YOU AND ME Chapter 1
(Story is copyrighted 2007 to the author. I was listening to Lifehouse's "You and Me" the entire time I was writing this, so perhaps it'd add to the ambience if you were to listen to it, too. This is my first attempt at a romantic story of any kind, so I hope you enjoy it. A lot of this comes from personal experience, and so I changed the names for obvious reasons. E-mail comments and criticism are greatly appreciated, and feel free to tell me about yourself and your own stories! I'd like to get to know my readers. Enjoy.)
"What are you doing here?" I was dressed in a grey tank top and matching boxer briefs when I answered the door, my eyes slowly adjusting to the light outside the door. Ken, whom I hadn't seen since high school, was standing outside in the hallway of my apartment.
"My girlfriend and I just broke up and she kicked me out and I really had no where else to go in the city, and I just thought that-" I stared at him with a disapproving gaze. He had always been like this, flaky until he needed my help. Even in school, when I sat behind him in Calculus, he would call me everyday and, instead of confessing his love to me like I hoped that he would, he would ask me what the math homework was and hang up. I hadn't seen this guy in five years, and now he was just expecting me to take him in. I didn't know what to say, so I just stared at him, recalling in my mind all of the moments of our past when I realized that I was in love with him. I met him in the sixth grade, but I never really had feelings for him until eighth grade when we went on a school trip together and I got to room with him-- we even shared a bed. I even gave him this framed picture of us on our trip, and I puffy-painted 'Best Friends!' on the frame. He probably threw it away or something. But I loved taking photos with him, of him. He was so cute. I know that sounds completely elementary and even frivolous of me to say, but he was. He was kind of stupid in that cute way, where you couldn't help but find it endearing that he thought yoga was a type of Greek apparel. Don't get me wrong, I'm not normally attracted to stupid guys, it's just that this particular one was so extraordinarily adorable. He had sort of a baby face, and he had short black hair that he often liked to apply product into. And, after having swam (swum? swimmed?) with him many times, I must say that despite his puppy-dog face, he was built like a swimmer and had abs that made my knees go weak. And now, here he was. I had moved across the country to New York and yet somehow, he, out of all people, wound up at my door. Then I realized I had been staring at him this whole time.
"...Never mind, I'll just go stay at a motel or something, I'll see-"
"Stay."
Stay? That's all I could say? I sounded like some bad romance novel where I would calmly and cooly say "stay" and he would walk slowly towards me and kiss me gently, and then we would retreat into the bedroom and he would slowly unbutton my shirt, and our tender kiss would slowly evolve into a kiss of passion and fire and our hands would rub up and down one another and--
I had been staring again.
"You want me to stay? I mean, I don't have to if you don't have room, I don't know if you're by yourself or if you've got a spare--"
"Stay."
Shit. I did it again. Was I subconsciously hoping that my fantasy would be fulfilled if I had just continued to repeat "stay" in my sultriest voice? Contrary to what you may be thinking, I didn't want him to stay just so I could have a late night booty call. He really needed some place to go, and I had a boyfriend who--
Shit. My boyfriend. James. I could see him walking out of the bedroom and I didn't really okay it with him if the (past) potential love of my life could stay with us for an indefinite period of time.
"Alex? Who's at the door?" He was only wearing his white boxer briefs, which I've always loved because they really emphasize his cute little bubble butt, which is the sole reason why he hates wearing them. That must mean it was laundry day, because he didn't have any other pair to wear. Did I have anything I needed to take to the Laundromat? Oh wait, back to reality.
"This is Ken, I knew him from high school and he needs a place to crash at," and then I turned to Ken, who looked especially adorable in his white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, "Ken, this is my boyfriend James."
"Oh, hi." They shook hands. Ken looked apprehensive. "I didn't know you were-"
Gay. He didn't know I was gay. How typical. Then again, I never told him, but still, you should expect it of someone who spent his high school days in the pom squad. Well, I never said he was bright.
"--awake. Sorry if we woke you up. It's nice to meet you."
Maybe he was smarter than I gave him credit for.
"Go back to sleep, babe. Let me get Ken settled in and then I'm right behind you." I gave James a kiss and he departed back into the bedroom where, from what I could tell with his half-opened eyes, he was longing to be. I led Ken to our living room, and we moved the coffee table and rolled out the sofa bed. We were pretty much silent through the process, Ken and I, but I didn't know how to start any conversation with him. I doubt he would want to talk about his ex-girlfriend, and I didn't want to talk about high school in fear that I would blurt out all of my feelings for him that I'd never confessed before (though I did translate into songs which are currently on a demo tape being sent to record companies everywhere) and I just didn't want to scare him. I looked at him. He seemed to be in such a vunerable place. He was laying out the blanket, but his eyes told me that his mind was in another place. He looked confused, almost, and I felt sorry for him.
"How long have you guys been together?"
"A little over a year now. We met my senior year at NYU."
That's what he wanted to talk about? My relationship with James?
"That's good. You guys look... happy." There was a pause. "I know it's been a while since we talked, and I'm sorry for not trying to come in contact with you more often, I was just busy and I-"
I suddenly became aggressive. "Busy? You had five years, Ken. And in that five years, you could have called me up dozens of times just to say hi or to ask how I was doing. We were best friends in high school, Ken. And right when we graduate, you suddenly lose interest? Look, I'm not just some flavor of the week you can rely on whenever you need help but leave behind when you're off pursuing greener pastures. For five years, I don't hear from you and all of a sudden, you show up at my door and you actually ask me for a favor? You forget about me and the second you need help, it's me you turn to? I hope you realize that you're damn lucky that I was willing to take you in, because anybody else, I would've just--"
"You know what, I'm just going to go. Sorry."
Shit. I didn't mean to say to his face the things I said, but word vomit got the best of me and I just screwed everything up. I mean, here was this gorgeous man who I would've done anything for, and he just forgot about me. I was so in love with him and he didn't think twice about me, and I just felt the need to lash back at him because of all the nights I spent crying over him. He started collecting his things and I walked over to him to stop him.
"Put this down, you're being ridiculous. It's 3 in the morning! Where are you going to go?"
I tried to wrestle whatever had clutched in his hand out of his grip, and I really wasn't expecting so much of a struggle from him. He dropped the object and I grabbed onto his wrists.
He had tears in his eyes, and he couldn't look at me. "I'm sorry, okay? I just-- I didn't know-- I mean, I missed you, I did. I didn't come here because you were my last resort. I came here because I knew I could trust you." He looked down. I looked down.
The item he dropped was the framed photo I gave him.
I looked back up at him, and his eyes were still gazing elsewhere. "Hey, look at me." He wouldn't. "Look at me." I pulled him in closer to me, my hands grasped onto his arms now. He did, and the moment his eyes met mine, all of those feelings I had for him, all of those nights I spent crying over him, all of the times I heard the phone ring and wished it was him, all of the times I read and re-read the notes he would pass me in class, all of those perfect opportunities that I had to confess my love for him--all of those moments came rushing back to me. Our faces were an inch apart. This time, as he looked into my eyes, I knew his mind wasn't anywhere else but here.
I pulled him in closer.