She feels lonely. She hates feeling lonely. She hates not being with him.
She had promised herself not to cry for any man, never again. Never felt weak again. Her dream was New York, accompanied or alone. But here she was, another Friday night, sitting in the middle of her bedroom, singing along to an old Celine Dion's song.
Why had she run away? Why had she been so scared?
He was her friend after all. He wouldn't have hurt her on purpose, or blow at her self-esteem, or make a nasty remark about her outfit. He would have defended her of everybody, even of herself.
He would have been a wonderful boyfriend. They would have spent their days chatting about movies and Broadway and Disney. They would have sung to each other and share choreographies. She wouldn't have had to explain every joke. He wouldn't have felt uncomfortable with her dads. They would have been happy. Maybe not "fairytale happy" but "real happy".
But that's not her present. Her present is her and only her. He is thousands of miles away. At a friendly house in Westerville, Ohio. Maybe he's already forgotten her. Not as a friend, they would always be friends, but as a woman, as a lover, as a choice. Maybe, in a way, that would sting more.
She will call, eventually. She will come clean and tell him every word he wants to hear. She needs to accept it all, realize that he is 100% gay but he likes her, that every rule has its exception, that even when she tries and deny it, she is crazy about him.
She knows that nothing will change if she doesn't do anything. She wants to gather a little more courage. Learn to live, to take a risk, learn that no pain means no gain.
She already knows one thing. She doesn't want to spend another night all by herself.