It was a normal day, maybe even a good day, but now I am at home alone and my own shadows are clamoring for attention. I open a bottle of wine, telling myself that at the end of the day a glass to reward myself with, to unwind with, that’s perfectly acceptable. And it is. Maybe even two glasses, I can justify that. By the third I know that no matter how good my day may have been, it’s dark now. It’s no longer day. Watching the red liquid pour into my fourth glass I know that I am screwed. There is no going back now.
I text you. Double text, actually. No wait, that was two glasses ago. I guess by now it’s a triple text. Fuck it, I need this. I want this. You, I mean. Of course I mean you. Because although most of me just wants to escape the quietness of my own apartment, I know that no other place can truly give me what yours could. What you can. That escape only you make me feel, because it doesn’t feel so destructive; I never regret you in the morning, I never go over to yours and don’t laugh or smile or say almost as much random shit as you do. One more text. What can it hurt; at this point you probably assume I am drunk anyway. I stare at my phone, willing your name to pop up. The screen goes black without a response.
Distraction, that’s what I need. Maybe I’ll watch some Netflix. But sitting on my couch is making me anxious, I can tell in the way I knead my hands before I consciously even pick up on it. I can feel the darkness calling to me, serenading me to succumb to its comfort. My head is a little woozy from the wine and I can feel the tears burning at the back of my eyes. It would be so easy to just give in. No, no I can’t. Maybe you didn’t see your texts. I’ll send a snap.
I have asked myself what it is about you that even after everything I still crave you on nights like these. ‘After everything’ is not right somehow. There was never much, we were never that much. So why does it feel like we have a whole history wrapped up into a year and however many months it’s been since I accidentally landed in your bed?
But it wasn’t an accident, was it? From the moment we met there was something about the other one that apparently we can’t let go. And I am glad we can’t. Is it because we saw a fellow cracked soul? Is it because when I tell you that I didn’t go to class because it was one of those days I couldn’t get out of bed you just kiss my head and say, “Yea, I know those”? Or maybe it’s simply attraction. Maybe that is all it is for you; maybe you like me better when we are not talking.
Do you really like me better when we aren’t talking? Do you really never miss me, miss my chatter and my terrible taste in movies? Because I crave you on more than just on nights like these. Even when my own shadows are safely tucked away somewhere and I can barely feel them lurking, well, even then I want to get in a cab to yours, even on nights like that. I like hanging out with you, is that bad? I like you. But that really doesn’t matter, does it? We both know that no matter how many people say that to us, if our shadows are telling us that they are lying then it makes no difference. But I do like you. And you must like me too, right? After all this everything, all this nothing? I don’t mean love, or falling for, but just liking someone as a person and their company. I crave yours.
Damn, now the bottle is empty. I should slow down. Actually, I should probably stop. Yea, I really should. I’ll make some tea, even though I know it is not what I need. Maybe it is what I should be needing, maybe it is what my body needs, but certainly not my mind. Maybe just a night cap?
Ding. That’s your ringtone.
“Okay. Come over.”