bluevalentine

There is that moment where you are not sure if being in someone elses bed -- THAT someone else -- is such a good idea.

It's been one hell of a week and the prospect of a couple drinks and some video games sounds mighty inviting.

You walk in, 6pack in hand, drop all but 2 beers in the fridge and sit next to him on his bed.

And he asks "How you been, kiddo", even though he was JUST at your new house and knows exactly how you've been. And he punctuates it with that look. That look you know like the tops of your shoes.

You feign innocence anyways.

And for awhile, you both keep up the facade. You nurse a couple beers and at midnight you say "do you need me to get out of your hair?" Midnight's the cuttoff on school nights. He replies, "I can put up with you if you can put up with me". You know you aren't going anywhere.

Sometime around 2:30 in the morning, you rest your head on his lap. He gives you a little smooch on the top of your head. A little "meow" slips from your lips. This night is like so many before it.

Thats when he says it: "I'm going to bed. You can crash out here." You're speaking in code only you two know, even though there is no one else there from whom you must keep secrets. You get up off the floor and for a moment, go through the motions of TRYING to muster up the energy to stay awake and drive home. You both question the charade.

And for a moment you feel guilty. It is, afterall, a mere 36 hours before he moves in with his girlfriend -- the girlfriend he told you he was dumping you for after that wonderful night of expensive japanese fish while draped in brown silks. And while you've danced this dance several times since you were passed over for another, its not quite the same this time. This time, its the eve of his starting an actual life with this woman. But while standing there in t-shirt and panties, your guilt shatters like glass against concrete. Does this make you a bad person?

You slip out of your shirt, and crawl under the covers as he finishes his last cigarette.

And for a while, after he switches off the light, you are not sure if what you expected to happen is actually going to happen. He is safely on his side of the bed and has yet to place his lips on yours or his hand on your skin. You roll onto your stomach. He slides closer to you, and places his leg over yours and his hand on the small of your back. As if by instinct, you squirm slowly and lift your hips slightly.

And that second time he slides in you, you just want it to be over. You pull out all the stops in hopes he just finishes and finishes quickly. This is not a normal reaction to someone you'd dubbed your favourite of all your lovers. You finally feel him pulse against your skin and half a minute later, you ask him "You ready for bed""? He replies, "not just yet" and takes a few more seconds to catch his breath.

You both drift off to sleep in seperate halves of the bed. You wonder if he felt the dread too.

And the morning comes and his alarm rings and he decideds to take the day off work to finish up his packing. He says you are welcome to stay as long as you want. And for a moment, you think it might be a good idea. And then his phone rings and it's her and you are pretty sure you should stay as quiet as a mouse because you probably aren't supposed to be there that early in the morning.

You slip your shoes on and announce your departure.

He walks to you, kisses you softly and says "This is the last time we'll be here in this apartment. It's a little strange, don't you think?"

"We had good times here", you reply.

"Yeah" he sighs, obviously trying to hide his fear.

He kisses you once more. You don't even have the strength to look at him as you say goodbye and shut the door behind you.