Need
Rating: PG
Summary: He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "Fine." What I really mean is, "If you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again," but I don't think he notices.
***
He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "Fine." What I really mean is, "If you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again," but I don't think he notices.
I wait until 9:03 and then get up to leave.
The clock reads 9:26 when he reaches my house and I think that he must've been speeding because the drive from the restaurant to here is more than a half-hour.
"Why did you leave?" He asks.
"I wanted to watch TV," I say with a shrug and I wonder how long it will take this time before he starts on about how he doesn't think I want this anymore. Every time he does I wonder myself if I do want it, but neither of us come to a conclusion and we just continue as is.
When I wake the next morning I expect him to be gone, but am not surprised to find him still here. The bathroom is full of steam and the mirror is fogged up but I don't wipe it clean, instead sitting on the lid of toilet and waiting for him to finish in the shower.
"You can come in, you know," he calls from behind the curtain in a low voice and I think that I actually really like the minty shampoo he uses, and would like some myself.
"No thanks," I say, and three minutes later when the steam is thicker and I can only see an outline of the door I decide to join him.
We do a 'Are you right for each other?' quiz together as we sit on the couch, or at least I do the quiz and he sleeps with his head in my lap. After a while I give up because as he sleeps his grip on my right hand has tightened and I can not write well with my left.
He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "fine." What I really mean is, "if you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again," but I don't think he notices.
A dark car pulls up outside the restaurant, he rolls down the window and says, "Where are you going?"
"Home," I say and walk away.
He doesn't follow me home this time and I think that no matter how many times this happens he always does in the end.
In the morning he is there again as if nothing has changed, and I suppose that nothing really did.
I decide to tackle an expedition in the kitchen because no matter how many cooking classes I attend, I am a horrible cook.
It takes almost fifteen minutes to decide on a recipe that I feel I am capable of and have all the ingredients to. The water is boiling and I am cutting an onion when he comes in and says, "Why are you crying?"
I sniffle and hold up the onion as explanation.
"Honey, I think you're also bleeding," he says as gently as possible and I blink away another renegade tear to see that I have accidentally sliced myself. "Go get a band-aid and I'll clean this up."
It's inside a box also containing an old rusty silver photo frame that I eventually find the band-aid. From the kitchen I hear, "Babe? Can you get me a band-aid as well?"
Lunch consists of lots of cereal and a great variety of beverages.
"I'm going to go home and change," he says. "Do you want to come?"
"What for?" I say with a laugh. "To help you choose which pyjamas you want to wear?"
There is a frustrated look on his face and I wonder what it is that I have said. "No," he says. "I just thought… I just thought-- never mind. I'll go by myself."
The door slams behind him and the ice cubes in the glass I am holding shakes.
"I don't think you want this anymore," he says, standing in my hallway twenty minutes later and coming no further as if he is a stranger. He is still wearing the same clothes and I know that he hasn't yet gone home. "Tell me if you don't."
It is out of routine this time, sharp and straight to the point and I think that he is changing.
I stare at him for a moment before dropping my eyes and saying, "I don't want to need you." He starts to walk away and then I say, "But I do."
I realize then that we are both changing.
He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "If you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again." What I really mean is, "Fine," and I know that he notices.
***
END
Summary: He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "Fine." What I really mean is, "If you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again," but I don't think he notices.
***
He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "Fine." What I really mean is, "If you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again," but I don't think he notices.
I wait until 9:03 and then get up to leave.
The clock reads 9:26 when he reaches my house and I think that he must've been speeding because the drive from the restaurant to here is more than a half-hour.
"Why did you leave?" He asks.
"I wanted to watch TV," I say with a shrug and I wonder how long it will take this time before he starts on about how he doesn't think I want this anymore. Every time he does I wonder myself if I do want it, but neither of us come to a conclusion and we just continue as is.
When I wake the next morning I expect him to be gone, but am not surprised to find him still here. The bathroom is full of steam and the mirror is fogged up but I don't wipe it clean, instead sitting on the lid of toilet and waiting for him to finish in the shower.
"You can come in, you know," he calls from behind the curtain in a low voice and I think that I actually really like the minty shampoo he uses, and would like some myself.
"No thanks," I say, and three minutes later when the steam is thicker and I can only see an outline of the door I decide to join him.
We do a 'Are you right for each other?' quiz together as we sit on the couch, or at least I do the quiz and he sleeps with his head in my lap. After a while I give up because as he sleeps his grip on my right hand has tightened and I can not write well with my left.
He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "fine." What I really mean is, "if you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again," but I don't think he notices.
A dark car pulls up outside the restaurant, he rolls down the window and says, "Where are you going?"
"Home," I say and walk away.
He doesn't follow me home this time and I think that no matter how many times this happens he always does in the end.
In the morning he is there again as if nothing has changed, and I suppose that nothing really did.
I decide to tackle an expedition in the kitchen because no matter how many cooking classes I attend, I am a horrible cook.
It takes almost fifteen minutes to decide on a recipe that I feel I am capable of and have all the ingredients to. The water is boiling and I am cutting an onion when he comes in and says, "Why are you crying?"
I sniffle and hold up the onion as explanation.
"Honey, I think you're also bleeding," he says as gently as possible and I blink away another renegade tear to see that I have accidentally sliced myself. "Go get a band-aid and I'll clean this up."
It's inside a box also containing an old rusty silver photo frame that I eventually find the band-aid. From the kitchen I hear, "Babe? Can you get me a band-aid as well?"
Lunch consists of lots of cereal and a great variety of beverages.
"I'm going to go home and change," he says. "Do you want to come?"
"What for?" I say with a laugh. "To help you choose which pyjamas you want to wear?"
There is a frustrated look on his face and I wonder what it is that I have said. "No," he says. "I just thought… I just thought-- never mind. I'll go by myself."
The door slams behind him and the ice cubes in the glass I am holding shakes.
"I don't think you want this anymore," he says, standing in my hallway twenty minutes later and coming no further as if he is a stranger. He is still wearing the same clothes and I know that he hasn't yet gone home. "Tell me if you don't."
It is out of routine this time, sharp and straight to the point and I think that he is changing.
I stare at him for a moment before dropping my eyes and saying, "I don't want to need you." He starts to walk away and then I say, "But I do."
I realize then that we are both changing.
He calls me from his cell phone to tell me that he'll be late and I say, "If you aren't here by 9pm then I'm leaving and I can't promise that I'll ever want to see you again." What I really mean is, "Fine," and I know that he notices.
***
END