The following is ramblings that may or may not be fiction, like everything else I write.
I don’t think I should feel this way, I think to myself as I trace the constellations of freckles on your back with my pinky. Nothing good ever comes from being this happy.
I roll over and the sheets rustle. You do not stir from your spot on the left side of the bed. I move my hair out of my face and curl myself into a ball, trying to distance myself as much from you as possible. I try not to shake but it cannot be helped and my side of the bed trembles lightly. I could pull out my phone and call a taxi, get as far away from you as possible, but I don’t. I don’t want to wake you up.
I tug the sheets closer to my body and try to remember the last time I’ve felt so safe and so unstable at the same time. I can’t do it, so I sigh and carefully, slowly get up. My pyjamas are covered in sweat and my skin is covered in goosebumps. I pull on my robe and step onto the balcony, looking up at the dark sky. There are no stars tonight; the porch light is the only source illuminating my body and moths flutter around it, hypnotized.
It’s been 243 days exactly since the last time I spoke to the last boy I had kissed before you. I remember the date because it was his birthday and he smelled like the incense I had bought him and I remember the faint smell of cologne that wafted towards me as he mouthed the words, “We’re done here”.
I remember the last time he took me into his arms, the way you just had only hours before, and whispered sweet lies I believed too easily. I remember the way I felt like nothing could ever go wrong again.
You’re in bed still and I realize with a sudden shock running through me like a lightening bolt why I’m so scared. I haven’t trusted someone else for 243 days, and now that I do again, I have so much more to lose.
Everything is going perfectly as of right now, right this very second. But I know all too well what it feels like to crash after climbing this high.
I want to go. I want to grab my things from the other room and flee from this house without turning my back. I want to scream at myself for getting this close to another person who will undoubtedly scar me the way so many others have. I enter your bedroom again and start to bend down to grab my purse when you move. I freeze just ask you mumble my name, and I realize you are blindly searching for me amongst the cold sheets where I am no longer laying.
“I’m here,” I whisper and crawl back into bed, deciding to stay with you, for this night at least. “I’m right here.”
243, no wait, the clock says 244, days later and I finally feel like I can breathe again. This time on my own.