Promise Me This; Never Let Go

Matt

I watched from the VIP entrance; her small talk with Rafael. She gave him his Gatorade, but he looked annoyed as hell. My lip reading abilities told me that she lied and said she took so long because of photographers. Right, if by photography, she meant 'I finally saw Matt!', then yes, I am a "photographer."

I watched closely as he nodded and walked away. He didn't kiss her, hug her, he didn't give her any kind of affection. That's cold. It's not like he has anything to hide. The whole world knows of Rafael Nadal and his wife, Franchesa Nadal. Their last name makes me want to hurl.

I shook my head and walked out of the tennis arena. I thought I saw her in New York when I was walking around, trying to find a decent coffee place. I truly believed that the heat was getting to me. I had to have been hallucinating. There was no chance that I would see Franchesa here in New York. My luck was never that great. Then, there she was! She walked up to me in the lobby and had this angry glint in her eyes. Her lips curled into a very dangerous smile. It almost scared me.

Now that I know the girl I bumped into was she, what happens now? She can't expect things to go back to normal. It's been two years, two long years.

I could feel the sheets sticking to my back. Besides that, my whole body was sweaty. I was too tired to deal with anything else. Everyone else was out for a late night Denny's run. I should've gone with them, but I wasn't hungry. I haven't been able to eat like I used to in months. Granted, I don't look like I've lost weight. It's just that my appetite is horrible now and I make up for he missed meals by drinking at least four protein shakes a day.

I tried to roll my shoulders only to feel the sheets behind me stick to my skin even more. Ugh, I really need a shower.

My breathing had regulated but my heart was pumping too fast. Everything felt of the norm. That was until she had to say something.

"That was awesome. I always pictured it to be like that," she told me, all crazy fan-like. She most likely is. I don't even know why I told her to come back to the bus with me. I was never one to do this; I had too much respect and pride to do this. Now that I have done this, I feel so…dirty.

Wasn't there supposed to be some feeling of euphoria? People told me that random sex with a girl that you know you would never see again feels so amazing. The girl and you know that nothing would ever happen from this one nightstand. "You'll regret nothing and it makes you feel better," they all told me. Well, they're all liars.

"Okay, yeah, time for you to go before we move again," I coldly told the naked girl lying in bed with me.

"Oh okay."

I watched listlessly as she reached for her clothes, put them back on, and give me one last look. She had a look in her eyes as though she was disappointed I didn't ask her to stay. She's stupid. She knew for damn sure what this was. This was a "meet-and-greet" and that's how it ends.

When the door to the bus slammed shut, I rolled over to my side and hugged the pillow against my chest. I could stay here for a little while longer before I take a shower and throw my bed sheets into the hamper.

The entire time I was having sex with that girl, all I was thinking was, 'I always pictured it to be withher.' Maybe it was a coincidence that girl had brown wavy hair and green eyes. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty. No one could ever be as beautiful as her.

I've missed my best friend. And okay, I've never slept with her in that sense, but we have done it literally! That's what best friends do though. We go to parties, drink until we're drunk, and crash at each other's houses in the same bed. How many times have we done that? How many times could I have made a move? How many times could I have kissed her? Too many to count; that's how many times.

I remember all those adolescent nights when all I ever had was snuggling with her in the middle of the night when I knew she was knocked out and wouldn't get up for anything. I've held her so many times; most were always against my chest. I was hoping that while she was sleeping, she could hear my heartbeat and it would somehow make her realize that I love her.

It was stupid and vain, but I am stupid and vain.

Oh man, my favorite thing that I always used as an excuse was when I hid my face against the side of her neck because the sun was blinding me. She fell for it every time.

I remember all the times I thought I could smell her perfume. It was never when I was with her or when I was near her. I always smelled it on days when I felt okay and I was so sure I wouldn't think about her. Then, of course, the scent of tangerines of Franchesa wafted to my nose and I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I actually believed she was near when I knew she wasn't. Tricks of the mind suck.

When I saw her before in the lobby, she was shocked to no end. Maybe an electric eel was in her back pocket. Okay now I'm being stupid. But that short conversation we had confused me. As soon as my favorite nickname from her left her lips, I was back in the old world I knew. It was the world where I was happy and I wasn't missing anything.

I don't know what to do. You would be fighting with yourself too if you're still in love with your best friend. I mean, she told me she was sad that I don't have my lip ring anymore because it looked pretty on me, but I still look handsome. If that didn't scream, "I've never forgotten you," then I don't know what it means.

If she didn't want to patch things up, would she tell me to go to her penthouse suite after the tennis match? She even gave me the exact room. #5R 2. I even asked the hotel clerk if there was such a room, and he confirmed it and told me who was temporarily renting it. At least she didn't lie to me.

"Sir, do you have a room here?" the bartender asked me. It wasn't too late, maybe reaching to around nine at night. Then again, I've been at this bar since after my meeting with Franchesa. I started my drinking run since four o'clock I believe.

I looked at the young boy and shook my head. "Ah, well, would you like me to call a cab for you? I'm not allowed to limit customers to how much they should drink, but I don't want you to get alcohol poisoning. Maybe you should go home and think about what's troubling you. Drinking away the thoughts won't help."

"Okay, call me a cab dude."

I stumbled into the cab and mumbled my address to the driver. This was going to be a long drive. I gave the hotel one last look before I slumped in my seat. Was this the right choice? It has to be, it has to be.