Beckett Leary wasn’t cursed, per se. Cursed was an exaggeration. It was more like things just happened at very inopportune times. All the time.

The weather was pouring down rain, to the point that it fell in sheets against the old apartment. It shook the windows and scared the dog next door to the point that he had been barking for about four hours straight at the unforeseen weather. The weatherman had called for a cloudy night and nothing more. But, things like this happened all the time, and Beck could easily adjust. He adapted, and instead of going to the nice restaurant he had promised to take his girlfriend that night, they would stay at home and watch movies. It was a typical night for them admittedly, but he promised her he’d make it up to her by making her favorite dish instead.

Four years. Had it really been that long? Everytime Beck thought about it, he had a hard time believing it. It seemed like only a week ago they were in highschool, and yesterday Amy had just started college. Now, she is almost finished (a year ahead of schedule, of course), ready to take on the world.

Amy Cassandra Carmichael. Even her name sounded prosperous. He could hardly guess where she’d be in another four years, but he knew where ever she went, she’d succeed.

Drip, drip.

Five leaks in the roof-- just after maintenance had said the problem was solved. One more leak than the last rain shower.

This didn’t surprise Beck too much. After years of living in the nearly ancient townhouse, he had started to get used to things breaking, the roof leaking, and just like everything else, he adapted. He danced around the maze of buckets and bowls in the kitchen-dining room combo, a sizzling hot pan of shrimp in his hands as he nudged one bucket with his dirty converse to catch the rain falling through.

He got used to things like this. Even enjoyed it, in some odd way. He wasn’t in college like Amy, and his simple job as a cashier rarely surprised him. So, Beck took challenges where he could get them. The thunder, combined with the neighboring dog’s loud barking, the steady drip from the new found leak, and finally topped with the sounds of the sizzling shrimp actually drowned out the usual noise of cars from the city below. New York city was rarely quiet, even in the suburbs, so Beckett thought of it as a small blessing. It was a cacophony of chaos that was only slightly different from the usual cacophony of chaos.

Amy, however, hated the rain. He could see her frame leaning against the window, moonlight falling over her pale, freckled face, and watched her jump as the thunder struck. She flinched, but kept her green eyes trained on the city below. He could see her counting-- one, two, three, four-- before the lightning struck.

“If you don’t like the noise, you probably shouldn’t sit near the window,” he teased, a small smile forming on his lips.

Just then, Amy jumped more from him than she did from the lightning. He was too quiet sometimes. It was something that she had never quite gotten used to, even after four years of dating. What had she called it? A lack of presence. That’s what he had-- or didn’t have, as the case may be. Beck might’ve taken it as an insult or a character flaw, but Amy said while it surprised her, his silence was comfortable.

Amy put a hand over her heart and sighed. She wasn’t smiling. “You scared the crap out of me! You’ve got to stop doing that. I know you’re doing it on purpose now.”

Beck shrugged, a smile still on his face. He disappeared for a moment before returning with two full plates of pasta. “Can’t help it. It’s not like you to just sit so still and quiet. Alfredo for your thoughts?”

She put a hand over her heart and winced. “That’s… too cheesy for me.”

“That is horrible.”

“Neither of us are funny.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. He slipped down onto the ratty, brown couch in the center of the room. He waited a moment before cocking an eyebrow at her. “Well? Is something wrong? What’s on your mind?”

She crossed her hands under her chest and sighed. For a moment, Beck thought she might’ve been actually angry about the dinner situation. She seemed fine with it on the phone. Beck listened to her tone, always made sure to ask twice to be sure she was really okay. What did he miss?

After a moment though, she smiled, and Beck felt that he could breathe again. “I’m just a little bored is all. I wish I knew how to cook like you. I’d be able to help more.”

Beck might’ve suggested helping with the prepping, but the last time she had done so she’d sliced her finger with a knife. Seeing that much blood was enough to convince him to enforce a strict no knife policy in the Leary household---at least where Amy was concerned. Besides, while he didn’t mind cooking, the real fun of it came to when he got to share it with someone else. To see someone’s face light up when they ate it-- it was cliche, but that was why he really did it. It was like a gift. It hardly counted, however, if the giftee helped with half of it.

It was the start of a ritual, one that had never changed for four years. She joined him on the couch with a plop, her legs going straight over Beck’s lap. Amy took charge of the TV. It wasn’t that Beck couldn’t pick what they did, but usually, what he wanted to do lay in a bookshelf by the TV. Black and white movies cluttered the shelves, some of them so old that the covers were completely unreadable and had to be marked over with marker. Most of the collection were relics left behind by his grandfather, all of them old treasures to Beck. Most people, however, didn’t care for movies so old they had to be explained with subtitles. 

Beck felt his stomach drop as the screen turned to a blood spattered credit opening. Now it was his turn to start counting as the movie started off with a very strong chase scene. When did movie graphics get so realistic? Did the actor really still have her intestines or did the killer actually walk off with them?

It took Beck a minute to notice that Amy wasn’t staring at the screen, nor had she touched her food. She was watching him so intently it made his heart jump out of his chest, and not in a good way.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He joked, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood for laughter. She was frowning at him and immediately he thought, what can I do?

“I know you hate these movies. You’re a big baby when it comes to horror, but you always watch them with me anyways.” She skewed one perfectly browned shrimp and pointed it at him as if it were a weapon. “Why?”

Beck raised an eyebrow back at her, a small smile forming on his lips. To him, it seemed obvious.

“Because you like it.” He shrugged.

Amy didn’t say anything. Instead, she grabbed the remote and paused the movie before turning back to him. Something about her stare made his heart race. He had nothing to feel guilty about, but somehow, he felt like he’d done something wrong.

After a moment, she asked, “Beck, what’s my favorite color?”

Beck blinked at the question. That was easy. “Red. Dark reds.”

“Alright.” She nodded, then twisted the question. “Now what’s yours?”

The questions were easy--what was the game here? Beck couldn’t figure it out, until he opened his mouth to answer and realized he didn’t have one. He thought for a moment. Even glancing around his apartment, not one color stood out.

After a minute with no answer, he shrugged. “I...don’t know. I guess I’ve never thought about it too much. Red’s nice.”

“Is it nice because you like it, or because I like it?”

Something about her green eyes were different now. Once lovely and round, now they seemed to look right through him with a stare that cut like daggers. It was another reminder how different Amy Carmichael was from him, how far away she was. She was the daughter of a businessman who taught her everything he knew. Picking out liars was in her blood.

Thunder crashed, and for the first time that night, she didn’t jump. Instead, Beck did, along with the dog next door who began barking once more.

“Does it matter?” He didn’t hold any malice in his voice. He was genuinely curious. It didn’t hurt to like something just because she liked it, right?

Amy frowned, and Beck’s heart fell. What was he doing wrong?

“Yes, it does.” She put her plate down on the coffee table beside them and did the same for his. She grabbed his hands and held them in hers. They felt so soft, but so cold compared to his. “Beck, where do you see yourself a year from now?”

For a moment, he thought he’d heard something different. He thought she’d asked ‘where do you see us?’ and the answer was obvious then. He saw them here-- in this apartment, in this place he held so close to him. But that wasn’t the right question, and that wasn’t the right answer.

“With you.” His voice cracked as he said it. It had taken him too long to say it and he couldn’t help the feeling that he was doing everything wrong wrong wrong.

Amy’s gaze turned downwards, getting lost somewhere in his shirt; getting lost somewhere far, far away. Her voice was quiet, “Beck, do you know what the difference between like and love is?”

He thought he knew the answer. No, he did. He wouldn’t keep questioning himself. What else could this be if it wasn’t love? How could one person spend four years with someone and not feel a shred of love? Wasn’t that just how things worked?

And yet, his throat felt so dry, he couldn’t get the words out. It felt as if he said one word the nervous bubbling in his stomach would all spill out.

Somehow, she didn’t seem surprised. Her fingers traced the faded stripes of his sweater, her eyes not meeting his for a moment as she spoke. “I think the difference between like and love can get blurry sometimes. You can have affection for someone, have all the butterflies and warmth that comes with a relationship, but still not love that person. Sometimes, Beck, I wonder if you even feel that.”

Was it the restaurant after all? Or maybe it was something else he did? He tried to talk to her everyday at least. Maybe it wasn’t enough-- or was it too much? Why would she say that? What was he missing?

“How can you say that?” There was a snake wrapped around Beckett. It travelled around his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter until it his words were nothing but quiet whispers. He needed more air in his lungs, but it felt impossible to breathe. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t what he thought it was.

Amy laughed, but it sounded more tired than malicious (did she always look so tired? How could a person change in the blink of an eye?). “Beck, I appreciate what you do for me. You attend to my needs, do what you can for me, but it’s never because you want to. You think you’re the only one watching? I watch you too. I watch how you act with everyone-- your bosses, your parents, even your grandfather when he was around. You never change, no matter who you’re with. I thought it was just because you were kind. It’s one of the reasons I really fell for you when we met. But the truth is you’re selfish, aren’t you?”

She finally let go of his shirt and pushed away. Finally, she met his eyes again and the snake wrapped itself further around Beck. It tightened itself around his arms, crushing his chest and lungs.

“You’re scared to lose people, so scared that anyone who comes into your life, good or bad, you would do whatever you could to keep them there. You do what you think would make us happy, not because you want to, but because you need to. It’s why you don’t get angry, or upset, or sad. You’re barely even a person, Beck.”

You’re barely even a person.

The snake tightened its grip for the last time as Amy’s words hit him. Blood filled into every cavity, every orifice. His stomach collapsed, his heart imploded. Why wasn’t he dead yet?

For a moment, he started to taste copper on his lips. It took him a moment to realize he had been biting his tongue the entire time. He swallowed back the taste and forced himself to speak through the panic.

“Why are you saying this? Whatever I’m doing wrong, I can fix it. We can work on this together. I do love you.”

Amy sighed, a wry smile on her face. She seemed to have aged in that one moment. “Beck, when’s the last time you even initiated anything? A date? Sex?" 

Beck’s face heated up in response to her words. Somehow, he couldn't find it in him to respond. It was true. 

“I’m the one who’s done everything. I asked you out, right there in the middle of french class. I kissed you for the first time, right there under the bleachers of the homecoming game. I remember everything, every date, every moment, because they were precious to me.”

Were? Once again, he found himself unable to think of a proper response. Amy waited for a moment and waited. Eventually, she gave up, and her eyes fell once more.

“With love, there’s a connection there that’s so much deeper than just liking someone. It’s like fire, raging and all consuming. It’s more than just staying with someone, because you don’t have anyone else to pick. I, more than anything, want to know what it’s like to be wanted like that. I want to know what it’s like to kiss someone and feel sparks fly. To be with someone and know they’re there because no one else will do. I want to feel real love, Beck, because I’m selfish too. And God, how I wish it could be you.”

Finally, the thing that had been constricting him this entire time left. In its place though, he couldn’t feel anything. For a moment, her voice drowned away. He listened to the sound of the rain, thunder, the dog’s barking, the steady drip coming from his ceiling.

“You’re...breaking up with me?” He managed to ask.

Amy paused and balled her hands up in the hem of her sweater. After a moment, she stood up, and made her way to the door. Her hands jingled with the knob, but she stopped for a moment in its frame. She was looking at him now, he knew it, but he couldn’t look back. He didn’t want to see those eyes anymore, piercing him.

A part of him was still thinking there was some way out of this. He’d give her time to think. Then, tomorrow, he’d call and apologize. Maybe the weather would finally clear up, and they’d go to that restaurant she liked. Maybe a trip to the park afterwards.

“I think we both need time apart to change. To figure out what we both need.” For a moment, she smiled at him. It was strained, but it was a smile nevertheless. “I don’t know what that is for you, but I hope you find it.”

Then the door shut, and that was that. For a moment, Beck stayed very still, hands in his lap. He didn’t move until he heard the sound of a car door shut from the outside. All at once, he got up and quickly moved to the window. There, he could see Amy’s profile already inside the back of a sleek, black sedan. She had a ride waiting for her. When had she texted for a ride? There was no way she had come here and sat with him knowing what would happen. 

Right?