Jan. 30th, 2009

thewordofweb: (fuck you too: by ?)
The night before was the first time in the span of our short-lived whatever it is that Joe didn't come to join me in bed. At first, I'd been worried because he wasn't in his own room either, but I chalked it up to him staying out. Then he didn't come back at all and by the time the early hours of the morning rolled upon us, I was standing above him and smelling the reek of alcohol and seeing him in his own bed.

There was this...well, smell to him. This look. And I didn't even have to ask, because I knew. I couldn't even bring myself to be be disappointed because I had said he could have this. I suppose I just never counted on the way it would hurt so absolutely much.

The day after (today), I'd spent talking to him as best as I could. Comments over breakfast, half-smiles before lunch, a check-in before I went swimming. Still, the gnaw in my chest refused to go away and I sit on my bed now as night approaches and stare at the wall and wonder at how I could be surprised it all lapsed so quickly. It's like a sweater. You just tug at the yarn, thinking it would be harmless and eventually, it all unravels. We are just beginning to unravel. With a heavy sigh, I shift the cover and climb in, facing the wall and trying to ignore the heaviness that pushes at me and covers me like a blanket of its own.

This is just a preview, I think, of how it will work. And I'd best be getting used to it.

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