I Won't Call This Hell

I looked up at him, from across the room, waiting. I wasn't brave. At least, not if you asked me. I've had to live with myself, he hasn't.

"It sucked. I'm going to tell you, straight up, it sucked, not being able to get over you. I was traveling the country, supposed to be having the time of my life with my best friends, only I was stuck on a girl from home who I was stupid enough to believe would leave me the second I buckled my seatbelt for our first show. I spent every day on stage, wishing you were there, singing for you, when I was the one who left."

Then, instantly, I felt this pain in my stomach. The woosh of heat I'd felt earlier, when I'd started up on him. It rose up my body, burning my throat, searing through my mind and I understood. I spit it out.

"Okay, okay, okay. Stop. Right there. Just stop. I.. I didn't come here for this. I didn't come here for you to tell me about how you messed up. That's my job. Okay? Got it? I didn't come here for you to shower me with praise."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. I figured, no matter how angry I could be at you, I'm more angry with myself."

"You've yelled in your head. Yelled at yourself enough that it just isn't the time for anyone else to do it. Not right now."

John nodded, standing from his seat on the bed, walking until he was standing over me, holding out his hand. " Right. Now, c'mon. If you really want me to, I'll yell at you later, when we're home, when I find a reason."

With that, I let him take my hand, and take me away from what was going to be my horrible home for the night.

It felt good that we both knew, finally, where the other stood in this relationship.