Another Sentimental Argument

I feel so alive when he begins to walk slightly toward me that I almost forget how to breathe.

"Logan dyed my hair for me!" Tre chirps up and thrusts the crown of his head in Billie's eyesight.

I watch as a thin smile stretches onto Billie's lips and at the same time I feel a smile on mine, as well. He gives Tre a slight nod and is now standing next to me. Tre looks at me for a sign, and I just nod my head as well. With that, he smiles subtly and walks out the room.

My body aches to turn toward him.

He is already looking at me. "You did a good job on his hair."

It is a few seconds before I find words. "Thank you." I could have said something better than that.

No time to think because his hand is on my wrist and he is leading me out of the bathroom to some other room. Where we are going is the least of my concern, because my eyes are completely fixated on his skin on mine. I never thought I would feel so much by having someone's fingers wrapped around my wrist. I am sure he can feel my pulse in his palm.

"You aren't drinking." His back is to me as he continues to walk slowly down the hallway, me in tow.

I answer his statement. "I know." I could have said something better than that, too. A few seconds pass. "You aren't drinking either."

We reach a door at the end of the hallway. The noise from the party is drowned out in distance and so is the pounding of my heartbeat in my head. We walk across the threshold and his hand falls from me. "Yeah."

He sits on the bed and I sit next to him. All of a sudden, I am feeling like I am drowning in him all over again. That I am high school Logan and I am tripping endlessly over his every move. And even though I can feel my brain and heart pounding, I don't want it to stop.

"I'm so damn tired."' I look at Billie as he speaks. The streetlights and the moon are catching his face in the right way, and I can see smalls bags underneath his alarmingly dull eyes. I shrug my shoulders when he catches me looking on for too long and I make sure that my mouth doesn't voice what I am thinking.

He yawns and reaches his hands over his head as he lies on his back. His black hoodie falls just short of his waistline and seeing the small amount of his skin in between makes me go kind of crazy in my head. I try to look away from him, but only to find that I will always keep looking back.

In the time that I am forcing myself to look at the wall, I am helplessly wondering if he will apologize for barging into my apartment the other night when I was drunk or for storming out of my apartment the night after that. I wonder if I will apologize for being such an idiot with seemingly vague intentions. Or if I will say I'm sorry for making my lies sound so true when I left his room that night two years ago. I am wondering a lot. I wonder if he constantly hears my words ringing in his head like I hear his.

I feel his hand tap on the small of my back and I become so aware of my body, I almost feel sick in that instant. I look over my shoulder at him. He has five o'clock shadow and then I think to myself that there are few things more beautiful than a boy with slight bags under his eyes (because slight bags under one's eyes mean that he cares bout something enough to let it keep him up when he supposed to be sleeping and that is charming and endearing in a twisted sort of way), and slight scruff under his chin (because slight scruff under one's chin shows the way he is in a natural way without being too intimidating. I think most people can admit there is something a little intimidating about a cleanly shaven face.)

In the dark, I can see his eyes telling me to lie down next to him.

When we are lying there, I have to lock my fingers together on the top of my stomach to keep them from wandering off into his hands. Because lord knows that's where they want to be.

"I know it's been a long time," he starts and I already know where it is going. "But how have you been?"

And immediately I want to shout "It's not that simple!" at the top of my lungs and I want him to somehow see all the tears I have cried over the past two years although I know that is impossible and I want him to apologize first so I can apologize. And I want to bang my head against a wall, also. I want him to say that he loves me or something dumb like that so we can have an excuse to kiss each other on the lips because I am stupid and I believe that kisses with people like Billie Joe Armstrong can fix everything. And even if that is the stupidest hypothesis in the world, I will never know if I don't get to test it out. And it is that simple.

"That's a hard question to answer." I say, telling mostly the truth. In a very simplified, meaningless manner.

He turns his head on the pillow to look at me and for a few seconds I forget who I am and I forget who he is and I only know that if I died right there, I would feel honored to have his face be the last thing I saw.

"Yeah, I guess it is." He smiles slightly and that's all it takes for me to become a five year old girl, feeling like she's weightless as she stares at her crush from across the playground.

He is still speaking. "Well, I'll try to make it easier." I frown slightly at the realization that he is only talking about making the question easier—not all of the confused tension that has surrounded us since the beginning when I told a drunk eighteen year old Billie I thought he was a beautiful, fucked up boy. I sigh and he continues. "How have you been as of recently?"

I think of all the possible answers I could say. Deciding whether to do the normal thing: lie and say "fine" or do the right thing: be honest and spill every last thought I've ever had to him is a hard decision to make and I know that he is staring at me until I answer and that is a lot of pressure so I go for the middle answer just to get those big green eyes off of my skin for a second so I can remember to breath. "I've seen better days."

I don't know if he understands all the underlying, subtle meaning that I hope is seeping through my words, but he nods as if he does. "I've felt the same." He says to me and I want to shout at the top of my lungs again. I want to shout something along the lines of that if he feels the same then we should stop being so crazy and selfish and complicated and tell each other the truth that is eating away at our insides so we can maybe remember what it feels like to not have the weight of the world of an almost/ex/whatever lover on our shoulders. But, once again, I keep my mouth shut because I am shy and terrified and spend a lot of my time wishing I were brave.

A few minutes pass. The only words that fill the air are "I'm tired" followed by "Yeah." And, unfortunately for my little soul, hearing him say only three syllables is enough to make my heart beat at an unhealthy rate that is oddly enjoyable.

When things stay quiet, I sneak a glance over at him. His eyes are closed and he is facing slightly toward the window. And I get so close to cursing myself under my breath that I have to sit up on the edge of the bed to keep from saying something out loud. I am staring at the door for a brief moment. Now that I am focused on it, I can hear the party people just on the other side of the wall. There are loud jokes and music and laughs and even though it is all muffled, it is still apparent that there are two entirely different worlds going on in this apartment. One filled with happy people (the party people) and one filled with I-Don't-Know people (me and maybe Billie Joe?)

My teeth are chewing on my lip when I look over my shoulder gently to see him asleep. And I know what I thought earlier: that there are few things more beautiful than a boy with slight bags under his eyes and slight scruff under his chin and I meant that. But seeing him softly unconscious with the heavy burdens of dealing with a confusing girl off his shoulders—seeing him being able to lie there peacefully (or so I hope because I know nightmares are a thing, but in my mind, Billie is too infinitely nice in his own right to get nightmares and I hope his mind thinks the same about him to spare him a scary dream) makes my eyes a little watery and I'm not real sure why. He is just sleeping and I know that and I'm being dumb and romanticizing the simple act of resting but I just think there are some things that are meant to be romanticized because they are beautiful and if you don't romanticize them, you're missing out. And anyway, I can still see the small amount of skin between his jacket and the waistline of his pants and I want to place a kiss on his skin before I decide to walk out of the room and back to my own apartment but I know that is weird and kind of silly so instead I swallow sort of hard to choke back tears and give him a slight smile even though he will never see it.

I get out of the bed and open the door, walking away from his world for the night.