And I Would Walk Five-Hundred Miles

It adds a different element when you tell someone you love them. Micah and I have said it for years, but that night, it was different. I had meant it for years now. I really did love him. Even when I dated my other boyfriend, I still thought about him. Really horrible, I know. Don’t scold me over it. But when he said that, I knew something was different. Like saying that he loved me was a burden to his soul, but he wasn’t going to give it up any time soon.

I walked straight to my room, took another shower to wipe off the sweat, and went to bed.

Only, I didn’t go to sleep. I laid there: thinking.

I’ve missed him so much, it’s crazy! I’m sure he missed me too, but not as much as I have him. And the club behavior? That was just the alcohol talking. He’s not really interested in me like that. He’s not sexually or physically attracted to me. I was there, and he was drunk. There is nothing else to it. I was another piece of ass at the moment.

But all of the comments were directed at me, and he didn’t flirt with any other girl but me.
He was drunk, but he seemed aware of who he was with.

No, he obviously wasn’t aware of who he was with because otherwise, he wouldn’t have said all the stuff about being in love with me. Micah loves me as a friend, but not anything more.

But can I be so sure of that?

…I’m not. But I have a hunch.

Hunch or no hunch, a move should be made. I’ve loved him for so long; my feelings should be made known.

But not at the cost of the friendship.

With that, I cleared my mind and counted sheep until I fell asleep.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

I groaned as I rolled out of bed, contemplating sleeping in, but I remembered my hung over house guest and decided against it. After throwing on an old t-shirt and jeans, I dragged myself to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Eggs, cinnamon, sugar, cream, bread: drench on one side, flip to the other. Put into pan and cook it on medium heat.

I heard a groan come from the couch, and I remembered my job.

Tylenol and a glass of water: relief from a hangover headache.

I set them on the coffee table for Micah and went back to cooking, this time putting sausage in a skillet to cook. After that, I juiced some oranges and cut up some fruit.

“Now if this doesn’t make Alton Brown proud, I don’t know what does.”

Another groan came from the couch, and then the sheets moved exposing Micah.

“Good morning, Micah.”

“Hi,” he grunted.

“There’s some medicine on the coffee table for you if you have a headache, and I’m making breakfast now.”

He grumbled thanks and drank his medicine.

“So,” he said after a long pause, “what are we going to do today?”

“Well, it’s really up to you. I was planning on going to the wax museum, but you have to make it there early to not get a huge line.”

“What time is it?”

“Like 10:30.”

“Oh. Where else can we go?”

“We can go to the British Museum or the British Library. We can even do both if you’d like, but I want to go easy on you today, okay?”

“Both sound good.”

With that he rolled onto his face. I smiled to myself and walked over to where he lay. I sat myself down, and he didn’t protest to my being there. Gently, I stroked his hair and then his back. He then turned his head to face me and softly smiled. I stopped.

“Sorry.”

“No, keep doing it, it feels really good.”

He gave me a slightly wider smile, and I began again. After a long silence, the timer rang and I got up and pulled the sausages off of the skillet.

“Breakfast is ready.”

He groaned once again and pulled himself out of bed. His hair stood up at odd angles, and the imprint of the sheets was streaked across his milky white chest. His boxers were off kilter, exposing his pelvis, and driving my heart into frenzied palpitations. I forced myself to look down. I knew I would stare at him. He looked….yummy.

He sat down at the counter and served himself some French toast, orange juice, and sausage. I grabbed the same plus some fruit.

“You look nice today, Lyd.”

I looked at my faded Harry Potter shirt and jeans. I hadn’t put on as much makeup as I usually do just some eyeliner, mascara, and shadow so that my eyes were the focus. I looked back up at him. He had a small smile on his lips.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There was just silence as we ate our food. Then Micah said something that took me by surprise.

“Um…. Lydia, did I say anything strange last night?”

I contemplated telling him what he said, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“No, why would you ask such a thing?”

“Uh… I know when I’m drunk, I’m pretty blunt.” He paused for a minute while I speared pieces of French toast and put them into my mouth. He started again, “I’m really honest when I’m drunk. I don’t really think about things. Please tell me. Did I say anything at all that struck you as strange? I’ll explain it.”

So he meant it? He meant what he said about loving me so much it kills him?

I felt myself blushing slightly, and I told him, “No, you didn’t say anything odd at all.”

“Are you positive?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m positive. You didn’t say anything you wouldn’t have said in a sober state.”

“If you say so-“

“I know so.”

So I was lying. I’m sorry, but telling him what he said would probably add a bunch of awkwardness to our situation. Besides, he just got here. If I told him what he said, and the reactions wasn’t one of sweeping me off my feet and kissing me senseless and him telling me that he always loved me, that we were meant to be, and would I bear his children, it would most likely lead to a most uncomfortable two weeks, and I didn’t want that at all.

He softly laughed to himself and said, “My drunken self has gotten me into bad situations before.”

“Really?” I asked, “I doubt you've said anything too bad.”

He chuckled again and said, “I partially broke up with Bella because I told her, when I was drunk, that I was sick of her cheating and I was really in love with another girl.”

My heart felt like it flew down to where my intestines were and flew back up. Then it started to beat really hard and quick. My stomach started to turn, and I choked out, “Is that right?”