Mitchie was tired.
She was tired of hearing a knock at her door at 1am every Saturday morning. Tired of getting out of bed and slipping on her bathrobe. Of how cold the floor made her feet feel. How she knew exactly which steps to take to get to the door, even in absolute darkness. How he drunkenly slurred her name when she opened the door. How she tried her hardest to be angry, or even just annoyed that he was there, but couldn't. How he always invited himself inside. Tired of the way he kissed her. Of thinking that how much he wanted her at that moment was just because of the alcohol. Of knowing that when she woke up in the morning he would be gone. But mostly, she was tired of pretending that she hadn't been lying awake in her bed waiting up for the knock at the door.
She was tired of hoping. Tired of praying that one night, he would stay. That one day, he would take her on a date, hold her hand, and make her feel like she was special. That someday they would be a couple, and everyone would know it. Of longing for his sober affection. But mostly, she was tired of hoping that one night, he would whisper into her ear, "I love you," and knowing that it would never happen.
She was tired of feeling. Tired of all the things she had felt for him since they met at camp five years ago. Of knowing he didn't feel the same. Of dreaming about him. Of lying in bed wishing he was there to hold her. Of the jealousy she felt when he talked about other girls. Of feeling used. Of hanging out the day before and being treated like she was just 'one of the guys.' But mostly, she was tired of keeping all her feelings a secret.
She was tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like their one night stands had never happened. Like she was fine with not talking about it, with keeping it their little secret. Like it didn't mean anything to her. Of trying to convince herself that it was okay, that she was okay. Of keeping her cool. Of not being able to say 'no.' But mostly, she was tired of pretending that she didn't cry herself to sleep when he left.
She was tired of not knowing. Of not knowing why he chose to come to her place instead of some other girls'. Of not knowing if there were other girls on other nights. Of not knowing how he felt. Of not knowing what she meant to him. Tired of not knowing if he had ever, even just once, for a split second, maybe thought that there could really be something between them. But mostly, she was tired of knowing that he probably hadn't.
She was tired of thinking. Of thinking of him, every time she saw a boy with brown hair. Every time she saw someone wearing a bandana. Every time she saw something that reminded her of one of their inside jokes. Every time someone called her "Mitch" like he always did. Every time she heard a love song. But mostly, she was tired of wishing that when he heard that song, he thought of her.
She held her hand up to stop him from kissing her. "Shane, I'm tired of being your Friday night go-to girl. I'm done."
She looked at him as she dropped her hand to her side, trying to pinpoint his reaction; she had never seen him look at her this way before. She was tired of always searching his deep brown eyes for answers. But before she could say anything else, he cupped her face in his hands, pressing his lips against hers.
"Shane, I said…" she pushed him away, but stopped when she realized something about that kiss. "You haven't been drinking."
"Nope," he shook his head.
"Then why…"
"When I saw you yesterday, I knew that I had to tell you how I feel about you," he told her, brushing a stray piece of hair away from her eyes. "But I knew that you wouldn't believe me if I was drunk."
"What are you talking about?" she asked suspiciously. She fought to stop herself from getting her hopes up before she heard the words come from his mouth. She was tired of always getting her hopes up, but mostly she was tired of the words never coming.
"Mitch…I love you," he smiled nervously.
A grin spread across her face as she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. And that, she thought, was something she would never get tired of hearing.