Could it really be him? It couldn't be. He didn't look the same. Where was his long hair? The Phil I knew never would have cut his hair for anything. My eyes wandered down to his arms, covered in tattoos; that was the Phil I knew, I thought with a small smile on my face. I looked one last time and quickly looked away as he looked up from his book and almost caught my eye. I quickly put the newspaper up to my face to avoid meeting his eyes. But I saw them. I saw those hazel eyes that were always able to burn a hole through me, right into my soul. I would know those eyes anywhere. Those eyes made me weak in the knees with desire when they had been filled with lust; they made my heart ache when they looked at me when they had been filled with anger or disappointment. It was him.
What was he doing here? How completely random of him to be here right now; what on earth would he be doing in this city? He had always told me over and over again that he would never leave Chicago. Of course I knew why he might be in town; I had followed his career ever since he left me that one rainy night. I watched him struggle through the independent circuit, watched him gain a following in Ring of Honor and watched him take the WWE by storm. What I didn't know was if he ever thought of me? Did he ever think of us and what we had had?
Wait, where you say you've been? Who you been with? Where you say you're goin'? Who you goin' with?
What would he say to me right now if he knew I was sitting across from him on a crowded city bus? Would he pretend to not know who I was and treat me like just another crazy fan girl who wants him for all of the wrong reasons? Or would he smile that sexy smirk at me and turn me into Jell-O? He knew that he always had that effect on me; it made him feel powerful. Would he even want to see me again? I brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes and went back to secretly staring at him.
Memories of us flashed through my mind, taking me back to a happier time. Would I ever have a chance at happiness like that ever again? Or did Phil ruin me for all other men? It was a long time ago; at least fifteen or sixteen years by now since he broke my poor little teenage heart into a million pieces. We had dated when we were 18 for a few years. I was head over heels in love with him; and I thought he had felt the same way about me. I guess I was wrong. You would think that I would have gotten over it by now. But, let me tell you, once you've been loved by Phil Brooks, something changes in you and you never get over it. Maybe it's the way he made you feel like you were the only other person in the world worth talking to. Maybe it was the way his arms snaked around your waist and held you close to him. Maybe it had been the way that you felt so secure in his arms while you slept next to him. Maybe it was that silly smirk or that sharp sense of humor.
I took him all in; he had been such a unique young man—bleach blonde hair, piercings and an attitude. He had grown into a drop dead gorgeous man. Even sitting this far away from him, and not seeing him for so long, I still wanted him. I wanted him right now. I wanted to strut over to him, take the book from his hand and straddle his hips just like I had done so many times before, take his face in my hands and cover his sweet mouth with my own. I must have stared too long. He looked up from his book and his eyes met mine. I couldn't look away. He had me again, right where he wanted me. I waited with bated breath to see what was going to happen next.
Keep me on my toes, keep me in the know.
There it was; that smirk. That smirk could always bring me down to my knees with desire for him. Even after all of these years, he could still do it. And I get the feeling that he still knew that even after all of these years. I waited for what he was going to do next. Was he going to further acknowledge me, was he going to ignore me, was he going to come over and actually talk to me? I was filled with such uncertainty right now that I was driving me crazy.
Our relationship flashed through my mind—the long nights we spent together just walking the streets of our hometown, sitting in my bedroom listening to music, hanging out with his friends, just being together. Why was this happening to me now? I thought I had gotten over this.
Wait, keep me in your skin, keep me in your chest. I'll wait for it to start, I'll wait for it to end.
He lifted his hand in kind of a feeble wave hello; it looked like he really wasn't sure what to do either in the case of coming face to face with me after so many years. Like an idiot, I waved back and then blushed. To try and save myself from further embarrassment, I busied myself with the newspaper again. I knew my stop was coming up soon and I was beginning to worry about what was going to happen next. Where was his stop? Would he be getting off at the same stop as me? What was I supposed to do when I passed by him? Do I need to further acknowledge his existence or do I just let it go?
I got my answer with a soft poke in the arm. I froze. Luckily I gained enough composure to put down my paper and slowly look to my left. I was greeted with those mischievous hazel eyes. I lost the ability to speak. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to ever see him in a situation like this, much less have him sitting less than a foot away from me. "Hey," he whispered with that smirk that drove me insane on his face. "Long time no see."
Like a moron, I just nodded and tried to remember to breathe. My ability to speak still hadn't come back yet.
Keep me on my toes, keep me in the know.
"Aren't you going to say anything, Steph?" he asked. I tingled in ways that only he could make me feel when he said my name so softly.
"Hey, Phil," I managed to squeak out softly. I could feel my face turning bright red and judging by the amused look on his face, he noticed my blushing too. "What…what are you doing in town?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I have a show tonight," he said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal that he was the top guy in the WWE right now. And, honestly, it wasn't a big deal; he was born for this type of work and attention. It had always been his dream. In high school, while our fellow students were making plans to go to college or to start working right away, Phil had insisted that he was going to be a professional wrestler. He said it was all he had wanted to do with his life. I tried my hardest to convince him to go to college with me; he flat out refused. I still remember him telling me that college might be a good plan for me, but it wasn't for him. And if I hadn't wanted to take the safe road and go to college, then get a job, and settle down with a family, I should just go ahead. He wasn't going down that road.
"I see…." I whispered. Thankfully this meeting of the exes would soon be over because my stop was next. I was more than prepared to simply nod a good-bye to him when my stop came and walk away from him. He had other ideas, however.
"What have you been up to these days?" he asked. I just stared at him. after everything that had happened between us—that big fight, the horrible words we said to each other, the way we screamed, the accusations flying back and forth—he was just going to ask me what I had been doing for the past fifteen years? Couldn't he start with an apology? Couldn't he say how sorry he was about everything? Why was he acting like we had just seen each other the day and that nothing had ever happened between us?
We were young, we were in our teens. It wasn't real love, spent behind bars. Oh it's sad to think, we just let it be. Prisoners of love.
"Working and such…" I mumbled like an idiot. My life was so boring compared to how his had turned out.
"Doing what?" he asked with a hint of curiosity in his voice. I knew what he was thinking, he was wondering what happened to my dream? What happened to me? Where was my dream? What had happened to me that I gave it up?
"Accounting," I said softly, knowing that this conversation and reunion was going to come to an end very quickly; my stop was next. "This is my stop," I murmured as I started to gather my stuff and stand up. I froze when I felt his hand touch my arm to stop from moving. I glanced down and saw his tattooed fingers touching my skin. Could he feel how hot my skin had just gotten from this brief contact from him?
It's so easy for it to be, something second guessed. Easy to read, don't let it become, a meaningless routine. It's meaningless to me.
"Don't go yet…." he said quietly as he looked up at me, his hazel eyes pleading with me to stay on the bus with him.
"But….this is my stop…" I started to say, confused at what was happening and beginning to wonder if this was all a daydream and not really happening.
"It's been a long time, Steph…I'd like to catch up with you…." he said as that sly smile started to appear on his handsome face.