I was in my bed, watching Arrested Development “meditating” to Michael Cera’s sweet fucking barely legal ass, when Braylon came home from work. He was obviously inebriated, but I overlooked it. He crawled into my bed and snuggled next to me. The snuggling part wasn’t so strange. We snuggle all the time. I knew deep down that something felt different, off. I could feel his hands wandering more. It wasn’t unusual for him to fondle my breast, or for me to let him. It was odd for him to try to do it underneath my nightgown. I didn’t stop him, I didn’t want to. I could feel my heart racing as he was touching me. In my head I kept thinking, this is everything you’ve been waiting for. It wasn’t though; He was clearly smashed. He wasn’t thinking clearly, his last girlfriend just broke up with him, he was lonely.
At some point, I knew I should have said something, but then He started kissing my neck, and I’m pretty powerless when it comes to my neck, and before I knew it…well, we were kissing…like old Hollywood style throw down session. I’d forgotten how smooth his lips were, and how warm they felt against mine. He kept clutching my back, thrusting my body firmer against his. I couldn’t hold onto his body snug enough. I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to let my embrace from him go. Then the reality sank in. What the hell am I doing? Stop! Stop! I can’t do this.
This is where the spectacularly awkward part happens. This is when you know how well you know someone. We’re both lying there, and neither one of us is saying a word, because what do you say? Nothing! There is nothing to say at this point. The embarrassment has happened. I sneak over him and grab my water bottle I keep on my night stand. I take a mouthful. He grabs the bottle from me and guzzles some himself. We have this strange moment where I’m holding the lid of the bottle in my hand and without words he puts the bottle back into its lid, and starts twisting it in place, while I’m holding the lid still in my hand. We have these shared moments all the time. I often wonder if I’m the only one who notices. Then we lie there silently again. Finally, he says “Your room is really dry.”
“Yeah” I reply.
“I’m gonna get some water.”
I’m relieved at his bullshit excuse. He just drank some water. I didn’t care, though. I knew he wasn’t coming back. I knew he was going to sleep on the couch. I knew in the morning nothing would said about what happened. I wished in a way, it had gotten a little more awkward. That perhaps we had slept together. Then again, I’m also glad we didn’t. I couldn’t stop playing what had happened all night. It was great and awful all at the same time.
In the morning, it was awful. that not so fresh "what the fuck?" was overwhelming. I couldn’t even go anywhere near him. I know at some point I’ll have to face him. I mean, we live together. I can’t avoid him forever. I know whatever happened will be just something silly we did in the moment. I doubt we’ll even speak of it. Even if we do, we'll make a joke of it. Like we always do. I don't know? I just sort of wished that he really cared for once. I just wished that it meant something to him. I'm once again a total moron. I want to chop my heart out with a spoon. can I do that? Emotions suck my ass.
