As promised, the boy I have been spending an inordinate amount of time with lately has decided to grace my blog with his own experience of, well, this. He is caught up in this whirlwind with me, sometimes has a fear monster of his own, tastes like orange tic tacs, and most recently, can’t stop giving me more than I bargain for.
It’s a first for me, to let the other side speak… here, where my thoughts build a world of skin and space. Though, sometimes it’s refreshing to be rendered speechless. For now, he will stay in that comforting blur of anonymity, though feel free to call him out in the comments… I’m sure he’ll read them. Oh, and something special at the bottom.
“I didn’t want this, any of this.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”
I wake up to the sun shining through a slit in the window shade, the same sun I had greeted a few hours before, in a haze of drinks and drugs and too little sleep. The cot beneath my hips feels hard and cold. I’ve woken up dressed for winter, toque and all.
“I hate this life” I tell myself, shaking the cobwebs out of my head and wishing for a coffee. I always feel this way after that type of party. Disillusioned and scared, I think back on the events of the night before and hate it all.
I get up and leave, not bothering to say goodbye. I want to be home. I want to be somewhere comfortable and warm and safe. I think about her as I walk down the street, wonder if she’s thinking about me. I want to be near her. Outside of that thought there is always that lurking fear of asking too much, of moving too fast, of giving too much away.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t even realize that my feet have taken me to the nearest payphone. My body ignores my brain’s protests as I drop a piece of silver into the slot. I want to see her. I want to hear her voice.
“Hello” she answers; I catch my breath, play it cool. Pretend that I just want to stop by. Nothing serious.
556 steps and three songs later I’m in front of her house. I ring the doorbell and wait for the sound of dogs barking and soft footsteps bounding down the stairs. All of a sudden she is there in front of me, peering through the glass into the cold outside. Into me.
I step inside out of the cold and feel the warmth of her house creep through the cold shell I’ve pulled around myself since last night. She pulls me up into her room and I melt into the comfort of this now familiar scene. I settle into her bed, happy to be in the warmth and comfort that I’ve longed for all day.
We only leave the house once, at my insistence of giving into a craving for fast food that just must be met. We walk through the streets and she holds my arm, I’m happy with the warmth. We giggle and chat, about nothing and everything, spouting silliness to each other through the cold night air.
When we get back she asks me to stay. I’m only too happy to oblige. We write each other stories in the comfort of her room, planning further our world domination plot.
Later, in the dark she pushes my self-control past the breaking point, leaves me breathless and wanting more; my entire body shuddering, my breath coming in short ragged gasps.
As I roll over to try and sleep, I feel her fingers trace my back, slip over my hips. I smile in the darkness and close my eyes, comfortable at last.