Unrequited

There is nothing sadder than tricking yourself into believing something that isn't real and I did just that for the past three years. I let him fill my head with stories of his life that made me feel like I was the closest person he had.

I sensed it.

I saw him three years ago and I saw him last month.

I saw glimpses of the real him when he got mad and I ignored it because I thought he cared about me. I was in love. I was lonely and he was there. He liked that I didn't see through him. He liked that I believed his lies and that's how you can trick yourself into a relationship and a situation you can never come back from.

When he speaks to you he could convince you of anything.

He could convince you that he cared about you more than anything else in his life at the very moment he decided to speak to you. I hope you never get to experience that in your life.

Every night since then I had been plagued with unreasonable fears.

I would stare at my dorm door heart pounding, sweat pooling on my forehead, and my body ready to run away or fight anyone who tried coming through that door.

Logically it didn't make sense because no one could get in without the room code and I had made sure not to let even my closest friends have it this semester.

On a psychological level, I could easily go on and on as to why my body was reacting the way it was.

I am an anxiety-driven person and I was conflicted.

The idea that someone could stumble into your life one day and make you feel the way he made me feel was the greatest invasion of privacy. I figured it would help me move on with my life if I got it through my head that he isn't right for me.

It's a basic story actually and in theory, I could say it all in a few words. We met, we connected, we hooked up, he left, he came back, we hooked up again.

We communicate very differently and it's always been that way.

"What-" I bit my tongue to stop the words from escaping my mouth.

"Yeah?" he had whispered patiently waiting for me to build up the courage to ask him what was actually on my mind.

"I'm not sure how to ask," I spoke barely above a whisper but when you speak that quietly at three in the morning, the one closest to you somehow always catches it.

He kissed my forehead and drew meaningless figures on my back with his finger.

A movement I had begun to find comfort in, "what are we after this?" I asked.

He was dead silent almost as if I hadn't even spoken at all. His silence only made me fear his answer with each passing second. Deep down I knew the answer but it was easier to pretend I didn't understand. Pretending gave me hope that he may feel the same as I did.

I rolled our bodies around so that I was now on top of him and then laid my head on his bare chest before letting out a sigh.

I was content at the time so why ruin it? That's what I told myself over and over again because the comfort I found in our intimate moments was a high I didn't know how to explain to anyone.

He patted my back in a very awkward gesture I am sure he had meant to be reassuring because he knew that's what I needed. He knew what I wanted to hear. He knew that I wanted more than just a hookup here and there. He knew that all the flirting he did and treating me like I was already his girlfriend was what kept me comfortable enough not to end our companionship.

We were both lonely.

Now that I think back, that must have been the moment where any smart person would have clarified what they wanted or even the next day at breakfast or the day after that at dinner but I didn't.

Instead, I had looked up at him, the only thing casting light into the room was a dim sidewalk lamp that occasionally flickers. It was enough light for us to see each other's naked bodies and hide away our insecurities at the same time.

I kissed him as passionately as I could muster up even though all I wanted to do was crawl off of him and run away from embarrassment that I had even bothered to ask him the 'what are we?' question every person dreads to ask because they know the truth deep down.

He had made it seem so special though and that's what kept the hope that he'd one day confess his feelings for me.

Like we were supposed to sleep together that night like we were supposed to have stayed up all night talking and sleep all day even though we had only met hours prior.

That night was rather painful to remember because I wasn't sure of what had happened until it was over.

I learned that moves around a lot in his sleep because of his flashbacks. He had intense visions of a distant past in his life where he received abuse. The flashbacks would take him out of the moment and cast a weird look in his eyes that makes you unsure if he is having a hard time or just paying intense attention to every moan you make in bed. To every word, you say to him when you're not in bed.

I remember the first time he had flipped me around almost angrily on the bed before kissing me in a way that truly frightened me.

All tenderness was gone from his kisses and touch.

It was an experience that if I describe, it sounds terrible but in reality, I had already consented.

I had made up my mind about sleeping with him long before that night when we were just casually flirting and I was trying to figure out how to go about going to bed with a man for the first time. I just never expected it to be at three in the morning and for him to be staring off to the side as if he was watching some ghost figure watch us do it.

I think I even heard him mumble something about his mom in between grunts and thrust too. Once it was over and he'd taken my first time I got the nagging feeling that he had woken up from a nightmare and was fucking me to prove he could do it.

I only feared it was to prove to his biological mom that he was a man.

He was fucked up.

So when I asked what we were, I didn't realize it then, but I was more fucked up than him.

He had made it clear he had all these issues and he had made it clear that he wanted to have a good time, enjoy each other's company.

Over time it can become painful, not knowing where you stand with someone you spend so much time with.

After some time you begin to feel like it's all a game and you forget what's real in the relationship and what isn't.

I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me but sometimes I feel like he only cares about me when it comes to sex.

Is it all a big game? And if it is then have I been unknowingly playing?

I didn't have the answers back then and I don't know if I have them now but one thing I was sure of was that he was very much looking for a good time. A distraction from his issues and even though I knew that would hurt me I went with it.

"You think too much," he had said.

I smiled, "and you don't think enough,"

"I have other ways of communicating," he mumbled under his breath and started caressing the mess on my head he had knotted just minutes ago.

I shook my head and tried to focus on steadying my breathing. I couldn't stop thinking about him and every sweet moment we'd shared these past three years. It just sort of hit me like a ton of bricks I can't explain it but my heart started pounding and I had to get everything off my chest.

I had to go see him.

I threw the covers off my body and wiggled my feet into my slides still breathing heavily but using the adrenaline to give me the boost I needed to get me out of my dorm room and make it across campus.

As I let my feet guide me across campus my thoughts raced with every comforting feeling he had brought me but also every little fucked up thing I knew was the undertone of each one of those sweet memories we shared.

When I reached his door I imagined myself pounding on it aggressively but instead, I lightly tapped it with one shy knuckle almost hoping he wouldn't open the door so I could have an excuse to avoid saying what I needed to say.

The door swung open and he stared at me confused by the light of the hallway attacking his eyes and illuminating his darkroom.

"Paloma?" he said, "what's wrong?"

My bottom lip quivered and I didn't know where to start.

"I'm sorry," I said out of habit. I always apologized when I had something to get off my chest but I feared the person's reaction.

He stepped to the side and opened his door wider as an invitation for me to walk inside.

"I was just about to fall asleep after you texted goodnight," he said.

"I know," I replied and walked into his arms.

My cheek connected with his chest and he held me letting out a tired sigh.

I knew what that meant, he probably sensed that I had finally realized why this relationship would never work.

I wanted to stand there him holding me in his warm arms engulfing me with a false feeling of safety.

"What-" I bit my tongue to stop the words from escaping my mouth and my eyes grew glassy with tears threatening to spill.

"Yeah?" he whispered patiently waiting for me to build up the courage to tell him what was actually on my mind.

"I'm not sure how to ask," I spoke barely above a whisper but when you speak that quietly late at night, the one closest to you somehow always catches it.

"Then don't," he offered and rested his chin on my head before tightening the hug.

"I have to get it off my chest," I spoke so softly I wondered if he had actually heard me.

I know that only seconds ticked by but in my head, it felt like minutes had gone by as I imagined the worst response to what I needed to say to him.

I pulled away from the hug and looked up at him in the dark.

He hadn't turned on the light when I walked in and somehow not seeing his eyes made what I needed to say come out easier.

"I want to be there for you," I said, "I want to be there for you through your worst flashbacks and your happiest times,"

"Wait," he replied sensing that what I was saying was important to the distaste of my anxious mind, he walked over to flick on his lamp.

I bit my lip suddenly nervous about continuing what I had to say and he offered a small smile of encouragement after a long awkward minute, "do you see yourself with me?" I asked.

His eyebrows scrunched up, "I see you almost every day," he said.

"Yes, but do you see yourself with me past graduation?"

His lips turned into the straightest line I've ever seen as he pressed them.

That small action and the look on his face told me everything I needed to know and I focused on forcing the burning in my eyes that summoned tears to stop.

I didn't want him to see me cry and take pity on me or think I was too sensitive to hear him say his truth.

I needed to hear him say it even if he and I both knew how he felt.

"You're a companion," he said.

This caught me off guard, "companion?" I asked and he nodded.

At this I crossed my arms uncomfortably, "I am a companion that you treat like a girlfriend,"

"That's your interpretation," he said, "you've put too much meaning behind everything I do and say, I am a natural flirt, I care about you we are intimate together but I don't see you as your definition of a girlfriend, we're friends,"

It was my turn to scrunch my eyebrows, "I'm sorry," I said, "how many friends do you sleep with and tell share all your personal shit with?"

He shook his head, "only you,"

"Then wouldn't that mean that your definition of a 'companion' is the same as my idea that I'm your girlfriend," I avoided eye contact with him as I said this choosing to stare at his nose instead so I could focus on getting the unspoken miscommunication between us right.

"No," he said so nonchalantly it was infuriating, "I do not want a relationship right now, I don't feel the need for a girlfriend,"

Did he not know he was in love with me or was everything he'd done to me the past three years, every sweet kiss, every date, every comforting touch and moment of weakness where he would cry and I would hold him, was that love all in my head?