We went to Toy Story three. The midnight showing because it’s a fantastic movie and I couldn’t wait to see it. I felt weird tagging along with your friends but my group bailed on me. I got to your house at ten thirty, exhausted from UCF orientation but determined to stay awake for this movie. My parents insisted on me bringing clothes to your house in case I got too tired and didn’t want to drive home at two in the morning. I felt like that would be weird considering you were my ex-boyfriend. You said it would be a big group. There was four of us. Two girls. Two boys. Everyone else bailed but that was cool with me because I didn’t know them. The movie was so fantastic and so close to the heart as I was about to go to college and leaving behind childhood is difficult. I almost cried. I didn’t but it was the closest I’ve ever come. You kept nudging my arm trying to provoke a reaction from me. It reminded me of another movie we went and saw together: Avatar. It was there that you first nudged me. It was there that you first held my hand. It was there that you first admitted to wanting to kiss me. I couldn’t help but see the similiarities which is why I never wanted to respond. But you kept nudging me. The movie ended and we all admitted to being moved by how sad it was. Glad I wasn’t alone on that. We dropped everyone off and headed back to your house.
I said “I’m trying to decide if I just want to crash here or head back home.”
You said “if you’re as tired as you sound, I think you should stay.”
So I stayed.
No one was awake when we came in. I offered to crash on the couch. You never objected. Chivalry at it’s finest. Something possessed me to walk back to your room. You raced ahead of me and tried to cover my eyes. Like I’ve never seen a messy room before. I’ve always been amazed by your room. From the Killers closet, the dark side of the moon mural, the creatively hung lighting and life size shadow man and the incessant playlist of 97x, it was a music lover’s haven. You pulled out your wallet and pulled out a concert ticket that you had been intending to tape to your wall since forever. You rummaged through some drawers looking for adhesive. In your search you came across a condom you got at a concert once. I sat on your bed and took in the chaotic perfectness of your room. It was the exact opposite of mine. Mine was light, green, clean, airy, and adorned with a million memories and artwork. Yours was dark, cluttered, busy, constricting, cave-like. I loved it. I felt safe in it. You found tape and clambered over laundry baskets and desk chairs and guitars to your wall where other tickets had been placed haphazardly. You sat on the bed next to me and mentioned how you were tired. A subtle sign to me to leave, but I didn’t want to. You didn’t push it. We talked about who knows what. I flipped through your ipod, heckling you for having Justin Bieber and playing songs I liked. You asked me about Jack Johnson. I had heard of him, but never listened to his music. You insisted on “Banana Pancakes”. It seemed like a stupid name for a song. Besides, I didn’t like bananas on my pancakes. Just chocolate chips and enough butter to give Paula Deen a run for her money. But I listened to it anyway. You usually had good taste in music, despite the lapse in judgement on the Bieber behalf. It was a good song. I was laying on my stomach now, and you were sitting crossed legged.
Suddenly, you looked up. I turned around. Your dad was standing there. He seemed slightly embarrassed. I was mortified. He asked us how the movie was, making small talk. He then turned to me and told me he was going to put some blankets and a pillow out for me. I took this as another cue to leave. But I didn’t. We sat there and listened to music. I slipped through more of your iphone. There was a truth or dare on there, the same one we played at my graduation party. I asked if you wanted to play. You went along with it. The questions were boring and we were too lazy to move for any of the dares. One question asked “What is the worst way someone had broken up with you.” I slid a glance in your direction. You were staring right back. You were the only guy I dated and our break-up consisted of you bailing on a day when we were going to talk and me asking if you just wanted to end it. Over text message, no doubt. You flipped to the next question. You did something mildly annoying, so I tickled you, knowing you were extremely ticklish. You tried to retaliate but I’m only ticklish in one spot and everywhere else is subjective. You asked where that one place was but I was embarrassed to admit it. You tried to find it, by testing every typical spot. But none worked. We were both laying down now. You begged me to tell you. So I caved. It was my neck, I admitted, but only when it was kissed. Awkward. You asked how I knew this since we both knew you were my only boyfriend. I pointed out that you had kissed me on the neck before and some one else had as well. You asked me who it was. I didn’t want to tell you. You started guessing again. The first name you said was Harrison with an air of suspicion and apprehension. Though you’d never admit it, I always thought you were a bit jealous of him. I saw it in your eyes when he’d hug me and the fact that he was your first guess only confirmed it. He never had anything over you, ever. But it wasn’t him. You then listed every boy I had ever mentioned to you. You had never met him, and wouldn’t know him otherwise, I told you. You rolled your eyes and said since you didn’t know him there was no harm in you knowing. I challenged that with what if you ever did meet him. You swore you wouldn’t bring him up. I named him. It took a moment for you to recognize the name. Want to know the truth? It never happened. I never kissed him, he never kissed me. I only knew my neck was ticklish from you. But what I was most curious about was why you were so curious. If your feelings for me had disappeared why we’re you pressing the matter so hard? What benefit did you gain from knowing who else has kissed me. Was it lingering feelings? Or was it some inherent jealously from the boy who had been called my “brother” for so long? We changed the subject quickly thereafter.
You didn’t stop trying to tickle me though despite many failed attempts. I had you doubled over though. Boy, are you ever ticklish. We were lying close on the bed. Somehow one of your hands was under me. I asked if you wanted it back. You said you were fine. I was lying on my back. You rolled towards me and wrapped me in your arms. You told me I was a good body pillow. It’s every girl’s dream to be called reliable bedding. We talked about orientation. I brought up how I ran into my room mate. I though it’d be funny to pull my hair across my face between my nose and lips and tell her, when I saw her again in august “ this is what I’d look like with a message. You were propped up on one elbow now. You did that laugh through your nose that you always do. I pushed my hair behind my ears. I was getting sleepy but hanging out with you was too much fun. This was the most we had ever been alone together. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. When I opened them again, you were staring at me. I knew that look all too well. You had given me that same look seven months prior, standing in your driveway after Avatar. It was that look that you wanted to kiss me. I braced myself for it. You leaned in blocking the light of the room.
I kissed you back. You’re not entirely at fault. It was a very quick kiss, nothing worthy of “The Notebook” or “titanic.” You pulled back a little bit and asked me if this was okay. I wanted to scream at you, push you away, hell, I even wanted to cry a little bit. But instead I said only if you mean it. I should’ve left then. But who was I kidding. I wanted it. You told me you didn’t know what you wanted. You rolled away but not so far to where you weren’t touching me. That was always something about you. Whenever we were together, you we’re never far away. You moved with me. You told me that when you were with me, your heart raced and you got butterflies and you felt like you really liked me. That feeling, you said, persisted for a few days, and then evaporated. That’s why we broke up, you reasoned. I disagree. I think you liked the idea of dating me, the girl who you had known forever, the one you had liked intermittently over the course of four years and decided to try it out. But upon actually taking charge of those feelings, the result fell short of your expectations. You tried me out and it didn’t work it out. So be it. But don’t try to warp it to look like anything other than what it was. I liked you. Hell, I probably loved you. I tried telling you this, my words sticking to the inside of my throat. Why was it so difficult to tell you this and why couldn’t I look at you when I did it? You were holding me again. So this was “the talk”. I never pictured it lying in your bed, while you held me and comforted me. But then again our relationship was never traditional. We kept talking. Your light was bright, so I covered my eyes with my hair. It wasn’t very effective because I saw you turn towards me and lean down once more. You said “let’s play a game. Guess who?” and kissed me again. I was slightly pissed. After everything I said to you, and you fucking kiss me again. So I guessed Harrison. I knew that would piss you off the most. But you just laughed. I sat up with my legs dangling off the edge of the bed. You were kind of sitting behind me. You sat up as well and wrapped your arms around my waist.
“I’m sorry our relationship is so complicated,” you whispered in my ear. I wanted to retort back with how it wouldn’t be so complicated if you weren’t such a hormonal crazed teenage boy incapable of dealing with real emotions unless guided by your penis. But I bit my tongue. You pulled us both back onto the bed so I was more or less laying directly on top of you. I rolled over so my chin was resting on your chest. You were looking at me waiting for me to leave, to kiss you, to roll off, I don’t know what. I debated for a few moments, and thought “fuck it.” So I kissed you.
I don’t regret it.