Graduation
I'm almost asleep when my phone rings. I roll over and look at the name - there's a little pause somewhere in my chest.
"Hello?"
"Hey," his voice comes bright and cheery through the phone, "Do you wanna take a beer on the terassse?"
"Mmmm," I reply, unsure, "Is it cold outside?"
"No, no," he replies, "It's not too bad,"
I've already blown him off three times in the last week, and I'm struggling to sleep anyway.
"Okay, I'll see you soon."
As soon as I walk outside, it becomes clear that he was lying. This is one of the first nights in weeks that I can see the stars - the air is cold and crisp while the sky is clear. Not only is it fucking cold, but there is no beer in sight.
I squeeze through a gap in the fence and Xavier pointedly moves to a bench rather than the chairs. The first sign that perhaps he's a little inebriated.
I sit down next to him and he immediately tells me to sit a little closer - I protest weakly, but he insists. It can't hurt to have his arm around me, can it?
I lead the conversation. I'm already pretty certain that this was a bad idea - alcohol, Xavier and myself do not mix.
I spend a lot of time looking up, as I always do. I miss the view of the stars back home, so we're both pretty excited when the flash of a shooting star makes itself visible.
"Can I kiss you? Just once?"
"No," I reply with a sigh. It's not that I don't want to, it's that I haven't ended things properly elsewhere.
He holds me very tight, as if he knows that this can't last longer than tonight. Honestly, it makes me think of a small child who doesn't want their parent to leave them at daycare.
"Just one kiss?" he repeats again, as I'm shaking my head I gasp as he takes me by surprise and kisses me quickly straight on my lips.
He asks me again, "You already have now, I say."
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around my waist even tighter. My arms are not around him, but shuffling away from his doesn't appear to be an option.
"Am I so crazy?" he asks, exasperated.
"What do you mean?"
"I just want to kiss you so bad."
"You should go to bed." I reply firmly.
He pauses for a second, then begins again.
"If..."
"What?"
"If..." he sighs, exasperated, shakes his head, then blurts out quickly, "If you want to spend the night with me, you can."
It is absolutely clear that he is inebriated at this point, as he ends his sentence by turning his head and looking me in the eyes purposefully, glazed eyes and obviously waiting to hear my response.
"I don't think that's a good idea." I reply gently.
I try to distract him once more. Shooting stars, questions about his evening, his work, his week, his favourite bands.
He holds me tighter each time.
"We should go to bed now," I tell him, trying to release myself and stand up.
"We should go to bed together." He responds quickly.
After much arguing and much persistence from the drunken Romeo, I tell him for what feels like the 60 millionth time,
"Okay, it's time for you to go to sleep."
"Okay, I'll take you to your home," he replies.
I look at him for a moment and know what this means. He's too good at this.
"No, I'll take you home," I respond, figuring that I'm better to be the one in control of the situation right now.
He takes my hand and I feel as though I'm attempting to put a child to bed. Laying him down, promising to stay "just a little while."
"Est-ce que je peux enlever mon manteau?" he asks quietly. He is, after all, fully dressed at this point, as I wasn't going to have it any other way.
"Yeah." I reply. I doubt the absence of his coat will drive me to extremes of lust.
Still, he's had his arms around me or one me since we entered his apartment, so he's convinced I'll flee the second he lets go to remove his coat.
"You won't leave me?" he asks, genuine drunken concern in his voice.
"I won't leave, I promise." I sit up as he fumbles then collapses back down again.
"You can stay here if you want," he repeats.
"You know I can't," I tell him once more. After some bickering, I eventually make my way to his door, only to be followed by the puppy dog once more.
"What do you want to do?" he pleads with me, holding one of my wrists and making intense eye contact once more, as if one glance will make me forget all of my values, all of my strength, and any hesitation.
"It doesn't matter what I want right now." I tell him, slightly frustrated now. I'll regret saying this later. I'll look back and wish I told him exactly how I felt. I've had this happen before and it may even happen again. I've become well aware that sometimes a lie is the best decision in the moment, even if it means what I want will likely never come to me.
Sometimes lies help the people you want - much more than they help you.
"But what do you want to do?" he asks again.
"It doesn't matter what I want." I repeat as I turn to leave.
"Hello?"
"Hey," his voice comes bright and cheery through the phone, "Do you wanna take a beer on the terassse?"
"Mmmm," I reply, unsure, "Is it cold outside?"
"No, no," he replies, "It's not too bad,"
I've already blown him off three times in the last week, and I'm struggling to sleep anyway.
"Okay, I'll see you soon."
As soon as I walk outside, it becomes clear that he was lying. This is one of the first nights in weeks that I can see the stars - the air is cold and crisp while the sky is clear. Not only is it fucking cold, but there is no beer in sight.
I squeeze through a gap in the fence and Xavier pointedly moves to a bench rather than the chairs. The first sign that perhaps he's a little inebriated.
I sit down next to him and he immediately tells me to sit a little closer - I protest weakly, but he insists. It can't hurt to have his arm around me, can it?
I lead the conversation. I'm already pretty certain that this was a bad idea - alcohol, Xavier and myself do not mix.
I spend a lot of time looking up, as I always do. I miss the view of the stars back home, so we're both pretty excited when the flash of a shooting star makes itself visible.
"Can I kiss you? Just once?"
"No," I reply with a sigh. It's not that I don't want to, it's that I haven't ended things properly elsewhere.
He holds me very tight, as if he knows that this can't last longer than tonight. Honestly, it makes me think of a small child who doesn't want their parent to leave them at daycare.
"Just one kiss?" he repeats again, as I'm shaking my head I gasp as he takes me by surprise and kisses me quickly straight on my lips.
He asks me again, "You already have now, I say."
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around my waist even tighter. My arms are not around him, but shuffling away from his doesn't appear to be an option.
"Am I so crazy?" he asks, exasperated.
"What do you mean?"
"I just want to kiss you so bad."
"You should go to bed." I reply firmly.
He pauses for a second, then begins again.
"If..."
"What?"
"If..." he sighs, exasperated, shakes his head, then blurts out quickly, "If you want to spend the night with me, you can."
It is absolutely clear that he is inebriated at this point, as he ends his sentence by turning his head and looking me in the eyes purposefully, glazed eyes and obviously waiting to hear my response.
"I don't think that's a good idea." I reply gently.
I try to distract him once more. Shooting stars, questions about his evening, his work, his week, his favourite bands.
He holds me tighter each time.
"We should go to bed now," I tell him, trying to release myself and stand up.
"We should go to bed together." He responds quickly.
After much arguing and much persistence from the drunken Romeo, I tell him for what feels like the 60 millionth time,
"Okay, it's time for you to go to sleep."
"Okay, I'll take you to your home," he replies.
I look at him for a moment and know what this means. He's too good at this.
"No, I'll take you home," I respond, figuring that I'm better to be the one in control of the situation right now.
He takes my hand and I feel as though I'm attempting to put a child to bed. Laying him down, promising to stay "just a little while."
"Est-ce que je peux enlever mon manteau?" he asks quietly. He is, after all, fully dressed at this point, as I wasn't going to have it any other way.
"Yeah." I reply. I doubt the absence of his coat will drive me to extremes of lust.
Still, he's had his arms around me or one me since we entered his apartment, so he's convinced I'll flee the second he lets go to remove his coat.
"You won't leave me?" he asks, genuine drunken concern in his voice.
"I won't leave, I promise." I sit up as he fumbles then collapses back down again.
"You can stay here if you want," he repeats.
"You know I can't," I tell him once more. After some bickering, I eventually make my way to his door, only to be followed by the puppy dog once more.
"What do you want to do?" he pleads with me, holding one of my wrists and making intense eye contact once more, as if one glance will make me forget all of my values, all of my strength, and any hesitation.
"It doesn't matter what I want right now." I tell him, slightly frustrated now. I'll regret saying this later. I'll look back and wish I told him exactly how I felt. I've had this happen before and it may even happen again. I've become well aware that sometimes a lie is the best decision in the moment, even if it means what I want will likely never come to me.
Sometimes lies help the people you want - much more than they help you.
"But what do you want to do?" he asks again.
"It doesn't matter what I want." I repeat as I turn to leave.
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