Love is being uncomfortable so you can be happy

January 15, 2011

“Can I see your board?” I ask quietly, leaning into you, glancing up to see your face.

“My room is really messy...” you trail off, your hand absentmindedly trailing up and down my arm, giving me goose bumps. I wonder at the reluctance in your voice.

“So?”

I see that crooked half smile play across your lips, like you’re toying with the idea, considering. I make up your mind with a kiss, and you lead me by the hand up to your “messy” room.

The carpet feels smooth against my bare feet and as I slip my jacket off, I can’t remember ever feeling more beautiful, more alive, more loved.

Your room really isn’t that bad, just a couple piles of clothes scattered around, the covers on your bed still mussed like you just got up. The blinds in front of the window are pulled back, allowing the morning sun to shine in brightly.

We stand, your arm around me, gazing at the board for a few minutes, absorbed in our memories, our stupid jokes and first date, my first letter…

When all the papers and memories have been remembered with appropriate nostalgia, I turn towards you, wrapping my arms around you, burying my head into your chest, taking in your smell, like maybe getting enough of you now will keep me from missing you later.

You kiss the top of my head, reach down to take my hand and hold it close to your heart. I smile into your chest.

I reach up on my tip-toes to steal a quick kiss, and then another, and another, small little kisses, as I gently push you towards your bed. Your little boy brain takes a second to put two and two together, but then you give in to my pushing, pausing just a minute to move the guitar leaning up against your bed, then pulling me onto your lap, kissing me deeper, holding me closer.

You pull away a few minutes later, pushing some hair behind my ear, your hand cupping my chin, guiding my eyes to meet yours.  I grin, and you look confused for a second, like you’ve seen that grin somewhere before and you’re trying to place it. And I use your moment of confusion, tackling you back onto the bed, covering you in kisses.

You run your hand down the length of my arms, then slide them around my waist, pulling me closer to you, and I break the kiss to snuggle into your chest. I curl my leg around yours, pulling myself closer still.

And this is how we stay for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of us breathing, together, just together.

You pull away again, this time to get in a better position to kiss me, but then your lips don’t go to my lips like I expect them to. They travel down my cheek, onto my neck, where you focus for a few minutes, kissing down and then across, lips brushing across my collar bone.

I feel something bubbling inside me, begging to burst out, and I know that if I don’t stop you now, I’ll lose any self-control I have left to resist you. I raise a hand to push your shoulder, to push you away.

“Ian, I have to get to school.”

You groan, burying your head in my neck. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You don’t react to this except to bring your lips back to mine. It catches me off guard, and I kiss you back for a second before pushing you off again.

“Hey..” I kinda chuckle. “School..”

“Nooo,” you say, and then throw an arm over me and keep me pinned to the bed.

I allow a couple more minutes of this before trying again. I know that if we don’t leave now, I’ll be late for AP Chem and that’s not something I can afford.

“Ian,” I murmur between kisses. “We really should go.”

“No.”

The tone of your voice completely empties the moment of any humor. I shrink back from you, but there’s not much room to do that when I’m lying on the bed. You try to kiss me again and I push your shoulder away. You try harder.

“Ian!” I shove you as hard as I can and you seems to snap out of whatever single track your stupid boy brain was on.

You sit up and I push the rest of my way off the bed.

“We should go,” I say again.

“If that’s what you want.” You grumble as you stands and grab your keys.

“I’m sorry..”

“It’s just.. I thought you refusing to go to church meant that we could.. that we would..”

“What?” When did that become a thing?

You turn to me then, taking one of my hands and rubbing your thumb over the back of it. Your brown eyes seem a lot darker, but they are still yours.

“Don’t you love me?” You ask, your voice very quiet.

“Of course.” It’s an automatic response. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I just want to show you how much I love you.”

I pause, absorbing your words. I hadn’t thought of it that way. If I love you, I should show it. I should be willing to go past my abandoned Mormon standards. Because that’s what you want, and love means putting your needs in front of mine, right?

I rise onto my tiptoes and give you a brief kiss.

“I’m sorry.”

You pause. Then: “It’s okay. Next time?”

My stomach drops and it isn’t a happy feeling that takes its place. I don’t know why I feel so horrible about this, so uncomfortable with something you obviously want.

I can’t force the words, so I just smile at you and then you squeeze my hand and drive me to school.