A four letter word beginning with L
People will know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. Sometimes. But they never know the full scope of it. I sometimes wonder if it's even me that's speaking. I think I'm a compulsive liar. And things always sound fake and meaningless and plastic when they finally make their way out of my mouth. That's how it sounded when I told him, my words slurred by however many tequila slammers I'd had not half an hour ago. At least, that's how I imagine it would've sounded, had I been able to remember saying it. The only reason I know what I did that night is because of my friends. I'd more than likely be dead without my friends.
"Well, it's time to go to the cluuub!" I shouted, my words not marred by the blurriness of too much alcohol for once.
All of my mates yelled their various compliances as I got up from the couch.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.
"To the club?" I responded as he wrapped his legs around me and pulled me back onto the couch. He put his arms around me as I leant back into him, his fingers making their way to my stomach to trace lazy circles that left goosebumps in their wake.
The conversation started up in the room again and I joined in, trying not to remember exactly where I was. Every now and then he'd lean in and whisper something sarcastic about whoever had just spoken, making me giggle, if only to cover up the shivers the sound of his voice in my ear made.
His fingers were still dancing across my belly making it increasingly harder for me to contribute to the conversation properly. I stood up abruptly, pushing his legs off mine.
"Club time!" Moving away quickly so he didn't catch me again.
Running away from whatever I was feeling again. Well, he had a girlfriend, I had a solid excuse to make me uncomfortable in that situation. But I knew deep down it wasn't guilt that had me running away, it was a four-letter word beginning with L that certainly wasn't love.
I saw him the next morning, after waking up in my PJ's with no shirt and no clue how I'd gotten there. After showering and dressing I went to breakfast to find my friends cause I was sure as hell they remembered more than I did.
"You abused your best mate."
"You threw up on like three people, dude."
"You professed your love for him."
He stumbled in, made his food and sat down with us.
Normally I would've gotten a hug, copped some form of abuse about my clothes or if I was lucky a kiss on the cheek.
But there wasn't even a hello.
Nothing but silence.
And every word after that was hollow. Plastic. Dead.
There it was again. That hug that lasted just a bit too long, the kiss on the cheek that was closer to the mouth, the lingering hands.
Every single fibre in my body was screaming "He has a goddamn /girlfriend/!!!"
But I didn't listen. In fact, I don't think I heard it over the thudding of my heart as he leant in ever closer only to lick the tip of my nose and pull away giggling.
And I was falling.
And the worst part was the letters in the word were fucking around and changing.
All except the first.
Now all I can feel is horrible, stretching, scary distance.
His girlfriend made him see some stupid movie today. All his mates say it's the end of her, and I secretly hope so. But there's a bigger part that screams no. Because if he does it means I have to face him, have to ask him, but as long as he has a girlfriend I can't. Which almost makes her my best friend.
And though I know he thinks I'm pathetic and stupid and annoying, and I think I know what the answer's going to be, I still have to ask.
Because I have to know.