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For a moment, I sit in his lap. My breaths are ragged. I look at his face for a fraction of a second before he can lock eyes with mine.
When he does, I look away, playing it off, and tap his arm before climbing off. I just need to get out of here. It feels suffocating suddenly and too real. Way too real.
I pull on my jeans and grab a shirt off the dresser. One of Keith's. I can feel his eyes piercing through my skin, knowing that all he wants is for me to stay. But I can't. I don't know why. Why its always hard to do so. Why it always gets so hard to talk.
I don't say a word as I leave. It's pointless. When I step outside, the cold bites at my skin, and complete regret floods my system. I know it feels like I'm using him. Maybe I've convinced myself that I was and that I didn't love him because someone who loves you wouldn't do this to them. But I do care, and it matters. I hate that it does.
He'll be okay. He'll toughen it up like he always does. And when I do return, he won't bring it up. Though there are times when he has, and I hate it when he does it. We'd fight and throw insults around. Seems all we did was fight if neither of us was silent enough. We'd get rough, wrestle for a bit, and then one thing would lead to another. We'd end up fucking but we'd never talk about it after.
Some days, I wished that things weren't as complicated as they were now. It was much simpler. Keith and I would walk Lilly to the library, and we'd fool around, having a blast. We never knew what we were.
Hell, maybe we still didn't. With a lot of things unspoken, it's kinda hard to tell. Every time Keith would try to talk about it. About us… I'd block that out. I'd tell him it's too much. That he was being too much. And I'd hate myself because it's not his fault. I'd get so mad with myself because I still wanted him. Parts of him that didn't want too much of me. I couldn't imagine a world where I had to let him go entirely, and maybe that was selfish of me. But how would I ever be able to put myself out so dry without feeling like I need to run away from it? Like opening up would be the death of me. Leaving me even more naked than I've ever been with him. How I could possibly do that… I'd never know.
I like when I could just sit by him, not saying much, but just be around him. Because it's Keith Matthews, not someone I get together with for a cheap fuck. He expects too much of me that I could never allow myself to give. So some days I create this version of myself in my head. Someone who lies with him after, tucking his hair away from the frame of his face. Someone who tells him that he is loved and that I love him. Someone who tells him that his purpose is not just to make me feel better…. and somehow this ideation of myself scares me because I know it's not possible. And that I'll never be able to change my ways. Neither will Keith.
No matter how much I promise myself that I won't come back, I always do. Just to be with him, to hear his voice, to see his face, to feel loved for a moment until… it gets too much and I push away. Until I see the desperation in his eyes, he'll never speak about because he's scared that if he does, I'll lose my cool. Until I know in my heart that I'll never be what he wants me to be. Never.
When I go back to his place later that night, he's fast asleep like I hoped he would be. I look at him for a moment too long. His rusty hair frames his face, and freckles line his body. Faint tear stains visible underneath his eyes. I make a move closer to him and sit on the edge of the bed. I wanted to wipe them away, but I was scared he'd wake. I didn't want to end up fighting. So I sit in silence, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.
I'd leave in a few minutes like I always did. Maybe the lingering smell of my cigarette would tell him I was here. It's pathetic how I never say these things out loud. But I won't change. Though I will silently acknowledge how much he's on my mind. I'd never say it, but that's every day. I don't think we'd be like this if I hadn't acknowledged that at all.