if you stay with me tonight

If I wake up before my alarm, I should text him.

You can say I’m tired of words. I’m tired of how flimsy they are, how easy it is to misunderstand them. I’m tired of the truth being too blunt. I’m tired of thinking of the perfect combination of phrases to understand whether this boy likes me or not. Right now, I am making the decision to leave it all up to the fates. So if I wake up before my alarm, I will text him.

My eyes fly open and it is morning. I feel around the bed for my phone and it is nowhere to be found. I check around the usual places – the bedside table, the bathroom, that space between the couch. I trace back to my bed and find it under my pillow. It was looking to be a good sign – no alarm yet so I guess I could text him. But I quickly realized the error in my logic – my phone died while I was sleeping. It was 7:30. My alarm should have gone off 30 minutes ago. So I may have woken up before my alarm but since it never went off, this would be too close to call.

I make breakfast for one and if I crack this egg open successfully with one hand, I should text him. I heat up the pan and in one swift motion, I crack the shell on the side of the pan, ball my hand into a fist, leaving just enough space for the egg to slip through. The egg is picture perfect on the pan, yolk intact, whites bright and gleaming. Okay, I can text him. I tell him my new Criterion movies have arrived and if he didn’t have anything better to do, we could watch them together. He starts typing and I watch as his three dots taunt me. One whoosh and my blood feels alive. He says he’s got to run to the bank in the morning but he could come over after lunch. I eat my breakfast with a stupid grin on my face.

 Feeling brave by letting the fates take the wheel, I think of the next sign I’ll ask. I wanna know if I should tell him how I feel about him and I think it’s pretty clear I like this boy but we’ve never really used words to talk about it. If he shows up wearing green, I’ll tell him I like him. That seemed simple enough. And if he brings something to drink, maybe I’ll kiss him. I clear the dishes and pop a pizza in the microwave for lunch. I vacuum the sofa and put out a fresh blanket in case it gets cold. I run a mop along the bathroom floor and take out the trash. My house and my intentions are clean. 

At 1:30, he arrives – looking freshly scrubbed and dapper. Milk tea in hand, he says he tried to text me for my order but I wasn’t replying so he just assumed. Why so glum, chum? he asks, like it’s a joke he’s been sitting on. How could I tell him I was confused? He brought drinks so I could kiss him but I couldn’t tell him I liked him because of one simple fact. The fates have decided – there would be no confessions today. The boy standing in my front door, milk tea in hand, was wearing a black hoodie.

We watch a movie, and then another, and another. And by the time he reaches for the fourth DVD, I feel the day wearing heavy on me. He asks if I was good to watch another and I say I’ll just rest my eyes a little but he could go ahead. He pops in Happy Together and I lay my head on his lap. The apartment is dark now, with only the television illuminating our faces. I close my eyes and listen to his breaths. They are deep and shallow at first but then his heart begins to race. I open my eyes and see two men in their underwear, making love on a dirty mattress. I hear them moaning, their act both tender and violent at the same time. There’s a constant pounding, a bass line formed by hips thrusting. I feel a gentle poking behind my neck. His arousal was apparent, but my acknowledgement of it was not.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I sit up to give him some room. He grabs the blanket and throws it onto his legs, covering his crotch. He says his leg fell asleep and he hits his right thigh with a fist a number of times. I offer to help him stretch his legs out. That’s always helped me in the past. I sit on the floor and put my hands on his feet. I push the arch forward, slowly at first but with force at the end. He grimaces, sucks air in between his teeth, but then smiles in pleasure. 

I don’t know what it was, perhaps it was the way the silver light reflected on his face or the gentle moans I could hear on the television but a strange confidence took over my body. I began to rub his feet tenderly, deliberately, with strokes to ease, to please. He looks me in the eye and though it was just a flash, I saw it – desire. 

I continue massaging his foot as he moans quietly. He pauses for a quick decision, takes the blanket off, giving me full view of his arousal. His body had said what his words could not. He slides the zipper off his hoodie slowly, as though a loud noise or sudden movement would kill the mood. And that – that was all the sign I needed. I abandoned all caution when I saw what he had on underneath. Under the black hoodie that I had cursed when he arrived, the boy was wearing an olive-green shirt.

Within seconds, I am back on the couch – neither of us paying attention to the movie. There was a fire in my eyes, desire in his – I help him unbuckle his pants and take off his shirt. As I wrapped my arms around his waist to help him undress, we fall into an embrace. His mouth next to my ear, his breaths tickled sparks down my spine.

Are you sure you want to do this? he asks, hesitantly. This feels like a line we can’t uncross.

I’d like to. I… I like you. And that was all he needed to hear. He hits mute on the TV remote, tosses it aside to ravage my body. His fingers danced across my skin. His lips claimed ownership from my neck to the small of my back. His hands told me truths I had never known. And when we became one, it was pain and pleasure, heaven and hell, fire and ice all rolled into one. He played with my body like it was his to use and abuse. I had never known the depths of his desire but as though they were a deep lake, I knew I would gladly swim in those dark pools. He kissed me as though my lips were made of oxygen and he would suffocate if he were without. And when he came, he let out a grunt so guttural, it felt prehistoric. He collapsed onto the sofa beside me and I listen as his breaths draw sharp and deep, slowing from a crescendo. 

I hold my breath so I can match his – inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, ex---

It’s getting late, he says, breaking the silence. I should go.

Oh. Okay. I tell him. Yeah, go ahead. But you know… you could also stay. If you wanted to.

I want to but you know I can’t. Someone’s waiting for me – I put my finger on his lips to shush him. Maybe if he doesn’t complete the sentence, it doesn’t have to be true.

You know… I meant what I said. I like you. I don’t know what you’d do with that information but I figured it’s best to get all the details now that we’re past a line we can’t uncross.

I know, he says. But nothing has to change. It’s just love. 

It’s just love. Only a hollow chrysalis could know the pain of nothing changing.

♫: Carly Rae Jepsen | Body Language (2016)