To Be Loved
Prologue
I feel that I’m awake before I open my eyes. My brain begins to churn and kick into motion. My first instinct is to open my eyes, but I don’t want to see what I know will be lying beside me. You. The mere feeling of your arms wrapped gently around my waist and your soft, rhythmic breath fanning across my chest is already too much for me.
I roll over on my side to avoid having to look at your painstakingly perfect face. You let out a small mew of disapproval, and I know that I’ve woken you. I try to get out of bed before you are fully awake, but your arms tighten around me, trapping me. I can feel your bare chest pressing against my back, and I hate it. I hate every aspect of your late night visits. And not for the reason you might think, Oliver. I hate them because they show me what I will never have, a trailer for a movie that will never premiere. Not for me, at least. It is, however, a movie that she has been enjoying for the past 5 years.
You gently release my waist, and I climb to the edge of the bed gingerly, not wanting to disturb you any further. My legs dangle over the edge of the bed, my back turned to you. It’s still too early in the morning to deal with your beauty. I clasp my hands and stretch, reaching for the ceiling and arching my back. The bed shifts as you reach over behind me and grab my hands, giggling your infectious giggle. I can’t help but smile back gently as you use your cuff-like grip on my hands to pull me into your lap. And for the first time that day, as you pull me into your lap, I see your beautiful face. I can’t help but let out a sigh at the sight of your pure perfection. The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the curtains in my bedroom hits the contours of your face in a way that would make any model jealous. But that’s the thing about you, Oliver, you don’t even try. You are completely oblivious as to the effect your dazzling beauty has on people. But I suppose if you were aware, you wouldn’t be you, now would you? Your hazel eyes are gleaming orbs in the morning sun. Your curly mop of black hair flies haphazardly around your face. Your face is still slightly flushed from sleeping under the heavy quilts that adorn my bed. You are perfection personified.
I shudder at the mere thought at what I must look like right now. I can practically feel the bags under my eyes, and my face hangs gaunt from lack of sleep. Imperfection comes as easily to me as flawlessness does to you. You smile at me sleepily and wrap your arms around me, nestling your face into my neck. I feel my heart splinter. You are so affectionate, Oli, but you have no clue how I wish that your affection meant something so much more than it does. You are so oblivious, my love, and in a way I envy you for that.
Most people would have someone for doing what you do to me. But not me. I can’t even begin to imagine trying to hate you. I could sit and watch you for days. The way the muscles on your back ripple when you pull a shirt over your head. The way your whole face lights up when you are happy. How you tug at your lip ring with your teeth when you are nervous or confused. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment. In moments like these, I let myself believe that I am her, and that you love me the way you love her. The way I love you.
I wrap my arms around your neck and inhale your scent. I’m trying to capture every element of this morning, this moment, to play back later on the nights when you have her, and therefore no need for me. How ironic, that those are the nights that I need you most.
To an outsider, you would seem like a bad friend, I suppose. But I know that that’s not the case. You are the best friend a girl could ask for. Too good, in fact.
You eventually release me from the grasp of your embrace and I climb off of your lap and off the bed. My feet hit the cold floor and I shiver. I walk gingerly over to the dresser, reaching inside one of the drawers and pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt, tossing them to you.
It’s sad, that your visits are so routine that I always make sure I have clothes for you the next day. You used to stress about her getting suspicious if you came home in last night’s clothes, but I always told you that there wasn’t anything to be suspicious of. But since you never really seemed to believe me, I caved.
You murmur a “Thanks” my way, as I cross the room to my closet and dress quickly, not wanting to waste any of the time I have with you that I know is very limited.
Usually, you start to feel guilty before I can even make a pot of coffee. It’s silly though, for you to feel guilty. It’s not as if you’ve done anything wrong. But I guess that’s what love does to you, Oli. It makes you worrisome and cautious to the point that you wouldn’t want to do anything to risk losing her. But she doesn’t deserve you. She doesn’t hold half of the devotion and love that you hold for her. To her, you are merely a commodity in her world. Not necessary, just nice to have. I step out of the closet and find you, now fully clothed, watching cartoons on my bed. I blink in surprise. Usually by now, you’re looking for excuses to leave. I feel a dim flickering hope that maybe this morning will be different. But then you sigh and switch off the TV, and that hope is immediately extinguished. You look over at me, smiling guiltily, and say
“Audrey, sweetie, I should really get going. I promised Ellie I’d call her this morning”.
I smile sadly at you and nod. I knew this was coming, as usual. You lift yourself off the bed, cross the room over to where I’m standing, and envelop me in a hug.
“Seeya later, doll”, you murmur. You kiss my forehead quickly and then rush out the door, leaving me as confused as usual.
This part, above all others, is the worst part of your loneliness-driven late night visits. I drop onto my bed, feeling the usual pangs in my chest. This is what you do to me, Oliver. Scratch that. What I do for you. I inflict this pain on myself in hopes that I can make you feel good in your times of need. As I sink further onto my bed, I catch your scent wafting off my bed. I pick myself up quickly, sneering in disgust at my sheets, carriers of that foul odor, wanting to be rid of the scent It reminds me that this is what her sheets smell like all the time. She, unlike me, does not have to treasure every moment she has with you because she knows you will never leave her side. Like you always seem to be leaving mine. That reminds me of you, and even more, of how incredibly pathetic and weak I am when it comes to you, the way I do everything you need without you even having to ask. If you ever found out all that you do to me, you would hate yourself. Because of this, I keep it to myself. It will forever remain a festering, acidic secret. And even if it kills me, I will never inflict this pain on you. My poor, sweet angel.
I roll over on my side to avoid having to look at your painstakingly perfect face. You let out a small mew of disapproval, and I know that I’ve woken you. I try to get out of bed before you are fully awake, but your arms tighten around me, trapping me. I can feel your bare chest pressing against my back, and I hate it. I hate every aspect of your late night visits. And not for the reason you might think, Oliver. I hate them because they show me what I will never have, a trailer for a movie that will never premiere. Not for me, at least. It is, however, a movie that she has been enjoying for the past 5 years.
You gently release my waist, and I climb to the edge of the bed gingerly, not wanting to disturb you any further. My legs dangle over the edge of the bed, my back turned to you. It’s still too early in the morning to deal with your beauty. I clasp my hands and stretch, reaching for the ceiling and arching my back. The bed shifts as you reach over behind me and grab my hands, giggling your infectious giggle. I can’t help but smile back gently as you use your cuff-like grip on my hands to pull me into your lap. And for the first time that day, as you pull me into your lap, I see your beautiful face. I can’t help but let out a sigh at the sight of your pure perfection. The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the curtains in my bedroom hits the contours of your face in a way that would make any model jealous. But that’s the thing about you, Oliver, you don’t even try. You are completely oblivious as to the effect your dazzling beauty has on people. But I suppose if you were aware, you wouldn’t be you, now would you? Your hazel eyes are gleaming orbs in the morning sun. Your curly mop of black hair flies haphazardly around your face. Your face is still slightly flushed from sleeping under the heavy quilts that adorn my bed. You are perfection personified.
I shudder at the mere thought at what I must look like right now. I can practically feel the bags under my eyes, and my face hangs gaunt from lack of sleep. Imperfection comes as easily to me as flawlessness does to you. You smile at me sleepily and wrap your arms around me, nestling your face into my neck. I feel my heart splinter. You are so affectionate, Oli, but you have no clue how I wish that your affection meant something so much more than it does. You are so oblivious, my love, and in a way I envy you for that.
Most people would have someone for doing what you do to me. But not me. I can’t even begin to imagine trying to hate you. I could sit and watch you for days. The way the muscles on your back ripple when you pull a shirt over your head. The way your whole face lights up when you are happy. How you tug at your lip ring with your teeth when you are nervous or confused. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment. In moments like these, I let myself believe that I am her, and that you love me the way you love her. The way I love you.
I wrap my arms around your neck and inhale your scent. I’m trying to capture every element of this morning, this moment, to play back later on the nights when you have her, and therefore no need for me. How ironic, that those are the nights that I need you most.
To an outsider, you would seem like a bad friend, I suppose. But I know that that’s not the case. You are the best friend a girl could ask for. Too good, in fact.
You eventually release me from the grasp of your embrace and I climb off of your lap and off the bed. My feet hit the cold floor and I shiver. I walk gingerly over to the dresser, reaching inside one of the drawers and pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt, tossing them to you.
It’s sad, that your visits are so routine that I always make sure I have clothes for you the next day. You used to stress about her getting suspicious if you came home in last night’s clothes, but I always told you that there wasn’t anything to be suspicious of. But since you never really seemed to believe me, I caved.
You murmur a “Thanks” my way, as I cross the room to my closet and dress quickly, not wanting to waste any of the time I have with you that I know is very limited.
Usually, you start to feel guilty before I can even make a pot of coffee. It’s silly though, for you to feel guilty. It’s not as if you’ve done anything wrong. But I guess that’s what love does to you, Oli. It makes you worrisome and cautious to the point that you wouldn’t want to do anything to risk losing her. But she doesn’t deserve you. She doesn’t hold half of the devotion and love that you hold for her. To her, you are merely a commodity in her world. Not necessary, just nice to have. I step out of the closet and find you, now fully clothed, watching cartoons on my bed. I blink in surprise. Usually by now, you’re looking for excuses to leave. I feel a dim flickering hope that maybe this morning will be different. But then you sigh and switch off the TV, and that hope is immediately extinguished. You look over at me, smiling guiltily, and say
“Audrey, sweetie, I should really get going. I promised Ellie I’d call her this morning”.
I smile sadly at you and nod. I knew this was coming, as usual. You lift yourself off the bed, cross the room over to where I’m standing, and envelop me in a hug.
“Seeya later, doll”, you murmur. You kiss my forehead quickly and then rush out the door, leaving me as confused as usual.
This part, above all others, is the worst part of your loneliness-driven late night visits. I drop onto my bed, feeling the usual pangs in my chest. This is what you do to me, Oliver. Scratch that. What I do for you. I inflict this pain on myself in hopes that I can make you feel good in your times of need. As I sink further onto my bed, I catch your scent wafting off my bed. I pick myself up quickly, sneering in disgust at my sheets, carriers of that foul odor, wanting to be rid of the scent It reminds me that this is what her sheets smell like all the time. She, unlike me, does not have to treasure every moment she has with you because she knows you will never leave her side. Like you always seem to be leaving mine. That reminds me of you, and even more, of how incredibly pathetic and weak I am when it comes to you, the way I do everything you need without you even having to ask. If you ever found out all that you do to me, you would hate yourself. Because of this, I keep it to myself. It will forever remain a festering, acidic secret. And even if it kills me, I will never inflict this pain on you. My poor, sweet angel.