Pocrescophobia

After I drop off Arden and then go to work the next day, I go home to begin reading the journals that found a home in my backseat. Humming a song under my breath, I take the journals into my hands and carry them inside. Once I tell my mom hello, I head to my room and lay the three black notebooks on my bedspread before plugging my phone up to my stereo for some background music. As “Safer In The Forest/Love Song For Poor Michigan” comes on, sending the room into a mellow atmosphere, I open the first one.

Hours pass and I’ve only moved to put down the journal for a few minutes to gather my composure and assuage my emotions to prevent myself from shedding tears. Even in the dead of night, when the lit candle is the only source of light in the room, and where a halcyon song plays and there’s no one awake to hear me, I keep myself from crying. The bubbling guilt and self-hatred fuels my every breath and every move and it takes everything in me not to scream out in agony when I read everything I truly put him through. But as I finally reach the end, my anger at myself has subsided and I’m left with a warm feeling in my chest because we’ve gotten through this, we’re together, eventually things will get better. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s true and it’s a great fucking relief.

So I finally finish reading near 4 AM, and shortly after, I fall victim to sleep with a closed journal in my hand and music still playing, the simple symphonies becoming my temporary lullabies.

=

Two days later, I find myself picking up Arden from his house so that we can hang out. Once I start the car, I turn and look at him.

“What do you wanna do?” I ask. Arden shrugs. “I don’t know. But I don’t really feel like going outside. Wanna just hang out at your house or something?” he replies, to which I nod. “For sure. That’s what I was thinking since it’s hot as hell outside.” Minutes later, we pull up to my small house and I lead him inside up to my room. I reach up to turn the lights on and turn the fan on in attempt to chase away the stuffiness of my small room. Grabbing his hand again, I lead us to my bed and we both plop down on it.

Arden notices the journals laying on my desk near my bed and blushes a little. “Have you read them yet?” he asks nervously. I nod in reply and take his hand again. “Yeah. I still feel so bad about it, but it makes me feel better to know that you’re willing to forgive me,” I tell him, raising his hand up to plant a single kiss on it. He sends me a small smile. “I just figured that it’s best to try to forgive you than dwell on it forever. I mean, no good can really come from it.”

“It still means a lot to me, Arden. And, uh, I just… I know that we’ve been together for months now, and I just want to let you know that… I, um, I love you.,” I say quickly, searching his face for a reaction. After a few seconds, his eyes widen and he opens and closes his mouth like a fish gasping for water. “R-Really?” he manages out after about a minute or so.

I nod nervously in return and start to ramble. “Yeah, I just, every time I ever think of you or see you I just have this feeling inside of me and no one’s ever made me feel this weird and nervous and happy and I say it in my head and I can’t help but notice that it just feels so right to say and don’t worry you don’t have to say it back or anything until you’re ready to if you ever even fall in love with me, I mean, it’s totally cool if you don’t—“ and then he cuts me off with a small kiss and shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Cy. I don’t know if I’m quite there yet, but I know that I’m close,” he whispers to me, but that’s enough for a wide grin to stretch across my face. “Um, do you wanna watch a movie or something now?” he asks after a few minutes, breaking the silence. I nod, opening my laptop to pull up Netflix. “What do you wanna watch?” I ask.

“Uh, Donnie Darko?” he replies. My grin widens even more. “Oh hell yes.”

And that’s what we spend the rest of the day doing; just watching movies together, splaying comfortably next to each other on my bed.