Anonymous

I knew I was being juvenile.

I liked to consider myself a person of good reasoning (kind of), and I knew that I should have told Louis straight-up that the two of us weren’t going to be able to become friends, never mind anything more than that. Because we wanted to get friendly with imaginary people that the two of us made up in our minds.

But when he sent me the text asking if I was really Jess, I just seized the opportunity. It was a clean cut, something that wouldn’t hurt him so much as if I told him that I was afraid he wasn’t who I thought he was. Metaphorically speaking, anyway. He had far past proven to me that he was definitely Louis Tomlinson.

All night, the guilt of lying to him haunted me, and although I tried to calm myself by saying I was doing the right thing, I never really convinced myself that it was the truth.

God, I was in a confusing situation.

Making it even worse was the fact that I hadn’t updated any of my stories in a few days, and people were starting to worry, since I had always posted new chapters at least daily. But I couldn’t get myself to write about the boys anymore; since I kind of knew them, or at least had connections with them, I just felt uncomfortable when I tried to write about anything. Especially considering one of my stories was at a part where the next chapter was supposed to involve a sex scene.

Not that I did graphically-explicit sex scenes, but it still felt weird.

When I logged on to writersunite.com, I had loads of comments on my stories, asking where I was and if I had quit writing cold turkey.

The only person who seemed concerned about me was Some-Are-The-Beat, who sent a message a day previously.

Hey, are you okay? You’ve been kind of MIA lately. I miss you. :(

I responded quickly.

I miss you, too. Sorry that I haven’t been on. There’s just a lot of stuff going on right now, and I don’t really have the motivation to write.

A fast look at the clock let me know that it was the middle of the night for her, so I figured she wouldn’t be on.

After logging out and closing my laptop, I threw myself back on my bed and tried to think about just what, exactly, I wanted to do. Listening to music was out of the question, since everything I had on my iPod led back to One Direction and, therefore, Louis, in one way or another.

The guilt was going to kill me.

The thought crossed my mind that I could always text him and tell him I lied. I could tell him the truth and clear up both of our minds. I could have cleared both our consciences, sucked up my fear, and actually started a genuine friendship with him.

Because I hadn’t been able to conjure up the willpower to delete his second text like I had to the first.

Groaning, I shoved the heels of my palms into my eyes. My mind was getting pulled in two entirely different directions, and I had no idea which way to go.

My stomach turned as I pondered my options. Why was it that I was jumping straight to a more-than-friends scenario with Louis? Why couldn’t I just assume that he wanted to stay mates with me for a little while? That’s what I would have done if Elena hadn’t jumped up to the conclusion that he wanted me in a way more advanced than friends.

What made her think that he even wanted more, anyway? He just answered my questions. He told me who he was because he didn’t like lying to me. What in that equation equaled him wanting to give me the role of carrying his children?

Taking a deep breath and trying to convince myself that I was righting a dire wrong, I picked up my cell phone and texted Louis.

Alright, I lied to you last night. This is Jess. I just…I dunno. This whole thing is really confusing me.

I almost expected him to ignore the text, figuring that it was a mistake from the mystery person that had replied to his message the night before, but he answered within a minute.

whats confusing you?

I just… okay, can you call me? Because this is some long thing that’ll be way easier to say out loud than typing over text.

I sent the message and lied back on my bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for my phone to ring.

And although it took nearly ten minutes, it finally did.

“Louis?” I breathed into the phone, my voice sounding like I’d just run a marathon, even though I was just lying there. Probably a product of my racing, nervous heart.

“Hey, Jess,” he responded in a quiet voice. “Before you start talking, I just want to let you know that I’m kind of angry at you right now.”

I felt my face burst into a blush. “I’m sorry. Just let me explain.”

“That’s why I called. And I’m waiting.”

Closing my eyes and putting my free hand against my forehead, I offered up all the information that had influenced my decision, leaving absolutely nothing out. Even though some parts were embarrassing, like when I had to tell him that Elena assumed he was in love with me, I felt better to get the truth out there, to get the worries off my mind. And, for some reason, it was almost like my body wanted to tell Louis everything. There was something so warm and inviting about his presence that, even over the phone, the words tripped over themselves to get out of me.

When I finally finished, I took a deep breath and added, “I’m so sorry for hurting you. That’s not what I wanted to do.”

“No, it’s alright,” Louis responded before sighing. “I actually understand where you’re coming from, and you have a point. We really don’t know each other too well.”

I braced myself for the worst, for him to say that we really should have aborted the mission and let each other move on with our lives. It would have hurt, but if that was what he wanted, I would have felt a lot better knowing that it was a mutual decision instead of me running away from the possibility.

“So what do you say to getting to know each other a little better?”

I pondered that for a second. My first instinct was that he meant the two of us should talk more often, but the longer I thought about the question, the heavier the words became.

“I say that we should,” I agreed as I flipped over to lie on my stomach, feeling the ancient bed bounce and squeak underneath me. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, for one, we definitely have to get on Skype more often,” he started. Something creaked on his side of the phone, and I figured he’d started to pace. “And we can text when I can’t get on Skype. But I was thinking of something a little more radical, too.”

“What do you mean by more radical?” I chuckled, even though my stomach was starting to get overrun with anxious butterflies.

“I’m going to be back in England in a couple weeks,” he responded slowly. “Maybe, if you’re comfortable enough with who I am by then, you could meet me at the airport. And we could go out for coffee or something.”

Holy fucking shit. Was Louis Tomlinson asking me out?