Let The Walls Come Down

JESSICA BOWEN

I woke up to a loud knock on my bedroom door. Well, at first guess, I thought it was the bedroom door, but then as I stood up to get the door open, another loud knock echoed in the room. It didn’t come from the door; it came from the huddled shadow just behind my second story bedroom window.

“Oh my God,” I gasped as the idea of a murderer using my window to climb in my room and kill me entered my head. I grabbed my drumsticks from my bedside table, but then something clicked in me, as if someone just clicked the ‘Unused Desktop Folder’ of my brain. If this person outside my door is a murderer, he wouldn’t even dare to knock.

I walked towards my locked window with my drumsticks for defense because reasons. Then three knocks sounded from behind the window, “Jess? Wake up, let me in.”

I put down my drumsticks as I recognized the voice as Stephen’s and then went to open the window.

“God, Stephen, why and how did you get here?” I eyed the branch he was crouching on.

He shrugged, “Can I come in?”

I nodded at him. I guess I don’t have any choice. This man freaking climbed a tree to get here. Well, at least, that reason is more rational than letting him in because I love him.

He stooped down from the branch of tree through my window into my room.

I watched him do it as if he’s some kind of ninja. Realizing how dumb I looked, gaping at him, I backed up to stand beside my bed, and sighed. I glanced at him and examined him. Stephen, in his white oversized tank top and skinny pants, in contrast against my dark moonlit room, is as godly looking as ever. And me, I’ll forever be the unattractive and boyish best friend he has.

Stephen raised an eyebrow for he caught me eyeing him, “Any problem, Jess?” He sat down on my floor and waited for my answer.

I shook my head at him and proceeded with a more important question, “Why are you here in an ungodly hour, Stephen?” I scowled. God, it is two o’clock in the morning.

He didn’t answer as the scowl left my face. He just sat there on my floor, watching me with his dark and mysterious eyes. It’s all too much; I can’t take any more of him eyeing me. It’s making me more insecure than I had been in the past decade. “Stephen,” I sighed exasperatedly, “What are you doing here in my bedroom at 2 o’clock in the morning? What made you climb up that goddamn tree, Stephen?” Stephen is the least athletic guy I’ve ever met. He’ll just sit there in front of his laptop to play games, blog, or just simply surf the internet. The mere idea of running disgusts the boy. How’d he find the strength to climb a tree is something I’m guessing I’m about to find out.

“I can’t sleep,” he sighed and ruffled his hair as if the idea embarrasses him.

What? Of course I didn't buy his reason. For obvious matters, it is made up.

“You have a fucking brother, Stephen. Go disturb someone else’s sleep,” I plumped on my bed and scowled at the ceiling. Though I love the guy very fucking much, I need some sleep and I’m tired. I’m tired of being just his best friend and him rubbing it in my face. Worse is, I don’t even know if we really are best friends in the first place.

“You’re my best friend, Jess.”

There. That’s Stephen making everything worse. Now, I don’t know whether to feel happy that I really am Stephen’s best friend, or be miserable that I really am Stephen’s best friend and nothing more. I guess I'm leaning on being miserable. Being someone's best friend just to have him disturb your sleep is not appealing to me.

I didn't reply to Stephen’s ‘you’re my best friend’ statement which earned me another sigh from him.

I heard him sat up from the floor. I can’t really see him, only the shadow he casts, as I was lying on the bed and am now facing the wall. I heard my bed made a springing sound when I felt Stephen sat next to my lying body.

“What is it, Stephen?” I frowned at the wall.

He heaved another sigh from what I guess is a long line of sighs to come. “Look Jess,” I felt him brush my hair out of my face, “I’m sorry for being mean to you these past few days.”

Stephen’s saying sorry? This is new. I turned around on my bed so I could face the same direction as him. I can’t really face him since we were looking at the same direction and he was sitting upright unlike my lazy lying position.

“Say that to Ali.” I tried to make my voice sound intimidating and angry, because he deserves it; He was so rude to Ali. Unfortunately, I ended up sounding squeaky instead. It’s hard to be cold to the man you’ve always felt warm for. Maybe I did it successfully a few times before; I just don't know how to continue doing it. It will hurt me more than it would probably hurt Stephen.

“Is she here?” His shadow lowered its head.

“Yeah, she’s in the other room.”

Stephen started to stand up from my bed, but I grabbed his wrist to stop him. He glanced down at me and cocked his head. “Look at the time, Stephen.” I said as I gestured on the digital alarm clock sitting on my bedside table and sat up. “It’s fucking 2 AM. It’s not going to help you,” I frowned at his curious expression.

“Then?”

“Go do it in a blessed time.”

He sighed and sat back down beside me on my twin bed. “I guess you’re right,” he smiled at me with an expression I’ve never seen on him before.

“So is it really Ali that made you climb that tree?” I turned to face him, “God Stephen. You call typing a tiresome exercise for your fingers. And now you’re climbing trees? Did Ali make you do that?”

He laughed even though I wasn’t joking around. I was dead serious. I know something's going on when there's something going on. “Not really,” he smiled at me.

Thank God for being honest.

“Then what is it?” I raised an eyebrow. This Stephen-is-suddenly-quiet-around-me-getting-serious-and-climbing-a-tree is really bugging me. I know Stephen enough to realize that there’s more to him going here than asking Ali for forgiveness. He’s not dumb and I’m not either. Ali’s not the main reason here. Why would he ask sorry at two fucking AM. Why would he go through the hassle of climbing up a tree?

Silence hovered above us until it got too thick I felt the need to dissipate it.

“Stephen, I-“

He cut me off by suddenly hugging me. His arms around my waist, and his head buried deep in the crook of my neck. We were so close that I could feel every shake of his body as he took deep breaths. I could feel the warm temperature of his hot breath on my neck. His smell of clean soap and aftershave overriding my senses.

Then he started rubbing my arms that hung limply on my sides. Air (with his soapy smell) got knocked out of me.

“Steph-“

“Can we stay like this for a while?” He cut me off again and held me tighter. “I like the feeling of being this close to you,” he murmured against my neck, his lips barely touching my skin as they moved. I jerked and that’s all I can do from actually shivering when he held me even tighter than before and squeezed me.

“I like being this close to you,” he whispered again and snuggled my neck.

We stayed like that for a minute or two. I don't remember another time being that close to him that not even a piece of paper could fit in between us. The whole time he held me like that, all I could do was breathe in his clean soapy scent. Our bodies were molded to each other, fitting so perfectly as if we’re two puzzle pieces made for each other. As if we’re made for each other.

I mentally shook my head and slapped my face. We’re not made for each other. Stephen’s not like this because he likes me back, it’s because I’m his best friend. I sighed as I push the thought of us being together away, and then I wondered why. Stephen is rarely like this. He’s never like this. “Stephen?”

“I just need you right now.” He hugged me even closer. But then he said something that really dismayed me, “I need my best friend right now.”

I know I’m going to sound selfish because my best friend needs me right now, but damn. It hurts to be this close to the man you’ve always loved, because you know, you’ll never be more than best friends. I sighed and rubbed Stephen’s back, “What is it?”

He slowly pulled his face away from my neck, and I willed myself to stop my cheeks from reddening as his dark eyes grazed over mine intimately - almost romantically.

Stephen sighed and moved away from me, but his arms never left my waist. It made me a little bit giddy. But then he faced me with a frown. “I think I’m in love.”

I felt my heart sink into the bottomless pit of my stomach. Stephen’s in love. I gulped as I repeated the words in my head. Stephen’s in love. And definitely, not with me. He said it enough. He rubbed it in my face just too many times. I know it’s not me he’s in love with. I am just his best friend. His best friend – so close yet so far.

“W-what?” I asked as if hearing it once is not enough to shatter me into a million pieces.

“I said I think I’m in love,” his frown deepened and his dark burrows furrowed at me.

“You think, huh?” I looked away from Stephen’s intent gaze and into the vandalized red wall of my room.

“Yup,” he removed his arms from my waist and extended them behind him for support. I drooped down my head as if finding the brown carpet beneath my bed interesting. I can still feel the warmth of his arms around my waist, each calloused and rough fingers held me strongly but gently at the same time. This is the very first time he held me like this, his arms wrapped around my waist tenderly, and I can’t help but wonder, is this the last time too?

Thinking back to what he said, a question popped out of me. “So you’re not sure about it?”

The shadow he created on the floorboards I was staring at shook its head. “I don’t know, Jess.” He sighed and I glanced at Stephen just to see him rub the back of his neck almost nervously. “It hurts a lot, Jess, I’m confused.”

And so am I.

But of course I did not dare to say that. That would be selfish. It’s Stephen’s moment. His. Not mine to rant about how confused I am whether to feel happy about his new found love or be sad because whoever she is, it’s not me. Or you know, it’s not the right time to babble how hurt I am because I love him so much. There will never be the right time for it - there will be not time for it. But right now, it’s Stephen’s moment or time or whatever it is to go run to his best friend because he’s confused, hurt, in love, and he needs someone to listen to him even though in the process, all of it will hurt me, his best friend. But whatever, I’m his best friend; I’m supposed to get hurt – even though I’m hurting for the wrong reason. I should be hurting for him, but instead I’m hurting because of my selfish ache for his affection.

“Jess?” Stephen suddenly broke the silence that settled between us. I guess he too got caught up in a trance.

“Hmmm?”

“What are you thinking about?” Stephen scooted closer to me again, our arms touching.

I faced him only to have my stomach invaded by butterflies. I did not realize that he was looking at me, that when I turned around to face him, my eyes immediately met his, only a few centimeters separate our faces – our lips. I could feel his warm breath blowing rhythmically on my face. I could almost taste his minty breath on my lips. I blinked and jerked away as I felt another warm breath of him blow on my face.

“I-uh,” I willed myself to stop reddening and looked away from him. I focused on the non-existent wrinkle on my bed and tried straightening it.

“I’m wondering why you’re confused.” I finally croaked out after a minute of me straightening some imaginary wrinkle. Just about enough time for my skin to stop reddening and return to its normal tan color.

“I’m sort of wondering too, you know?” He said. And I can’t help it but glance at him, at the sound of amusement in his voice. And then he continued, but as he went on, the amusement I heard got lost in the seriousness of his voice. “This girl, she’s so amazing and gorgeous. Everyone knows she is. Everyone likes her. But she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s cool that way.” Definitely not me. “I don’t know," he chucked, "I started to like her a lot until it became more than what I have intended.” He sighed and his voice lowered as he continued, “And it’s hurting me a lot – the fact that I can’t ever have her. Never.”

“I know.”

He suddenly looked up from the floorboards that caught his attention while he was saying all of that. He eyed me with an expression I’ve never seen on his face before – something unreadable, something I can’t quite decipher. “You know?”

I nodded at him, thinking that maybe, I need to be honest with him about my feelings. Even just this one time. “I’m in love. I know I am.” I frowned at him, “And I swear, Stephen, I know how it feels to like someone you can never have.” I stopped there. Well maybe I could tell him half the truth.

But then he just stared at me. Stephen just sat there beside me with a blank look on his face as if waiting for me to continue.

Scared of the things that I might blurt out because of the hard but gentle look on his eyes, I stood up and walked away. “You know what, Stephen?” I faced him from the desk I was sitting on now, “Maybe we should continue talking tomorrow, later, or something. I’m really tired.” Yup, I’m tired of talking about my feelings for him in front of him, because you know, I love him.

~

That night, I did not really get any sleep. My feelings are a mess inside of me. My stomach kept fluttering. It was like my internal organs are the crowd moshing to our song in one of our concerts. I sighed, thinking about the way Stephen nodded at me and quietly left the room (through the door this time). He wore a blank face throughout that time. And the picture of him nodding at me quietly with a semi-blank and semi-grim face kept playing on my head. It kept playing like it was on shuffle and repeat on my iPod. Random fragments of that night kept playing themselves on my head. I remember his soft touch, his shallow breathing that vibrated through his chest as it was pressed against mine, his warm breath, and his expression. The expression that I can't decode. I suck at being his best friend.

That facial expression of Stephen bothered me the whole night, until I fell asleep at the rising sun's soft light seeping through my window, wondering what that expression of his meant.