One or the Other (short story)
By Luke Labern
‘You are the best I’ve ever had,’ she would say to him time after time. It had become a phrase he heard so often that it almost faded into the background. It was only when it caught him unawares that it really struck him. ‘You are the best. The best lover, the best person, the quietest, the strongest, the most ambitious – the most talented.’
These sorts of superlatives are to be expected in the throngs of passion – love and young lovers especially – when humans are yet young and relatively untouched by the weight of the necessities of life, especially its cessation. Almost as if they sense that they are at their height of health, happiness and innocence – though they have nothing to contrast it with, and will look back on their times with a nostalgia that at times is overwhelming – they live their lives through others. They live through their emotions, through their bodies, through sexual encounters and through impetuous decisions. This being said, she really did mean it: he may well have been ‘the best’, and to he remained: she never used that term to describe a future lover, even though it had no impact outside of the breath it required. There was a part of her that felt indebted to what she had experienced in their time together. But this is skipping too far ahead, and it is time to explain a little about why he was so highly valued as a lover – and why he had to leave her.
His name was Pascal. Was he really all of those things that she described? He was – but there is no objectivity in these matters, so the fact that he was prone to jealousy, that his individuality led him to be anti-social at the best of times and his precisely defined outlook on life severely restricted the number of people that he could consider a friend are all relevant in assessing his character. But the fact remains that he really was a strong character, unafraid both of the world and of individuals: he was ambitious to the point of inspiring others and was talented in various respects. As a lover he was, as Chloe knew so well, excellent. Though it should be noted that she was too: she was a stunning physical specimen with eyes that would stop either gender in their tracks, and perhaps even the fiercest of animals too: she was able to tame, subdue and control almost anyone with the greatest of ease.
She was intelligent, though rarely applied herself to academic studies: she was happiest in the realm of people and of low-level psychology; psychology that would get her what she wanted. Her only downside was her questionable moral character – but that was only an issue because of the immense power she possessed. It is a fact that is perhaps not well known (though truth does not rely on its being believed, it stands independently of belief) but the twenty-first century is the female’s playground. Specifically young women with sex appeal – though failing this, confidence alone. It is a shame that most women still succumb to the preordained stereotypes of the time and throw themselves at men who appear to be carefree, but are really simply quite stupid and plain. The fact is that, if these beautiful young women had the ability to reflect inwards, rather than looking at their reflection in their mirror, they would see that they already have all the tools in the world to make men throw themselves at them, and not the other way around.
Chloe was one of the rare girls who knew this: and Pascal, for all his strengths, was easily manipulated by her. Though it is strictly incorrect to describe this as a weakness: it is a charming feature of the most perceptive people that they allow themselves to succumb to certain guilty pleasures, and creates all the friction needed in the world for art, thought and great conversation: those who believe themselves bored are they only truly superfluous people in the world today.
They were a strong match: they were both physically attractive, equally so: they were also both of a powerful mind, though Pascal was markedly quicker – especially as he spent his time on matters of serious important whilst she focused on affecting other people’s behaviour, as we have seen. Heads would turn to look at them when they passed, as the pure embodiment of a young couple who were thoroughly in love. But as is prudent to remember: what the surface describes does not necessarily correlate to the inner contents.
They were both highly passionate, and opinionated: their arguments were fierce to the point of destructive. They would say things that, before the relationship, would have been unthinkable. This was certainly the case for Pascal: Chloe was used to this sort of behaviour and was barely fazed by it, but he was shaken at the man he had become over the duration of their relationship, which was by this stage twelve months. As ambitious as he was, and as highly valued as he was in this relationship – and as highly as others viewed him – there was a nagging wound in his conscience. As he watched the days pass and awoke each day to expect an argument (which he always received), he began to grow quite world-weary and felt older than his years. The confidence that has once been his lifeblood (and was one of the most influential reason Chloe fell for him, and was, quite possibly, the very reason he was a young man that was looked up by people of all ages) had started to wain. It had been replaced by tiredness and bitterness, a kind of reservation that this was all that he had left. He was with a beautiful, stunning young woman who could and would have any man she so desired, but she was infatuated with him: she knew that of all the attention she had received, of all the people she knew and had been with, he was ‘the best’.
This buoyed him up to no end, and was perhaps the main reason that he stayed with her for another six months after he began to truly feel tired of life. But a man aged twenty should not be tired of life: he should be carving his name into the earth and leaving a mark that will never be forgotten. Instead, he was wasting his time and his energy in petty arguments that left them both frustrated. Of course, she still adored him. Following one particularly heated argument and after they had (as always) reunited, she said:
‘I literally cannot get enough of you. Even when you argue, I adore it: I get to feel your passion, I get to experience you . . . I get to be impressed upon by you.’
At this, Pascal was struck powerfully by two antithetical emotions: on the one hand he was flattered, as always. She truly meant this – as much of a reputation as he had as someone of a different calibre to others, to the norm, there had never been anyone who had complimented him this highly, this strongly, this consistently. And she knew him inside and out: if anyone was capable of judging his character, it was she. His confidence has been split into two separate branches and…-- but we shall get to this later. The other emotion that winded him was a complete distaste, almost nausea. She truly meant that she adored arguing with him: the one thing that was draining the very life out of him was something she enjoyed doing it. It was quite as if she was literally draining the life out of him; each day she was draw a little more of his confidence, his passion for life; she would sink her teeth into his neck, draw it out, then wipe her supple lips and kiss him leaving a reminder on his of what he was losing each day he stayed with her.
And so it continued: they would argue more and more, but she would still ply him with these compliments that had attained the status almost of an addictive nature. They were the only thing providing sustenance. To the two branches of confidence: this was the one that she supplied him with, a kind of lover’s confidence. He knew that he was able to satisfy her emotionally, psychologically, intellectually, physically and sexually – this had been proven time and time again with the women he had been with, but this relation was a step above in terms of its intensity. More importantly than that, it was his current relationship: he being a philosophically minded young man, he knew that the present was the only thing that mattered, for it was the only thing he could control. (This was also one of his secrets, and the reason he had such a powerful influence. It is often very simple tenets that drive the greatest people…)
The other type of confidence was exactly what he was now missing. It was the reason that he was viewed so highly, and the very reason that she loved him to the degree that she did. Pascal was unique because of the sheer variety and intensity of different traits that was contained within him: he was a superb lover, but he was not arrogant; he was quite adept in all things physical but was a pacifist: he was a philosopher, a hard worker, a part-time addict and above all, he would support and fight for those he loved. It was precisely for this reason that he could sustain only a few, and had attained an almost enigmatic stature amongst those that didn’t know him: he was seen as mysterious; other men would respect him or would despise him – but this was merely subverted respect, and they saw him as competition. He simply fed off of this: he drew confidence from so many things that it would be impossible to list. This could best be described as general life confidence: it was the confidence that propelled him through life; the same invisible spirit that moved his body when he was racked with pain, the same force that allowed him to endure the company of people he hated and the same one which allowed him to make difficult decisions that he simply had to make. And such a decision he had to make, precisely concerning the confidence itself.
Whilst Chloe had fallen for him because of this inimitable confidence, she did not seem to realise that every day she spent with him, tormented and chastised him, the less he had. His fear was that it could not be regenerated: he had to leave her. Lover’s confidence was not enough to sustain him in his life: he was simply too ambitious.
Having explained this all to her, in more emotional terms and, whilst trying to quell her tears and simultaneously not make body contact, he would tell her comforting platitudes: ‘You’ll find someone else.’ Pascal hated the fact that, though he was trying to do something for both of their sakes – namely to save them both from a repetitive set of arguments and a lifestyle that lowered their self-worth – he was being painted thoroughly in the cast of the person in the wrong. It was he was in the wrong for breaking her heart, even though she had consistently chipped away at the very fabric of his identity and had led him to question himself and his beliefs for the first time in two decades. It was he who would be known as ‘the bastard’, and it was she who was known as the victim. He would rather neither of those terms be used – for he despised labels in general, as perhaps we all should – but he knew that for the sake of his ambition, for the sake of his talent and ability to see his ambitious blossom, he would have to endure these moments. And so he did.
The weeks following the break-up were less difficult than he expected. Not having to wake up and defend his innocent actions as if they were treason was like having a weight removed from him that allowed his mood to lift exponentially. Though he was perhaps sombre for a while after, he was more quiet and thoughtful, as if recovering from injury and trying not to strain himself. But now time had passed, and he had gained his confidence back. Thankfully for him, he was able to regenerate it: within three months he had not only restored himself but he had reached new heights.
He found that he was a young man in the prime of his life: he was in supreme physical shape, his intellectual was sharp and probing; he was affable, relieved to be able to converse with people when he chose, not when he was expected to. He had his independence and his freedom back. He was a youth and was blessed with the mind of someone who was near the end of their youth, though in his age he was still young: he was able to act with a foresight that none of his peers were able to. This allowed him to catapult himself to a new level and inspire a whole new set of people: he would wake with a smile of assurance and knew, as he looked into the mirror in the morning and combed his hair to the side – out of his face, exposing his sterling eyes – what he needed to do and how to achieve it. He was at the height of his life thus far, and the near future would be all the brighter for his careful attention to the present. The past was the past, and the future long ahead would be decided by his actions now.
As the days wore on and he became the man he had dreamt of – and then something more, as he became a man he didn’t even realise he was capable of – there rose within him a certain creeping feeling. A nihilation, a lack, a nothing. His lover’s confidence had long since gone. He had sacrificed it for his goals in life. Whilst he had wealth, whilst he had adulation and respect from all quarters, one thing was missing: there was no one there to tell him that he was ‘the best’ lover. There was no delicate touch on his arm, there was no whisper in the night-time to tell him that he was loved; there was no waking to a beautiful face worthy of idolatry, there were no soft lips, there was no championship and there was no romantic love. No: he has his life’s confidence, but he did not have the confidence of a lover. He did not have the satisfaction of a compliment post-orgasm and he had no one to pass the time with. He would pass beautiful girls in the street, and smile; he would engage with them in conversation, but at no point could he risk what he had achieved for their intoxicating perfume or enchanting laughter.
Though he had his wealth, his intellect, his ambition and his life’s dream, he did not have love – he did not have his lover. When he had love, he did not have those things – and when he had those things, he did not have love. And this will always be the case, because no one can have every thing.
These sorts of superlatives are to be expected in the throngs of passion – love and young lovers especially – when humans are yet young and relatively untouched by the weight of the necessities of life, especially its cessation. Almost as if they sense that they are at their height of health, happiness and innocence – though they have nothing to contrast it with, and will look back on their times with a nostalgia that at times is overwhelming – they live their lives through others. They live through their emotions, through their bodies, through sexual encounters and through impetuous decisions. This being said, she really did mean it: he may well have been ‘the best’, and to he remained: she never used that term to describe a future lover, even though it had no impact outside of the breath it required. There was a part of her that felt indebted to what she had experienced in their time together. But this is skipping too far ahead, and it is time to explain a little about why he was so highly valued as a lover – and why he had to leave her.
His name was Pascal. Was he really all of those things that she described? He was – but there is no objectivity in these matters, so the fact that he was prone to jealousy, that his individuality led him to be anti-social at the best of times and his precisely defined outlook on life severely restricted the number of people that he could consider a friend are all relevant in assessing his character. But the fact remains that he really was a strong character, unafraid both of the world and of individuals: he was ambitious to the point of inspiring others and was talented in various respects. As a lover he was, as Chloe knew so well, excellent. Though it should be noted that she was too: she was a stunning physical specimen with eyes that would stop either gender in their tracks, and perhaps even the fiercest of animals too: she was able to tame, subdue and control almost anyone with the greatest of ease.
She was intelligent, though rarely applied herself to academic studies: she was happiest in the realm of people and of low-level psychology; psychology that would get her what she wanted. Her only downside was her questionable moral character – but that was only an issue because of the immense power she possessed. It is a fact that is perhaps not well known (though truth does not rely on its being believed, it stands independently of belief) but the twenty-first century is the female’s playground. Specifically young women with sex appeal – though failing this, confidence alone. It is a shame that most women still succumb to the preordained stereotypes of the time and throw themselves at men who appear to be carefree, but are really simply quite stupid and plain. The fact is that, if these beautiful young women had the ability to reflect inwards, rather than looking at their reflection in their mirror, they would see that they already have all the tools in the world to make men throw themselves at them, and not the other way around.
Chloe was one of the rare girls who knew this: and Pascal, for all his strengths, was easily manipulated by her. Though it is strictly incorrect to describe this as a weakness: it is a charming feature of the most perceptive people that they allow themselves to succumb to certain guilty pleasures, and creates all the friction needed in the world for art, thought and great conversation: those who believe themselves bored are they only truly superfluous people in the world today.
They were a strong match: they were both physically attractive, equally so: they were also both of a powerful mind, though Pascal was markedly quicker – especially as he spent his time on matters of serious important whilst she focused on affecting other people’s behaviour, as we have seen. Heads would turn to look at them when they passed, as the pure embodiment of a young couple who were thoroughly in love. But as is prudent to remember: what the surface describes does not necessarily correlate to the inner contents.
They were both highly passionate, and opinionated: their arguments were fierce to the point of destructive. They would say things that, before the relationship, would have been unthinkable. This was certainly the case for Pascal: Chloe was used to this sort of behaviour and was barely fazed by it, but he was shaken at the man he had become over the duration of their relationship, which was by this stage twelve months. As ambitious as he was, and as highly valued as he was in this relationship – and as highly as others viewed him – there was a nagging wound in his conscience. As he watched the days pass and awoke each day to expect an argument (which he always received), he began to grow quite world-weary and felt older than his years. The confidence that has once been his lifeblood (and was one of the most influential reason Chloe fell for him, and was, quite possibly, the very reason he was a young man that was looked up by people of all ages) had started to wain. It had been replaced by tiredness and bitterness, a kind of reservation that this was all that he had left. He was with a beautiful, stunning young woman who could and would have any man she so desired, but she was infatuated with him: she knew that of all the attention she had received, of all the people she knew and had been with, he was ‘the best’.
This buoyed him up to no end, and was perhaps the main reason that he stayed with her for another six months after he began to truly feel tired of life. But a man aged twenty should not be tired of life: he should be carving his name into the earth and leaving a mark that will never be forgotten. Instead, he was wasting his time and his energy in petty arguments that left them both frustrated. Of course, she still adored him. Following one particularly heated argument and after they had (as always) reunited, she said:
‘I literally cannot get enough of you. Even when you argue, I adore it: I get to feel your passion, I get to experience you . . . I get to be impressed upon by you.’
At this, Pascal was struck powerfully by two antithetical emotions: on the one hand he was flattered, as always. She truly meant this – as much of a reputation as he had as someone of a different calibre to others, to the norm, there had never been anyone who had complimented him this highly, this strongly, this consistently. And she knew him inside and out: if anyone was capable of judging his character, it was she. His confidence has been split into two separate branches and…-- but we shall get to this later. The other emotion that winded him was a complete distaste, almost nausea. She truly meant that she adored arguing with him: the one thing that was draining the very life out of him was something she enjoyed doing it. It was quite as if she was literally draining the life out of him; each day she was draw a little more of his confidence, his passion for life; she would sink her teeth into his neck, draw it out, then wipe her supple lips and kiss him leaving a reminder on his of what he was losing each day he stayed with her.
And so it continued: they would argue more and more, but she would still ply him with these compliments that had attained the status almost of an addictive nature. They were the only thing providing sustenance. To the two branches of confidence: this was the one that she supplied him with, a kind of lover’s confidence. He knew that he was able to satisfy her emotionally, psychologically, intellectually, physically and sexually – this had been proven time and time again with the women he had been with, but this relation was a step above in terms of its intensity. More importantly than that, it was his current relationship: he being a philosophically minded young man, he knew that the present was the only thing that mattered, for it was the only thing he could control. (This was also one of his secrets, and the reason he had such a powerful influence. It is often very simple tenets that drive the greatest people…)
The other type of confidence was exactly what he was now missing. It was the reason that he was viewed so highly, and the very reason that she loved him to the degree that she did. Pascal was unique because of the sheer variety and intensity of different traits that was contained within him: he was a superb lover, but he was not arrogant; he was quite adept in all things physical but was a pacifist: he was a philosopher, a hard worker, a part-time addict and above all, he would support and fight for those he loved. It was precisely for this reason that he could sustain only a few, and had attained an almost enigmatic stature amongst those that didn’t know him: he was seen as mysterious; other men would respect him or would despise him – but this was merely subverted respect, and they saw him as competition. He simply fed off of this: he drew confidence from so many things that it would be impossible to list. This could best be described as general life confidence: it was the confidence that propelled him through life; the same invisible spirit that moved his body when he was racked with pain, the same force that allowed him to endure the company of people he hated and the same one which allowed him to make difficult decisions that he simply had to make. And such a decision he had to make, precisely concerning the confidence itself.
Whilst Chloe had fallen for him because of this inimitable confidence, she did not seem to realise that every day she spent with him, tormented and chastised him, the less he had. His fear was that it could not be regenerated: he had to leave her. Lover’s confidence was not enough to sustain him in his life: he was simply too ambitious.
Having explained this all to her, in more emotional terms and, whilst trying to quell her tears and simultaneously not make body contact, he would tell her comforting platitudes: ‘You’ll find someone else.’ Pascal hated the fact that, though he was trying to do something for both of their sakes – namely to save them both from a repetitive set of arguments and a lifestyle that lowered their self-worth – he was being painted thoroughly in the cast of the person in the wrong. It was he was in the wrong for breaking her heart, even though she had consistently chipped away at the very fabric of his identity and had led him to question himself and his beliefs for the first time in two decades. It was he who would be known as ‘the bastard’, and it was she who was known as the victim. He would rather neither of those terms be used – for he despised labels in general, as perhaps we all should – but he knew that for the sake of his ambition, for the sake of his talent and ability to see his ambitious blossom, he would have to endure these moments. And so he did.
The weeks following the break-up were less difficult than he expected. Not having to wake up and defend his innocent actions as if they were treason was like having a weight removed from him that allowed his mood to lift exponentially. Though he was perhaps sombre for a while after, he was more quiet and thoughtful, as if recovering from injury and trying not to strain himself. But now time had passed, and he had gained his confidence back. Thankfully for him, he was able to regenerate it: within three months he had not only restored himself but he had reached new heights.
He found that he was a young man in the prime of his life: he was in supreme physical shape, his intellectual was sharp and probing; he was affable, relieved to be able to converse with people when he chose, not when he was expected to. He had his independence and his freedom back. He was a youth and was blessed with the mind of someone who was near the end of their youth, though in his age he was still young: he was able to act with a foresight that none of his peers were able to. This allowed him to catapult himself to a new level and inspire a whole new set of people: he would wake with a smile of assurance and knew, as he looked into the mirror in the morning and combed his hair to the side – out of his face, exposing his sterling eyes – what he needed to do and how to achieve it. He was at the height of his life thus far, and the near future would be all the brighter for his careful attention to the present. The past was the past, and the future long ahead would be decided by his actions now.
As the days wore on and he became the man he had dreamt of – and then something more, as he became a man he didn’t even realise he was capable of – there rose within him a certain creeping feeling. A nihilation, a lack, a nothing. His lover’s confidence had long since gone. He had sacrificed it for his goals in life. Whilst he had wealth, whilst he had adulation and respect from all quarters, one thing was missing: there was no one there to tell him that he was ‘the best’ lover. There was no delicate touch on his arm, there was no whisper in the night-time to tell him that he was loved; there was no waking to a beautiful face worthy of idolatry, there were no soft lips, there was no championship and there was no romantic love. No: he has his life’s confidence, but he did not have the confidence of a lover. He did not have the satisfaction of a compliment post-orgasm and he had no one to pass the time with. He would pass beautiful girls in the street, and smile; he would engage with them in conversation, but at no point could he risk what he had achieved for their intoxicating perfume or enchanting laughter.
Though he had his wealth, his intellect, his ambition and his life’s dream, he did not have love – he did not have his lover. When he had love, he did not have those things – and when he had those things, he did not have love. And this will always be the case, because no one can have every thing.
A Short Story,
Published 15 March 2012
Published 15 March 2012