It’s always the same question every single time. He looks at me with his eyes full of sadness, his expression full of embarrassment, and I hate it! That question always makes me feel terrible, as if we just did something wrong… which we have, but I hate that he’s conscious of it, that he reminds me of it. As if I said ‘no this is wrong, terribly wrong, I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you,’ it’s something he wants to hear.
“Yeah,” I say, my throat burning. He looks at me, and I turn my face away, feeling a tear escape.
“Lisa.” His voice is full of sorrow, fear, and every other depressing feeling that makes me want to vomit.
Anger starts to consume me, and it replaces the hesitancy I usually have to say the words I’ve wanted to say for so long. “I love you, Will.”
There’s silence, and each second cuts through me. When my eyes meet his, I see a storm in them, and I don’t care. I want him to say something. Anything.
“You know I…” His voice is weak, his expression full of confusion as if to say Why on earth? How dare you?
“I love you, Will!” I say louder.
He doesn’t say anything but sits on the edge of the bed, as if my words have knocked him out. I cry, and I know it’s making things worse, but I can’t help it now. My resolve is in tatters.
I get off the bed and stand in front of him, naked and vulnerable. “I know it’s wrong. I know you said that this would happen. I know all of this, but can you at least say something? Can you at least try to make me feel just a little bit better about it?”
I only see deadness behind his eyes, as if he’s left himself and only his body is here with me.
“I want to be loved how you love her! Is that too much to ask? Does just wanting to be loved make me terrible person?” I ask desperately, and his eyes water.
“No, it doesn’t,” he says softly. “But it makes me a terrible person.” He stands up from my bed, grabs the sheet, and wraps it around me. He kisses my forehead and looks into my eyes. “I can’t love you how you want me to, Lisa, how you should be loved.”
I feel my heart race. Why did I say that? I feel anxious and angry with myself. “I’m sorry.”
I hug him, but he doesn’t hug me back. Anxiety courses through me. It was too much, I knew it was, but I couldn’t keep the words from leaving.
“I won’t ever bring this up again. Just please don’t be mad. Just forget I said it.”
“I think we… this is destroying you. I can’t do this to you anymore,” he says, going to the door.
I jump in front of it. He looks at me sympathetically but gently moves me out of the way. I follow him through my quiet, dark house to the back door. When he opens it, the cold air hits me. The sky’s still dark aside from the tiny light on my back porch. He goes down the porch and looks back at me.
“Good night, Lisa,” he says quietly before disappearing down the street into the darkness. His truck is parked almost four blocks up in its usual spot.
I’m obsessed with blowing kisses. I guess that makes me a romantic. I love books and cute boys and reading about cute boys in books.I’m infatuated with the glamour girls of the past: Audrey,Dorothy,Marilyn,Elizabeth.
I’m a self confessed girly girl,book nerd,food enthusiast, and comic book fan. Odd combination huh, you have no idea…