(Dis)connect
London, England. December 13, 2010.
Morgan
“Yes, Mom, I’ll be on the next plane out as soon as I’m done with my finals.” I say through my phone. I balance my sketchbook under my arm as the other hand opens the heavy door to my dorm. I sigh in relief once I’m inside the warm building.
“But it will be the 23rd by the time you arrive! You know, we’ll be pretty busy by then and I can’t have you all jet lagged and cranky while we’re making pumpkin pies.” My mom exclaims.
“Mom, I don’t even understand why you insist on making pumpkin pies for Christmas. It’s ridiculous.” I scoff. I go up the stairs, still holding the phone against my ear, along with my bag and the big ass sketchbook.
“Well, because you weren’t home for Thanksgiving, that’s why we’re making them! Sweetheart, has it ever come across your mind that this abroad program of yours has taken its toll on me?” Mom says in a patronizing voice. I know that she’s proud and everything for my achievements in school but that doesn’t stop her from whining about my absence in the same time zone.
“It has, since you made sure it did.” I grumble, finally reaching the last stair to my floor. I walk to my door at the end of the hall. “Look, Mom, I have to go. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
She sighs heavily. “Fine, fine. I’ll get back to my work. You remember Mrs. Farris, dear? Well, she asked me to design a beach house for her somewhere in New Hampshire.”
“Yes, you have said that once or twice, I think.” Lie. This would be the eighth time she had mentioned this. I let her say it again and again, since her retirement is boring her to tears. I mean, anyone could ask her to design a dog house and she’ll be just as thrilled. “Mom, I really have to go now.”
“Oh, alright. Love you, dear, bye.” Then she hangs up. I enter my dorm room now.
“Hey.” My roommate, Molly, greets me. She’s sitting at the dining table, eating fries. No, wait. They call it ‘chips’ in these parts. Whatever. “Want some?”
I shake my head. “I’ll pass.” I place my sketchbook and bag on the floor by the door before taking off my coat.
“How was your day?” Molly asks. I like how she’s polite, this way. She’s this nice, Southern girl who goes to this all-girl college in Alabama. In the States (in some parts, anyway), no one asks you about your day except for your parents.
I shrug as I walk towards the small fridge. “It was pretty…uneventful.” I sip a bottle of water and walk to my bedroom. I kick off my shoes and sit on the mattress, tucking my feet under me. I leave the door open so that I could still see her sitting in the small kitchen. “Any plans for tonight?” I ask her as I open my laptop.
“I have this seminar for my pol sci class in about…” she looks down on her watch “…oh, dear. In about twenty minutes, actually.” She stands up from the table and gets ready to leave. As she’s putting on her coat, she asks, “What about you? What are you doing tonight?”
I look up from my laptop. “I have a hot date with my canvas and paint.”
Molly raises her eyebrows at me while pulling on her boots. “No hot date with that…what was his name? Tyler, was it?”
I shake my head. “No…”
“Why not? He’s cute.”
I roll my eyes. “We went out once. I don’t think that’ll happen again.”
Molly shakes her head. “I don’t get why you keep turning down these guys…who knows? One day, you’ll run out of decent guys to date.” She wraps a scarf securely around her neck. “They’re playing here tonight, you know.”
“What?”
“That band you asked me about the other day—The Maine. They’re having a show tonight at The Clapham Grand.”
My eyes shoot up to her. “Why are you telling me this?” I blurt out.
Molly gives me a strained look. “Because you asked me about them? How could you forget? You were pretty persistent when you asked me.”
“Was I?” I ask, my mind tracing to whatever moment I asked her about this. “I don’t remember.”
“Well, I recommend that you should see them. I saw them once when I was in Atlanta,” she gushes, “they were so good and the frontman was so hot. I think you’ll like them.”
“Couldn’t, when I tried.” I mumble, looking down on my laptop again.
“What was that?” She asks as she wraps her scarf securely around her neck.
“Nothing.”
“So you’re gonna go?” Molly asks.
“I, uh,” I clear my throat awkwardly, “I’ll pass, maybe. I just have a lot to, um, go through, before the semester ends and everything.”
“Fine. But don’t blame me if your whole night was a total bust—I have tried my best to get you out.” Then she leaves.
After a moment of pure silence, I find myself opening up my iTunes and playing one of The Maine’s songs that I have there. I did try to like them, when I downloaded their albums. But once I have established that they are of the pop rock genre, I’ve lost interest—it’s not really my thing. Still, I couldn’t delete them from my laptop. It’s ridiculous and shameful to think that it’s nice to hear John’s voice every for once in a while.
I do remember when I asked Molly about The Maine. It’s this one time, when I saw one of their videos on MTV. Molly was there, but barely paying attention to the TV, while my eyes were all but glued on the screen. I asked her if she knows them, then she says yes. And just like that, the questions came out. When did the band start, what are their achievements, what are the latest gossips about them—the works. After that, I was too embarrassed that I never brought them up again. I don’t know why—I have accepted that I will never see John again, after all.
Sighing, I decide to stop the music, close my laptop and get out of bed. I walk over to the easel standing by the window. I stare at the blank canvas, my hand closing around the paint brush. After a moment, I drop the paint brush and stare out the window instead. The city lights are so beautiful. There really is no other way of putting it. In the months that I have lived here in London, this city has grown on me. I have learned to love its cobblestone streets, the weather, the people—pretty much everything about it. One of the advantages of being alone all the time is that I only have my surroundings to occupy me. I really got to appreciate London alone and that’s one of the finest things for me. I still couldn’t fully accept the fact that in about two weeks, my semester will end and I will be leaving.
I continue to stare outside. Three levels below, a group of people (most likely university students also) are walking together, laughing, while sipping their coffees and clutching onto their thick jackets. But seeing those kids…it makes me hate the fact that I will spend yet another night alone.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly think of John. On times such as this, when I’m not busy with anything, I think of John and that night (or rather, early morning) that I had spent with him. I remember how with the way he’s so lanky, I could still see the muscles of his biceps or his shoulders under the thin cloth of his shirt, or how long and slim his fingers were, as they curve around the handle of the coffee cup. I remember thinking how his tattoos really worked for him. It’s unattractive to some people, but with him, it’s…well, for lack of a better word, captivating. I wouldn’t say this out loud to anyone but sometimes, I wouldn’t notice how long I’ve been staring into a distance when I’m thinking about his eyes. My eyes are just plain green, unlike his, which have more essence in them. At the end of the day, I still couldn’t decide if they were really green or brown. When I was trying to decide if I liked their music or not, I kept thinking how nice his voice was when singing, but it’s still different when he talked. I remember him talking so passionately about his aspirations and struggles. I’d never been more curious in a person than I’ve been with him.
But none of it really matters. I’m never gonna see him again. I mean, odds are, he probably won’t even remember me.
But…I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I go to see him again. Maybe I should see him…
•••
This is such a bad idea. In fact, this is the worst idea ever.
The band was pretty good, I’ll give them that. I mean, it’s no Death Cab for Cutie or Coldplay (my all-time favorites), but good nonetheless. Though I will admit that I’m still no fan of their music.
The whole time, I just stared at John. I was surrounded my pubescent girls, singing (or rather, screaming) their throats out for him. I knew he is a hit to the younger set (Molly told me), but this is borderline insanity. I mean, that guy told me that he lost four teeth during one of his drunken outbreaks (we laughed about it for a long while, over our coffees and fries), so it made it harder for me to imagine this kind of scene. This leads to my second reason why I start to regret coming here: right after the show, as I was leaving the venue, some kid shouted about the band having a free meet and greet at the lobby. You could just imagine that riot right now. You would’ve thought they were giving out free HIV vaccines or something.
But still, as I squeeze in between people just to reach the exit and finally breathe fresh air again, one irrational thought keeps running in my mind: seeing John was nice. Although he was pretty far away from me at the show, seeing him in the flesh was nice.
As I could finally see the exit doors a mere few yards away, I stop abruptly. Because in the other direction, farther away from the door, is John. He’s surrounded by a group of girls, taking consecutive pictures and signing blindly on various things that the girls hold up. I just stand there, motionless. This is unbelievable. I came here to see him and when the moment actually comes, I freeze. And just when I thought I’m recovering, his gaze drops on me. I watch his eyebrows furrow and then his eyes light up in recognition. Then he flashes me an ecstatic smile.
Jesus, and here I thought John wouldn’t remember me.
Regaining composure, I send back a smile to him and offer him a wave. He mouths something to me, though I can’t quite make it out. Giving up, he turns to one of the guys who are trying to maintain the crowd and whispers something in his ear. The guy gives John a nod before walking towards me.
“Hey, I’m Tim.” The guy says. “John says that you’re a friend.”
“I, uh, I guess I am. Maybe.” I say stupidly. I push some of my hair back awkwardly.
Tim smirks. “You’re not one of his exploits, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, did he sleep with you and never called back?” He asks.
I scoff. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m gonna take that as a no, then. Look, John asked me to help you to the backstage, so that you wouldn’t be caught up in this craziness, while you wait for him.”
I ask suddenly, “Wait for him?”
Tim shrugs. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” He laughs then he gently tugs at my arm. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”
As Tim and I walk down the hall, people around us are cleaning up after the show.
Tim turns back to me, “So, you’re an American—lack of accent and all—what are you doing in these parts?”
“School.” I answer.
“And how did you know John?” Tim scoffs. “Wait, please don’t tell me he went totally insane and hooked up with a fan.”
“Why do you keep assuming that John and I hooked up?” I question him.
We stop by a sort of lounge. There’s one guy sitting on the couch, with a laptop in front of him.
Tim laughs. “Because it’s hard for me to fathom John being friends with a girl with no sexual agendas in mind, especially with a girl as hot as you.”
The man on the couch laughs upon hearing this. “Is that some kind of twisted way to hit on the girl, Tim?”
Tim rolls his eyes at him. “No. Besides, I believe John has dibs on this one.”
I scowl at them. I knew this was a bad idea. I start walking away when Tim calls for me.
“Hey—wait!”
I turn around. “I’m not gonna stay here and be talked about like this.”
“And I’m not gonna have John kick my ass for letting you leave.” Tim says. “The fucker may be skin and bones but he certainly can throw a punch.” Tim sits on the couch. “Look, sit here. What is your name anyway?”
I ignore the couch opening and just lean against the wall, my arms crossed against my chest. “Morgan.”
“Well, Morgan, it’s nice to meet you.” Tim says. He points his thumb on the guy beside him. “This is Dirk.”
Dirk gives me a wave. I barely smile back at him.
“So,” Tim starts, “how did you know John?”
“Met him once.” I say. “In Philly.”
“Philly?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “We haven’t been there since…when was it?” He turns to Dirk.
Dirk says, “April, I think.”
Tim nods. “Oh, yeah, April. Huh. He didn’t mention meeting any girl though.”
Somehow, this stings me. I mean, yeah, I haven’t mentioned meeting him to anyone else but to hear that he did the same for me is another thing entirely.
Suddenly, chatter fills the room. The band joins us there now. One of the guys, he has shoulder-length hair, eyes me.
“Who’s the chick?”
Tim answers. “A friend of John’s, apparently.”
“Oh, well, I’m Pat.” Pat offers a smile and his hand to me.
I shake it reluctantly. “Morgan.”
“Morgan. American, yeah?” Pat smiles at me. “So what are you doing here in the land of the British?”
“Yeah, last time I checked, the U.S. is on the other side of the ocean. And, mind you, I’m no geography whiz.”
My heart beats so much faster and harder now, as I hear that very familiar voice behind me. I turn to face him.
John smiles at me. “Hey. Long time no see.”
“Hey.” I say softly, smiling back.
John eyes his friends over my shoulder. “Why don’t we, uh, take a walk or something?”
•••
“So what are you doing here?” John asks, his voice shaking a little in the cold.
“I’m taking a semester at the UAL.” I answer.
We’re walking down the crowded streets of London. Suddenly, I feel John’s chest against by shoulder, as he’s trying to maneuver himself around the people. I know there about five layers of clothing between our skins but the simple action still catches me off guard.
“UAL?” He asks.
“University of the Arts London.”
He grins. “Ah, another fancy art school, I take it?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Still against the idea of school, I take it?” I mimic him.
“Whatever. So when do you graduate?”
“This spring.”
Someone elbows John aside, making him bump into me again. “Okay, I may not have spent months in this city, getting used to the crowd and the weather and everything, but can we please go somewhere I can breathe easily?”
I eye his black jacket and flannel shirt underneath. I'm willing to admit he doesn't even have an undershirt underneath. “Well, you’re not exactly dressed for London weather, especially on a December night.” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes at me.
“Besides," I continue, "you’re one to talk. I was borderline dying of suffocation with the crowd you have mooning over you.”
“What were you doing there anyway?” John smirks. “Are you a fan now?”
I spot a familiar bar, one that I have frequent a few times, and I pull on John’s arm to pick up the pace. “Come on.”
He lets me pull him to the bar. Somehow, I could sense that a grin is still glued to his face.
The bar is just as crowded as it is outside, but at least it’s warm here. We seat at a booth in the corner of the room. I take off my coat, revealing the oversized black sweater I have underneath. I meet John’s stare and smiles. “Just so you know, I’m still not a fan of your band.”
“Then why did you watch the show?” He asks.
“I was curious.” I say simply.
“Admit it, you just want to see me again.” He muses.
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Maybe.”
He smiles wider but then a new thought clouds his mind. “And how does, um, your boyfriend feel about that?”
I instantly grow uncomfortable, remembering how I turned him down before, because I was still with Simon back then. “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.” I say finally.
John nods. I try to disregard the faint smile across his face. “So, how about drinks, huh?” He asks, changing the subject. “What can I get you? I’m buying.”
“As I recall, you paid for my food the last time I was with you.”
“So?” He shrugs.
“So are you gonna let me pay?”
“If I remember correctly, you liked my attempts of chivalry.” John says, standing up. “Now what am I getting you?”
I sigh. “Beer’s fine.”
He nods, “Be right back.”
I watch him walk towards the bar. He dresses up so effortlessly, as if he just literally rolled out of bed, but he looked so good. He isn’t built like the other guys I’ve been attracted to. I mean, he’s so tall and thin, but there’s something about him I couldn’t quite explain.
After a few minutes, he comes back with two bottles of beer in his hands. He hands me one. I mumble thanks to him and sip my drink. He’s staring at me. I furrow my eyebrows at him.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head, laughing a little. “I just can’t believe that you’re here, that’s all.”
“Is that a good thing or bad?” I ask.
“You’re kidding, right?” He grins. “Of course it’s a fucking good thing. What the hell did you think?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what to think.” I say honestly.
“So how have you been?” He asks.
“I’m good. Been busy with school. You know how it is.”
“No, actually, I don’t.” He laughs, sipping his drink.
“Oh, right. For a second there, I totally forgot about your hatred for school.” I say.
“It’s not like I’m stupid or something, that that’s the reason why I hate school. I just think I’m not school material, you know?”
“How about you? What have you been up to lately?”
“This year’s been pretty jam packed. We’ve been on back to back tours. And then after the holidays, we’ll go straight to LA to record a new album. But I don’t wanna talk about work.”
I laugh. “I thought you love your work more than anything?”
He scoffs. “Believe me, I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend my only night with this amazing girl, talking about my job.”
My expression drops. “Your only night, huh?”
His smile fades, too. “Well, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, um—like I said, I’ll be in LA and you’ll probably be in Philly again, right?”
“Yeah, I will.” Sighing, I try to muster a smile. “Then we’ll make this count—this one night.”
“Well, after a few drinks,” John grins again and my heart tries not to leap. “Maybe you can show me the best of London, Morgan.”
•••
“Okay, so when I said the best of London,” John starts. “I didn’t mean, you know, literally the best of it.”
I laugh. “Oh, come on. What’s better than the Big Ben?”
He scoffs, slipping his ungloved hands inside his pockets. “I don’t know. I thought you’re probably a member of some secret society that throws these super exclusive parties—you know, the kind that celebrities go to.” He shrugs. “Guess not.”
I say, “Well, there is this feminist party happening right now in the university. Now, it doesn’t have celebrities but they do have these cream puffs that are to die for.”
“Hmm, angry girls who can probably smell testosterone from a mile away and will cuss out on it?” He says, making me laugh. “I’m gonna have to pass that.”
“You sure you wanna miss out on some killer cream puffs?” I say in a mocking worry.
He rolls his eyes at me. We walk in silence for a while. Unlike before, the sidewalks here are wider and there are less people walking around. I could feel John’s stare flickering to me every few seconds.
He asks suddenly, “What happened with your boyfriend? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“It just didn’t work out.” I mumble.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I look over at him. “Some relationships get messy, people get hurt. In some cases, there’s nothing to do but end them.” I bump my shoulder against playfully. “What about you? Any relationships these past few months?”
He scoffs. “I don’t think I even remember what it’s like to be involved with someone anymore.” John stops at the railing. He leans his elbows on it and stares out over the dark waters of Thames. I mirror his actions, but instead, I stare at him. He bites his lip for a moment before continuing, “To be…committed to a person. I mean, I write songs about how I perceive relationships based on other people. Never based on mine—or lack thereof.”
“Do you want to change that? I mean, do you want to be in a relationship?”
He lets out a small laugh. “That’s the thing, though. I have no idea if I want that. Maybe just not now, but…we’ll see.” He tears his gaze away from the river and turns it back to me. His stare is so intent that I suddenly couldn’t handle it and I look away, praying to every saint I’ve ever known that he doesn’t notice how my cheeks have grown hot, a blush forming on them. He chuckles at me. He brushes a lock of my hair from my shoulder. “I like your hair this way. It’s longer.”
I furrow my eyebrows at him, because I could feel how messy my hair is right now, because of the wind blowing through it. “That is such a weird thing to say, coming from you.” I say in a laugh.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s pretty cute.”
I look away from him. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly so nervous, even more than I have been all night. “So where are you guys going tomorrow?”
“Glasgow.” He says in a sigh.
“I went there once.” I say. “It’s beautiful there.”
“You’re beautiful right now.” John says, smiling down at me.
I turn back my stare on the river below. I sigh heavily.
“What is it?” He asks.
“I-I’m just not used to…to hearing the things you’re saying, I guess.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Somehow, I doubt that. I’m willing to bet that you’ve been beautiful your whole life and have grown up having people remind you of it.”
“Not from a guy like you.” I mumble, expecting that he wouldn’t hear. But with my shitty luck, he does.
“What do you mean by that?” He waits for my answer. “Morgan?”
“You know, a guy like you.” I say stupidly.
John chuckles. “Maybe you could be a little more specific? Come on. I wanna know what you think of me.”
“A guy like you—charming, but not that cocky. Witty, even if you can’t point out, say, Paraguay on a map.”
He laughs at that.
I continue, “Very funny, but still kind enough to not be insulting.” I turn my eyes back to him, studying him. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing there is to look at. A grin grows on my face. “…also good-looking…”
He smirks at that. “You think so, huh?”
I just laugh. “Are you satisfied with the answer?”
“Very.” He nods.
He’s grinning down at me, just as he had practically the whole time. My eyes flicker to his lips, my mind clouded by the feeling of being under his stare. There’s just something about him, I couldn’t place what it is. Without thinking about it some more, I move closer to him, hold on to his neck, my gloved thumb brushing against his jaw.
“Morgan.” John says, his warm breath hitting my face.
Then I kiss him. It takes him a moment to react, but when he does, he leans down to deepen the kiss and his hands slipping on my waist, pulling me closer to him. He tastes the same as I remember it—beer and a trace of nicotine. He even smells the same. It’s that boyish scent but also something more. My arm wraps around his neck, my other hand running through his hair. He fully wraps both of his arms around my waist now, pulling me even closer against him. I tip toe to kiss him harder, since he’s ridiculously tall. After a moment, I start to lose breath and I pull away, but I still rest my forehead against his, my eyes closed. He presses his lips against mine twice and briefly. He’s still holding me against his chest.
He sighs, “Morgan…”
I let out a breathless laugh. “You mind keep saying my name like that or would you prefer that I record it with my phone instead?”
He laughs, his body shaking against me. I pull away my forehead and open my eyes to meet his stare.
“I don’t…know why I just did that.” I say slowly.
“Does it really matter?” He kisses me in between words. “Besides…it takes two people to kiss…so you’re not entirely to blame for this.”
John loosens his arms around me so that I could stand properly on my feet again. He leans down and gives a kiss again.
“Do you…um…” I start to say.
“What?” He mumbles against my lips.
“Maybe you want to go back to my dorm?”
He pulls away suddenly, but just enough to look at me properly on the face. “What?” He asks again, but this time, it’s a little more on the nervous side.
The weight of my question dawns on me and my eyes widen. “Shit, I can’t believe I just asked that—you can just forget about it—”
John cuts me off by kissing me. “No, let’s go…if you’re still up for it.”
I laugh at the awkwardness of it all. Shaking my head, I pull his jacket down to kiss him again. Laughing some more, I lead the both of us on the edge of the sidewalk and hail for a taxi. John wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my head briefly. He opens the taxi door for me. Smiling wider, I give him a kiss on the cheek before going inside the vehicle. I mumble my address to the driver before turning my attention back to John. His arm crosses in front of me, his hand resting on the seat cushion beside my leg. His other hand pushes some of my hair away from face and kisses my jaw. He makes a line of barely-there kisses from it to my cheek and then to my neck. He chuckles against my skin as he tries to pull the collar of my sweater away to give him more access on my neck. My hand slides up his arm and to his shoulder, gripping it. I sigh against him. I’m so caught with him—we both are, with each other—that I don’t notice that we’ve arrived in my building. Handing the cabbie a bill, I let John pull me out of the vehicle. Once out on the streets again, he slides his hands on my waist again and kisses me. Flashing him a smile, I start pulling him inside. When we reach my door, I could hardly focus in looking for my keys in my bag when John is standing behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his arms around my waist and his face buried in my shoulder, pressing kisses on every part of my skin exposed.
Once we get into the dorm, it’s quiet and dark. Molly’s door is shut, so it could only mean that she’s in there, already asleep. I have no idea what time is it, not that I care, or anything.
John turns me around and crashes his lips to mine. His hands work on the buttons of my coat, opening it. He pushes the heavy material off my shoulders and it drops on the floor. I do the same for him. My hands run down his flannel shirt before I blindly undo its buttons, all the while still kissing him.
“You’re alone here, right?” John mumbles against my lips.
“My roommate’s most likely asleep.” I say in a sigh as he moves on to pressing kissing on my neck and jaw.
“You sure?”
“Yes, John.” I push off his flannel and run my hands on his bare skin. I blush at the fact that he’s more muscular than his thin frame would suggest. I let out a low giggle as he squirms a little.
“Your hands are so fucking cold.” He chuckles against my skin. I laugh some more when his own cold hands push under my thick sweater and undershirt, to my bare hips and waist.
I shiver, though I’m not sure if it’s because of his cold hands or the fact that he’s touching my skin is dawning on me. Pushing away for a moment, I pull off my sweater, revealing a thin tank top underneath. John’s hands roam on my sides as he kisses me on the lips again. Slowly, I push him towards my small bedroom, making him walk backwards. I break the kiss again by pushing him and he falls on my bed. He grins up at me as I close the door behind me. He looks so good right now. Barely resisting him, I kick off my flats and climb over him, sitting on his hips. His hand finds its way on my side again, the other pushes my hair away from my face. I lean down and crash my lips against his again.
•••
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I ask suddenly. I lie on my stomach and adjust my face on the pillow so I can see him more clearly.
John lies on his side and moves his head to my pillow, so our faces are so close but not actually touching. He wraps his arm over the blanket around me, his finger tracing circles on my bare shoulder blade. “Not a clue.” He mumbles before kissing me briefly. He pulls away and sighs, his breath hitting my face, sending shivers down my spine.
“Soon, your friends will be looking for you.” I mumble.
He moves his hand to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I know.” He eyes me for a moment. He asks, almost hesitantly, “What happens now? Are we gonna see each other again?”
“I don’t know.”
John sighs again. “You’re so amazing, Morgan. I hate that I’m not sure I’m gonna see you again.”
We stay silent after he says that, for a moment. I gnaw on my lip as I ponder over the situation. Not thinking about it some more, I say, “Maybe we can make sure of it.”
John gives me a confused stare. “What do you mean by that?”
“I…I know I want to see you again. I want to see where this—us—will go. I know I don’t want to lose you right now.” I say.
“What do you wanna do?” He asks, though I could see that he’s afraid of the answer.
I take a deep breath before saying, “Maybe we could try…try to be something.”
“Morgan—”
“Maybe we could try the long distance thing.”
John sighs. He lets go of my face and lies on his back again, staring at the ceiling. “Morgan, I’m not so sure about that.”
My expression drops. “Oh.” I try my best to steady my shaky voice. “You’re not this kind of guy—I, uh, I get it.” Embarrassed, I sit up, holding the blanket against my chest, and pull on the robe that’s hanging on my headboard. I keep my back to him as I sit on the edge of the bed and tie the ribbon of my robe.
“Morgan.” John says. The way he says my name—full of defeat and regret—I hate the way it sounds right now, but I don’t say a thing. He shuffles behind me and I find him sitting beside me, my blanket still around his hips. He touches my face and gently moves it towards him. “Hey, it’s not that I don’t like you. Morgan, you’re not like the other girls I’ve ever known—and to think that I barely even know much about you…” He shakes his head. “But that’s what makes you so special to me. I also want to see where this can go but that doesn’t mean that we could.”
“We can’t, huh?” I whisper.
“We lead such different lives. I can only predict that we’ll have miles and miles between us and a relationship can’t be like that—not all the time.” He says so softly.
I look away from him, making his hand drop from my face. I know that what he said makes sense but it doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt so much to hear. “Do you…” I start to say, but I trail off.
“Do I what?” He asks quietly.
I turn my stare to his. “Do you regret doing…this?”
This shuts John up. I wait for him to answer but he doesn’t. His silence fills the room. And that’s enough of an answer for me. I look away from him and just stare at the wall in front of me instead. “Maybe you should go.”
John stares at me for a moment, probably hoping I would at least look at him. But I don’t.
So he slips off on the other side of the bed. As he dresses himself again, I could feel his gaze on me, but I ignore it. He walks around the bed and in front of me. He’s still shirtless, being that his flannel is outside my bedroom. I just stare at the ‘V’ tattooed on his hip. I can’t even bring myself to look at him in the eye. He lets out a heavy sigh. He touches my head and presses a kiss on my hair, with a mumble, “I’m really sorry, Morgan.”
I still don’t say a thing. Then he leaves. When I hear the front door close, I reach for the small orange plastic bottle on the nightstand. I open it and let one pill fall in my palm. One sleeping pill to get me through another shitty night. I pop it into my mouth. I reach for the bottle of water I have left on the nightstand a while ago, washing down the pill. I place the two bottles in my nightstand again. Sighing, I lay on my side on the bed again, tucking my hand in between my head and the pillow. I shut my eyes as I feel the tears start to fall.
“Yes, Mom, I’ll be on the next plane out as soon as I’m done with my finals.” I say through my phone. I balance my sketchbook under my arm as the other hand opens the heavy door to my dorm. I sigh in relief once I’m inside the warm building.
“But it will be the 23rd by the time you arrive! You know, we’ll be pretty busy by then and I can’t have you all jet lagged and cranky while we’re making pumpkin pies.” My mom exclaims.
“Mom, I don’t even understand why you insist on making pumpkin pies for Christmas. It’s ridiculous.” I scoff. I go up the stairs, still holding the phone against my ear, along with my bag and the big ass sketchbook.
“Well, because you weren’t home for Thanksgiving, that’s why we’re making them! Sweetheart, has it ever come across your mind that this abroad program of yours has taken its toll on me?” Mom says in a patronizing voice. I know that she’s proud and everything for my achievements in school but that doesn’t stop her from whining about my absence in the same time zone.
“It has, since you made sure it did.” I grumble, finally reaching the last stair to my floor. I walk to my door at the end of the hall. “Look, Mom, I have to go. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
She sighs heavily. “Fine, fine. I’ll get back to my work. You remember Mrs. Farris, dear? Well, she asked me to design a beach house for her somewhere in New Hampshire.”
“Yes, you have said that once or twice, I think.” Lie. This would be the eighth time she had mentioned this. I let her say it again and again, since her retirement is boring her to tears. I mean, anyone could ask her to design a dog house and she’ll be just as thrilled. “Mom, I really have to go now.”
“Oh, alright. Love you, dear, bye.” Then she hangs up. I enter my dorm room now.
“Hey.” My roommate, Molly, greets me. She’s sitting at the dining table, eating fries. No, wait. They call it ‘chips’ in these parts. Whatever. “Want some?”
I shake my head. “I’ll pass.” I place my sketchbook and bag on the floor by the door before taking off my coat.
“How was your day?” Molly asks. I like how she’s polite, this way. She’s this nice, Southern girl who goes to this all-girl college in Alabama. In the States (in some parts, anyway), no one asks you about your day except for your parents.
I shrug as I walk towards the small fridge. “It was pretty…uneventful.” I sip a bottle of water and walk to my bedroom. I kick off my shoes and sit on the mattress, tucking my feet under me. I leave the door open so that I could still see her sitting in the small kitchen. “Any plans for tonight?” I ask her as I open my laptop.
“I have this seminar for my pol sci class in about…” she looks down on her watch “…oh, dear. In about twenty minutes, actually.” She stands up from the table and gets ready to leave. As she’s putting on her coat, she asks, “What about you? What are you doing tonight?”
I look up from my laptop. “I have a hot date with my canvas and paint.”
Molly raises her eyebrows at me while pulling on her boots. “No hot date with that…what was his name? Tyler, was it?”
I shake my head. “No…”
“Why not? He’s cute.”
I roll my eyes. “We went out once. I don’t think that’ll happen again.”
Molly shakes her head. “I don’t get why you keep turning down these guys…who knows? One day, you’ll run out of decent guys to date.” She wraps a scarf securely around her neck. “They’re playing here tonight, you know.”
“What?”
“That band you asked me about the other day—The Maine. They’re having a show tonight at The Clapham Grand.”
My eyes shoot up to her. “Why are you telling me this?” I blurt out.
Molly gives me a strained look. “Because you asked me about them? How could you forget? You were pretty persistent when you asked me.”
“Was I?” I ask, my mind tracing to whatever moment I asked her about this. “I don’t remember.”
“Well, I recommend that you should see them. I saw them once when I was in Atlanta,” she gushes, “they were so good and the frontman was so hot. I think you’ll like them.”
“Couldn’t, when I tried.” I mumble, looking down on my laptop again.
“What was that?” She asks as she wraps her scarf securely around her neck.
“Nothing.”
“So you’re gonna go?” Molly asks.
“I, uh,” I clear my throat awkwardly, “I’ll pass, maybe. I just have a lot to, um, go through, before the semester ends and everything.”
“Fine. But don’t blame me if your whole night was a total bust—I have tried my best to get you out.” Then she leaves.
After a moment of pure silence, I find myself opening up my iTunes and playing one of The Maine’s songs that I have there. I did try to like them, when I downloaded their albums. But once I have established that they are of the pop rock genre, I’ve lost interest—it’s not really my thing. Still, I couldn’t delete them from my laptop. It’s ridiculous and shameful to think that it’s nice to hear John’s voice every for once in a while.
I do remember when I asked Molly about The Maine. It’s this one time, when I saw one of their videos on MTV. Molly was there, but barely paying attention to the TV, while my eyes were all but glued on the screen. I asked her if she knows them, then she says yes. And just like that, the questions came out. When did the band start, what are their achievements, what are the latest gossips about them—the works. After that, I was too embarrassed that I never brought them up again. I don’t know why—I have accepted that I will never see John again, after all.
Sighing, I decide to stop the music, close my laptop and get out of bed. I walk over to the easel standing by the window. I stare at the blank canvas, my hand closing around the paint brush. After a moment, I drop the paint brush and stare out the window instead. The city lights are so beautiful. There really is no other way of putting it. In the months that I have lived here in London, this city has grown on me. I have learned to love its cobblestone streets, the weather, the people—pretty much everything about it. One of the advantages of being alone all the time is that I only have my surroundings to occupy me. I really got to appreciate London alone and that’s one of the finest things for me. I still couldn’t fully accept the fact that in about two weeks, my semester will end and I will be leaving.
I continue to stare outside. Three levels below, a group of people (most likely university students also) are walking together, laughing, while sipping their coffees and clutching onto their thick jackets. But seeing those kids…it makes me hate the fact that I will spend yet another night alone.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly think of John. On times such as this, when I’m not busy with anything, I think of John and that night (or rather, early morning) that I had spent with him. I remember how with the way he’s so lanky, I could still see the muscles of his biceps or his shoulders under the thin cloth of his shirt, or how long and slim his fingers were, as they curve around the handle of the coffee cup. I remember thinking how his tattoos really worked for him. It’s unattractive to some people, but with him, it’s…well, for lack of a better word, captivating. I wouldn’t say this out loud to anyone but sometimes, I wouldn’t notice how long I’ve been staring into a distance when I’m thinking about his eyes. My eyes are just plain green, unlike his, which have more essence in them. At the end of the day, I still couldn’t decide if they were really green or brown. When I was trying to decide if I liked their music or not, I kept thinking how nice his voice was when singing, but it’s still different when he talked. I remember him talking so passionately about his aspirations and struggles. I’d never been more curious in a person than I’ve been with him.
But none of it really matters. I’m never gonna see him again. I mean, odds are, he probably won’t even remember me.
But…I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I go to see him again. Maybe I should see him…
•••
This is such a bad idea. In fact, this is the worst idea ever.
The band was pretty good, I’ll give them that. I mean, it’s no Death Cab for Cutie or Coldplay (my all-time favorites), but good nonetheless. Though I will admit that I’m still no fan of their music.
The whole time, I just stared at John. I was surrounded my pubescent girls, singing (or rather, screaming) their throats out for him. I knew he is a hit to the younger set (Molly told me), but this is borderline insanity. I mean, that guy told me that he lost four teeth during one of his drunken outbreaks (we laughed about it for a long while, over our coffees and fries), so it made it harder for me to imagine this kind of scene. This leads to my second reason why I start to regret coming here: right after the show, as I was leaving the venue, some kid shouted about the band having a free meet and greet at the lobby. You could just imagine that riot right now. You would’ve thought they were giving out free HIV vaccines or something.
But still, as I squeeze in between people just to reach the exit and finally breathe fresh air again, one irrational thought keeps running in my mind: seeing John was nice. Although he was pretty far away from me at the show, seeing him in the flesh was nice.
As I could finally see the exit doors a mere few yards away, I stop abruptly. Because in the other direction, farther away from the door, is John. He’s surrounded by a group of girls, taking consecutive pictures and signing blindly on various things that the girls hold up. I just stand there, motionless. This is unbelievable. I came here to see him and when the moment actually comes, I freeze. And just when I thought I’m recovering, his gaze drops on me. I watch his eyebrows furrow and then his eyes light up in recognition. Then he flashes me an ecstatic smile.
Jesus, and here I thought John wouldn’t remember me.
Regaining composure, I send back a smile to him and offer him a wave. He mouths something to me, though I can’t quite make it out. Giving up, he turns to one of the guys who are trying to maintain the crowd and whispers something in his ear. The guy gives John a nod before walking towards me.
“Hey, I’m Tim.” The guy says. “John says that you’re a friend.”
“I, uh, I guess I am. Maybe.” I say stupidly. I push some of my hair back awkwardly.
Tim smirks. “You’re not one of his exploits, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, did he sleep with you and never called back?” He asks.
I scoff. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m gonna take that as a no, then. Look, John asked me to help you to the backstage, so that you wouldn’t be caught up in this craziness, while you wait for him.”
I ask suddenly, “Wait for him?”
Tim shrugs. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” He laughs then he gently tugs at my arm. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”
As Tim and I walk down the hall, people around us are cleaning up after the show.
Tim turns back to me, “So, you’re an American—lack of accent and all—what are you doing in these parts?”
“School.” I answer.
“And how did you know John?” Tim scoffs. “Wait, please don’t tell me he went totally insane and hooked up with a fan.”
“Why do you keep assuming that John and I hooked up?” I question him.
We stop by a sort of lounge. There’s one guy sitting on the couch, with a laptop in front of him.
Tim laughs. “Because it’s hard for me to fathom John being friends with a girl with no sexual agendas in mind, especially with a girl as hot as you.”
The man on the couch laughs upon hearing this. “Is that some kind of twisted way to hit on the girl, Tim?”
Tim rolls his eyes at him. “No. Besides, I believe John has dibs on this one.”
I scowl at them. I knew this was a bad idea. I start walking away when Tim calls for me.
“Hey—wait!”
I turn around. “I’m not gonna stay here and be talked about like this.”
“And I’m not gonna have John kick my ass for letting you leave.” Tim says. “The fucker may be skin and bones but he certainly can throw a punch.” Tim sits on the couch. “Look, sit here. What is your name anyway?”
I ignore the couch opening and just lean against the wall, my arms crossed against my chest. “Morgan.”
“Well, Morgan, it’s nice to meet you.” Tim says. He points his thumb on the guy beside him. “This is Dirk.”
Dirk gives me a wave. I barely smile back at him.
“So,” Tim starts, “how did you know John?”
“Met him once.” I say. “In Philly.”
“Philly?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “We haven’t been there since…when was it?” He turns to Dirk.
Dirk says, “April, I think.”
Tim nods. “Oh, yeah, April. Huh. He didn’t mention meeting any girl though.”
Somehow, this stings me. I mean, yeah, I haven’t mentioned meeting him to anyone else but to hear that he did the same for me is another thing entirely.
Suddenly, chatter fills the room. The band joins us there now. One of the guys, he has shoulder-length hair, eyes me.
“Who’s the chick?”
Tim answers. “A friend of John’s, apparently.”
“Oh, well, I’m Pat.” Pat offers a smile and his hand to me.
I shake it reluctantly. “Morgan.”
“Morgan. American, yeah?” Pat smiles at me. “So what are you doing here in the land of the British?”
“Yeah, last time I checked, the U.S. is on the other side of the ocean. And, mind you, I’m no geography whiz.”
My heart beats so much faster and harder now, as I hear that very familiar voice behind me. I turn to face him.
John smiles at me. “Hey. Long time no see.”
“Hey.” I say softly, smiling back.
John eyes his friends over my shoulder. “Why don’t we, uh, take a walk or something?”
•••
“So what are you doing here?” John asks, his voice shaking a little in the cold.
“I’m taking a semester at the UAL.” I answer.
We’re walking down the crowded streets of London. Suddenly, I feel John’s chest against by shoulder, as he’s trying to maneuver himself around the people. I know there about five layers of clothing between our skins but the simple action still catches me off guard.
“UAL?” He asks.
“University of the Arts London.”
He grins. “Ah, another fancy art school, I take it?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Still against the idea of school, I take it?” I mimic him.
“Whatever. So when do you graduate?”
“This spring.”
Someone elbows John aside, making him bump into me again. “Okay, I may not have spent months in this city, getting used to the crowd and the weather and everything, but can we please go somewhere I can breathe easily?”
I eye his black jacket and flannel shirt underneath. I'm willing to admit he doesn't even have an undershirt underneath. “Well, you’re not exactly dressed for London weather, especially on a December night.” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes at me.
“Besides," I continue, "you’re one to talk. I was borderline dying of suffocation with the crowd you have mooning over you.”
“What were you doing there anyway?” John smirks. “Are you a fan now?”
I spot a familiar bar, one that I have frequent a few times, and I pull on John’s arm to pick up the pace. “Come on.”
He lets me pull him to the bar. Somehow, I could sense that a grin is still glued to his face.
The bar is just as crowded as it is outside, but at least it’s warm here. We seat at a booth in the corner of the room. I take off my coat, revealing the oversized black sweater I have underneath. I meet John’s stare and smiles. “Just so you know, I’m still not a fan of your band.”
“Then why did you watch the show?” He asks.
“I was curious.” I say simply.
“Admit it, you just want to see me again.” He muses.
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Maybe.”
He smiles wider but then a new thought clouds his mind. “And how does, um, your boyfriend feel about that?”
I instantly grow uncomfortable, remembering how I turned him down before, because I was still with Simon back then. “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.” I say finally.
John nods. I try to disregard the faint smile across his face. “So, how about drinks, huh?” He asks, changing the subject. “What can I get you? I’m buying.”
“As I recall, you paid for my food the last time I was with you.”
“So?” He shrugs.
“So are you gonna let me pay?”
“If I remember correctly, you liked my attempts of chivalry.” John says, standing up. “Now what am I getting you?”
I sigh. “Beer’s fine.”
He nods, “Be right back.”
I watch him walk towards the bar. He dresses up so effortlessly, as if he just literally rolled out of bed, but he looked so good. He isn’t built like the other guys I’ve been attracted to. I mean, he’s so tall and thin, but there’s something about him I couldn’t quite explain.
After a few minutes, he comes back with two bottles of beer in his hands. He hands me one. I mumble thanks to him and sip my drink. He’s staring at me. I furrow my eyebrows at him.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head, laughing a little. “I just can’t believe that you’re here, that’s all.”
“Is that a good thing or bad?” I ask.
“You’re kidding, right?” He grins. “Of course it’s a fucking good thing. What the hell did you think?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what to think.” I say honestly.
“So how have you been?” He asks.
“I’m good. Been busy with school. You know how it is.”
“No, actually, I don’t.” He laughs, sipping his drink.
“Oh, right. For a second there, I totally forgot about your hatred for school.” I say.
“It’s not like I’m stupid or something, that that’s the reason why I hate school. I just think I’m not school material, you know?”
“How about you? What have you been up to lately?”
“This year’s been pretty jam packed. We’ve been on back to back tours. And then after the holidays, we’ll go straight to LA to record a new album. But I don’t wanna talk about work.”
I laugh. “I thought you love your work more than anything?”
He scoffs. “Believe me, I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend my only night with this amazing girl, talking about my job.”
My expression drops. “Your only night, huh?”
His smile fades, too. “Well, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, um—like I said, I’ll be in LA and you’ll probably be in Philly again, right?”
“Yeah, I will.” Sighing, I try to muster a smile. “Then we’ll make this count—this one night.”
“Well, after a few drinks,” John grins again and my heart tries not to leap. “Maybe you can show me the best of London, Morgan.”
•••
“Okay, so when I said the best of London,” John starts. “I didn’t mean, you know, literally the best of it.”
I laugh. “Oh, come on. What’s better than the Big Ben?”
He scoffs, slipping his ungloved hands inside his pockets. “I don’t know. I thought you’re probably a member of some secret society that throws these super exclusive parties—you know, the kind that celebrities go to.” He shrugs. “Guess not.”
I say, “Well, there is this feminist party happening right now in the university. Now, it doesn’t have celebrities but they do have these cream puffs that are to die for.”
“Hmm, angry girls who can probably smell testosterone from a mile away and will cuss out on it?” He says, making me laugh. “I’m gonna have to pass that.”
“You sure you wanna miss out on some killer cream puffs?” I say in a mocking worry.
He rolls his eyes at me. We walk in silence for a while. Unlike before, the sidewalks here are wider and there are less people walking around. I could feel John’s stare flickering to me every few seconds.
He asks suddenly, “What happened with your boyfriend? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“It just didn’t work out.” I mumble.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I look over at him. “Some relationships get messy, people get hurt. In some cases, there’s nothing to do but end them.” I bump my shoulder against playfully. “What about you? Any relationships these past few months?”
He scoffs. “I don’t think I even remember what it’s like to be involved with someone anymore.” John stops at the railing. He leans his elbows on it and stares out over the dark waters of Thames. I mirror his actions, but instead, I stare at him. He bites his lip for a moment before continuing, “To be…committed to a person. I mean, I write songs about how I perceive relationships based on other people. Never based on mine—or lack thereof.”
“Do you want to change that? I mean, do you want to be in a relationship?”
He lets out a small laugh. “That’s the thing, though. I have no idea if I want that. Maybe just not now, but…we’ll see.” He tears his gaze away from the river and turns it back to me. His stare is so intent that I suddenly couldn’t handle it and I look away, praying to every saint I’ve ever known that he doesn’t notice how my cheeks have grown hot, a blush forming on them. He chuckles at me. He brushes a lock of my hair from my shoulder. “I like your hair this way. It’s longer.”
I furrow my eyebrows at him, because I could feel how messy my hair is right now, because of the wind blowing through it. “That is such a weird thing to say, coming from you.” I say in a laugh.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s pretty cute.”
I look away from him. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly so nervous, even more than I have been all night. “So where are you guys going tomorrow?”
“Glasgow.” He says in a sigh.
“I went there once.” I say. “It’s beautiful there.”
“You’re beautiful right now.” John says, smiling down at me.
I turn back my stare on the river below. I sigh heavily.
“What is it?” He asks.
“I-I’m just not used to…to hearing the things you’re saying, I guess.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Somehow, I doubt that. I’m willing to bet that you’ve been beautiful your whole life and have grown up having people remind you of it.”
“Not from a guy like you.” I mumble, expecting that he wouldn’t hear. But with my shitty luck, he does.
“What do you mean by that?” He waits for my answer. “Morgan?”
“You know, a guy like you.” I say stupidly.
John chuckles. “Maybe you could be a little more specific? Come on. I wanna know what you think of me.”
“A guy like you—charming, but not that cocky. Witty, even if you can’t point out, say, Paraguay on a map.”
He laughs at that.
I continue, “Very funny, but still kind enough to not be insulting.” I turn my eyes back to him, studying him. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing there is to look at. A grin grows on my face. “…also good-looking…”
He smirks at that. “You think so, huh?”
I just laugh. “Are you satisfied with the answer?”
“Very.” He nods.
He’s grinning down at me, just as he had practically the whole time. My eyes flicker to his lips, my mind clouded by the feeling of being under his stare. There’s just something about him, I couldn’t place what it is. Without thinking about it some more, I move closer to him, hold on to his neck, my gloved thumb brushing against his jaw.
“Morgan.” John says, his warm breath hitting my face.
Then I kiss him. It takes him a moment to react, but when he does, he leans down to deepen the kiss and his hands slipping on my waist, pulling me closer to him. He tastes the same as I remember it—beer and a trace of nicotine. He even smells the same. It’s that boyish scent but also something more. My arm wraps around his neck, my other hand running through his hair. He fully wraps both of his arms around my waist now, pulling me even closer against him. I tip toe to kiss him harder, since he’s ridiculously tall. After a moment, I start to lose breath and I pull away, but I still rest my forehead against his, my eyes closed. He presses his lips against mine twice and briefly. He’s still holding me against his chest.
He sighs, “Morgan…”
I let out a breathless laugh. “You mind keep saying my name like that or would you prefer that I record it with my phone instead?”
He laughs, his body shaking against me. I pull away my forehead and open my eyes to meet his stare.
“I don’t…know why I just did that.” I say slowly.
“Does it really matter?” He kisses me in between words. “Besides…it takes two people to kiss…so you’re not entirely to blame for this.”
John loosens his arms around me so that I could stand properly on my feet again. He leans down and gives a kiss again.
“Do you…um…” I start to say.
“What?” He mumbles against my lips.
“Maybe you want to go back to my dorm?”
He pulls away suddenly, but just enough to look at me properly on the face. “What?” He asks again, but this time, it’s a little more on the nervous side.
The weight of my question dawns on me and my eyes widen. “Shit, I can’t believe I just asked that—you can just forget about it—”
John cuts me off by kissing me. “No, let’s go…if you’re still up for it.”
I laugh at the awkwardness of it all. Shaking my head, I pull his jacket down to kiss him again. Laughing some more, I lead the both of us on the edge of the sidewalk and hail for a taxi. John wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my head briefly. He opens the taxi door for me. Smiling wider, I give him a kiss on the cheek before going inside the vehicle. I mumble my address to the driver before turning my attention back to John. His arm crosses in front of me, his hand resting on the seat cushion beside my leg. His other hand pushes some of my hair away from face and kisses my jaw. He makes a line of barely-there kisses from it to my cheek and then to my neck. He chuckles against my skin as he tries to pull the collar of my sweater away to give him more access on my neck. My hand slides up his arm and to his shoulder, gripping it. I sigh against him. I’m so caught with him—we both are, with each other—that I don’t notice that we’ve arrived in my building. Handing the cabbie a bill, I let John pull me out of the vehicle. Once out on the streets again, he slides his hands on my waist again and kisses me. Flashing him a smile, I start pulling him inside. When we reach my door, I could hardly focus in looking for my keys in my bag when John is standing behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his arms around my waist and his face buried in my shoulder, pressing kisses on every part of my skin exposed.
Once we get into the dorm, it’s quiet and dark. Molly’s door is shut, so it could only mean that she’s in there, already asleep. I have no idea what time is it, not that I care, or anything.
John turns me around and crashes his lips to mine. His hands work on the buttons of my coat, opening it. He pushes the heavy material off my shoulders and it drops on the floor. I do the same for him. My hands run down his flannel shirt before I blindly undo its buttons, all the while still kissing him.
“You’re alone here, right?” John mumbles against my lips.
“My roommate’s most likely asleep.” I say in a sigh as he moves on to pressing kissing on my neck and jaw.
“You sure?”
“Yes, John.” I push off his flannel and run my hands on his bare skin. I blush at the fact that he’s more muscular than his thin frame would suggest. I let out a low giggle as he squirms a little.
“Your hands are so fucking cold.” He chuckles against my skin. I laugh some more when his own cold hands push under my thick sweater and undershirt, to my bare hips and waist.
I shiver, though I’m not sure if it’s because of his cold hands or the fact that he’s touching my skin is dawning on me. Pushing away for a moment, I pull off my sweater, revealing a thin tank top underneath. John’s hands roam on my sides as he kisses me on the lips again. Slowly, I push him towards my small bedroom, making him walk backwards. I break the kiss again by pushing him and he falls on my bed. He grins up at me as I close the door behind me. He looks so good right now. Barely resisting him, I kick off my flats and climb over him, sitting on his hips. His hand finds its way on my side again, the other pushes my hair away from my face. I lean down and crash my lips against his again.
•••
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I ask suddenly. I lie on my stomach and adjust my face on the pillow so I can see him more clearly.
John lies on his side and moves his head to my pillow, so our faces are so close but not actually touching. He wraps his arm over the blanket around me, his finger tracing circles on my bare shoulder blade. “Not a clue.” He mumbles before kissing me briefly. He pulls away and sighs, his breath hitting my face, sending shivers down my spine.
“Soon, your friends will be looking for you.” I mumble.
He moves his hand to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I know.” He eyes me for a moment. He asks, almost hesitantly, “What happens now? Are we gonna see each other again?”
“I don’t know.”
John sighs again. “You’re so amazing, Morgan. I hate that I’m not sure I’m gonna see you again.”
We stay silent after he says that, for a moment. I gnaw on my lip as I ponder over the situation. Not thinking about it some more, I say, “Maybe we can make sure of it.”
John gives me a confused stare. “What do you mean by that?”
“I…I know I want to see you again. I want to see where this—us—will go. I know I don’t want to lose you right now.” I say.
“What do you wanna do?” He asks, though I could see that he’s afraid of the answer.
I take a deep breath before saying, “Maybe we could try…try to be something.”
“Morgan—”
“Maybe we could try the long distance thing.”
John sighs. He lets go of my face and lies on his back again, staring at the ceiling. “Morgan, I’m not so sure about that.”
My expression drops. “Oh.” I try my best to steady my shaky voice. “You’re not this kind of guy—I, uh, I get it.” Embarrassed, I sit up, holding the blanket against my chest, and pull on the robe that’s hanging on my headboard. I keep my back to him as I sit on the edge of the bed and tie the ribbon of my robe.
“Morgan.” John says. The way he says my name—full of defeat and regret—I hate the way it sounds right now, but I don’t say a thing. He shuffles behind me and I find him sitting beside me, my blanket still around his hips. He touches my face and gently moves it towards him. “Hey, it’s not that I don’t like you. Morgan, you’re not like the other girls I’ve ever known—and to think that I barely even know much about you…” He shakes his head. “But that’s what makes you so special to me. I also want to see where this can go but that doesn’t mean that we could.”
“We can’t, huh?” I whisper.
“We lead such different lives. I can only predict that we’ll have miles and miles between us and a relationship can’t be like that—not all the time.” He says so softly.
I look away from him, making his hand drop from my face. I know that what he said makes sense but it doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt so much to hear. “Do you…” I start to say, but I trail off.
“Do I what?” He asks quietly.
I turn my stare to his. “Do you regret doing…this?”
This shuts John up. I wait for him to answer but he doesn’t. His silence fills the room. And that’s enough of an answer for me. I look away from him and just stare at the wall in front of me instead. “Maybe you should go.”
John stares at me for a moment, probably hoping I would at least look at him. But I don’t.
So he slips off on the other side of the bed. As he dresses himself again, I could feel his gaze on me, but I ignore it. He walks around the bed and in front of me. He’s still shirtless, being that his flannel is outside my bedroom. I just stare at the ‘V’ tattooed on his hip. I can’t even bring myself to look at him in the eye. He lets out a heavy sigh. He touches my head and presses a kiss on my hair, with a mumble, “I’m really sorry, Morgan.”
I still don’t say a thing. Then he leaves. When I hear the front door close, I reach for the small orange plastic bottle on the nightstand. I open it and let one pill fall in my palm. One sleeping pill to get me through another shitty night. I pop it into my mouth. I reach for the bottle of water I have left on the nightstand a while ago, washing down the pill. I place the two bottles in my nightstand again. Sighing, I lay on my side on the bed again, tucking my hand in between my head and the pillow. I shut my eyes as I feel the tears start to fall.