Sometimes I wish he'd touch my hand in public or kiss me, ever so gently, when no one was looking, but I knew that wasn't who he was. I loved him for whom he was and knew he loved me too. He just didn't say it often. Actually, he'd only said it once, but he said it first, so that had to count for something. He had said it to convince me that we could be monogamist without me having to worry about whether or not he was going to fuck me over. Thinking about it now, I guess, that it didn't really count for much of anything.
I looked over at him. He was entranced in the book he liked to read before bed, completely oblivious to the rampaging war going on inside my mind. He felt my eyes burning through his skull and met my gaze.
"You okay, Race?" He cocked his head slightly to his right and closed his book, but he left his thumb inside to keep the page. I must have looked obviously upset, because Spot doesn't usually pick up on my emotional needs.
"I don't know." I responded honestly but dejectedly.
"What going on in that pretty, little head of yours?" He asked sarcastically but I was sure I'd keep the 'compliment', and the fact that he cared about my feelings, close to my heart.
"What are we," I gesture to the space between us "how do you feel about me," I almost cracked "where is this going?" I questioned him and my hands manically gestured as I spoke, because I was nervous and just about ready to break down.
"You are my . . . boyfriend." He didn't like to say it out loud "I - this hopefully is going somewhere-" he didn't answer the question I worried about most, so I cut him off and harnessed all of my self-control so I wouldn't let a tear slip from the corner of my eye.
"Is it really that fucking hard for you to show your feelings or do you not feel anything towards me?" I paused and let a shaky breathe rattle through my respiratory system.
"Racetrack, I-"
"No, Spot. I love you, but I don't think I can keep torturing myself with the thought that you don't feel the same way. I need you . . ." I trailed off, realizing the desperation in my voice and the tear on my cheekbone.
I conjured the courage to bring my bloodshot, cocoa eyes to meet his steel blue, sparkling orbs that seemed to be letting on more emotion than they regularly did. He was biting his lip and it was driving me crazy that I couldn't kiss him. I mentally kicked myself for being confrontational. We stared for a moment until I draped my eyelids over my eyes. I could feel the tears on my face like a slow drizzle of rain miserably streaking down a window pane. I started to drift into the spider web-covered, dark recesses of my brain when, my bottom lip was encompassed by both of Spot's.
I felt my brain turn off and my body became taken over by an instinctual, animalistic feeling. Spot moved almost painfully slow. He made up for it in raw, tender affection. I couldn't wrap my head around the levels of passion, solicitude, and warmth emanating from Spot, but I didn't have to, for that was the job of my lips. My hands trailed his back and entangled into his hair, rom-com style, and he dropped his book. The spine made a hollow sound on the floor and the pages fluttered.
We were brought back to reality and I blushed with tears in my eyes. He had a satisfied smirk on his face but it faded and he seemed to be debating something in his head.
"Thanks, I needed that." I confessed quietly and Spot's expression softened. He lifted his hand, surprisingly shakily, and brought it gingerly to my cheek. It was weird; Spot Conlon didn't usually do anything gingerly, but that's the only way I could describe the way his hand just rested sweetly on my face. His thumb slowly moved under my bottom lash line to collect tears. I smiled weakly and remembered why I had been crying. I pushed his hand down from my face and frowned.
"I really fucking love you," he stated simply "I know I don't say it enough, but I really do." I could tell he was waiting for my reaction but I was kind of shocked. When his words settled in my brain, I practically beamed at him.
"I love you too." It was a simple exchange, but it changed my perspective exponentially. I collapsed on the pillow next to him and sighed contently. His arm slinked around my waist; making me the little spoon, and I felt his breathe on my neck and his body molded impossibly close to mine. It felt a-fucking-mazing.
I fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of Spot's calm breathing. Everything was still for the rest of the night. His arm stayed around me. His stomach stayed on my back. His words burrowed into my heart and burned into my brain. His book stayed, rumpled helplessly, on the wood floor as evidence of our forgiving, compassionate, and meaningful embrace.