I lie here, feigning sleep, watching him through half-closed eyes. He’s been sitting there for the better part of an hour, hugging his knees to his chest, and though I keep drifting in and out of sleep, each time I wake to find he hasn’t moved an inch.
Whether he’s thinking or simply staring blankly at the wall opposite, I can’t tell. What little of his face I can see is devoid of emotion; he seems more distant than I have ever seen him in all the years we’ve known each other.
Worse—he seems lost.
I want to reach out and touch him, to feel what he feels, to share some of the burden, but I know that if he realises I’m awake, he’ll simply scoot closer to the edge of the bed and lie with his back to me.
Sometimes it’s like he doesn’t think I know how much he’s suffering. He tries to soldier through his problems alone, never daring to show anyone how much he’s hurting. I know that if he would just open up and let me in, I could help him—but then I find myself wondering if he even wants my help. To him, I’m just a good, easy fuck whenever he needs a release.
God forbid he ever relate to me as a person.
But then I guess I knew what I was getting myself into when I went home with him that night, so long ago… He made it clear that this was all it was: sex. Yet in spite of all the times I told myself that I wouldn’t fall for him, that I wouldn’t get attached, here I am now, pining over some jerk because he won’t just tell me what’s wrong. It’s incredibly selfish, but the worst thing for me is having these feelings for him and knowing that he’ll never reciprocate them.
Yeah, right, I need to get over it.
I know I should.
But I can’t.
In spite of myself, I finally stretch out my hand and touch his hip gently. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask. It’s a stupid question and I regret it almost immediately, but what else is there for me to say?
‘Yeah.’ His voice is toneless; he barely seems to register my fingers on his skin as he stares ahead, blankly.
The lie hangs heavily in the air between us, but neither of us says anything more on the matter. Sighing, I roll onto my back and close my eyes, imagining that when I wake up the next morning, he’ll be lying next to me with an arm draped over me, instead of leaving at the crack of dawn to skulk home as he always does.
I don’t think he’ll ever know how much I love him. I certainly won’t be the one to tell him.
