arm and forced me to look at him. My eyes widen and my heart ached like it was being squeezed hard. The look in his eyes looked way too familiar, so familiar that it haunted me every night. It took my whole will not to break right then and there. 

“Help me,” he asked desperately as his first tear escaped from his left eye. I couldn’t move nor respond. I froze in the spot as tears fell to his cheeks one right after the other. 

I reached over, ever so gently, to wipe his tears-strained cheek. It was so light and was so not me. My hand moved without thinking like the look in his eyes was calling for it. His eyes looked so deep and far away, drowning from tears. He was speaking thousands of words through it. It was really true, eyes were the window to a person’s soul because I saw him and remembered her. 

The look in their eyes was the same; pleading and so so far away but trying hard to reach out. To be touched and saved and brought out from the pain and darkness they became all too familiar with. 

Now, I know what that look really meant. It was the same look that I saw from my younger sister, Zoe, the day before she took her own life. I didn’t know. I had no idea. I was too stuck with my own issues that I never really looked at her. I never got to see her, really see her. 

From that day on, I told myself that I will do everything in my will to reach this man’s hand and pull him out of his misery. It made me want to touch his soul ever so lightly and carefully, afraid he will break any minute. 

This was the part I couldn’t tell him because he was probably so drunk that night he couldn’t recall what happened or what he said. 

I was never of a gentle hand, only to him because I badly hoped I was with her too. And when some bitch started talking bad about him with words she probably doesn’t know the weight on him, I exploded. 

I’ve always told him the necessaries to keep his peace intact; to not care about others or to let bad words enter one ear then exit the other. Since then, he was able to manage his emotions better. Just like he said, he really aimed to be better. 

He could think all he wants that my words were what helped him or all the gentleness I showered him with, but that is not really the case. He asked for my help but it was he who helped himself. It was him who picked up all his pieces and did his all to mend it all back together. 

My heart was happy for him. He wasn’t weak, his strong aura radiated through him everywhere he goes. I know now that no words could trample him, not when I am here to support him from below, or even when he does crumble, I will still be by his side, mending his broken pieces. 

It’s just that whoever that girl was really hit a nerve when I heard her say, ‘What is he, depressed? He could kill himself for all we care,’ all because she heard a small part of his story. 

Kill and him don’t really go well in a sentence and who the fuck was she to wish for the same thing to happen again. I already lost Zoe, not him too.

I took my hand off him, squatted down to match his eye level, and inhaled deeply, ready to let it all out. 

“I was never gentle, Jans. But I was trying,” I started. Determination splashed across my face.

“..yet I’m not perfect. I explode and get angry and thrash around like the fucking donkey that I am,” I continued, hoping I am making sense and the message I wanted to portray was reaching him.

You saw me

“Neither am I,” he said as he touched my cheek to wipe a tear I wasn’t even aware was there. It was so gentle and light that it feels like it was almost never there. 

“You can stop now,” he whispered as he lowered his head, straying his eyes away from mine. 

“You’ve been protecting me for so long and losing your shit for me when you couldn’t even give a damn when the same words are said to you.” I tried to interject but chose not to because he wasn’t wrong. I’ve been unconsciously fighting his battles for him, afraid that he might fall apart and I will have to see that look on his face again. That would shatter me, that’s why I’ve been doing everything to avoid it. 

“You already helped me pull myself out of my misery. You’ll have to let me walk on my own now,” he said sincerely as tears streamed down my face as I finally let it all out. I sobbed loudly like a baby for only God knows how long. 

My heart ached so bad in a good way. The hole inside that Zoe left was nowhere from being whole again but there was a small tug; like how she used to pull me with her tiny hands when we were headed to the ice cream parlor, afraid that every ice cream on Earth will melt any minute now and she will never get to taste its goodness again. A small tug which assured me that she’s there, holding my hand, and leading me to where I am supposed to be.

Finally. I looked at Jans and searched his face, trying to take it all in, like I was seeing him the first time even though we’ve been friends for so long. I settled on his eye and touched its side. 

These are not the same eyes that haunted me for so long. This was Jans’; sometimes looking lonely, like he was so detached but it wasn’t always like that. These eyes were also once beaming with joy when he was talking about how his bias basketball team won; or when he gets to eat ice pop during a scorching day.  

I was so glad that I get to see him when everything’s still not late for him or for me. 

I saw you

I stood up, fixed my appearance, then offered him my hand. He was puzzled, not really following but he stood up too. 

“Hi Ajani, I’m Alexandra. Nice to finally see you,” I smiled weakly but genuinely. He took my hand and returned my smile, even brighter.

“Nice to finally see you too,” he said giddily then pulled me into a hug.

We may have been blinded by our own issues when we first met but I am more than grateful to God for giving me a second chance with you, that I never had with her.