Some Boys

She awoke shivering in her queen size bed. He always stole the covers when he slept over, but he rarely slept over. It was a constant reminder that they were nothing more than friends with benefits. Though, it was unclear to her what benefits she was reaping from the arrangement, except for disappointment.

It is not like he was the man of her dreams by any means. He wasn't even her type. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something. Something that attracted her to him, an inexplicable magnetic force drawing them together. Because no matter the distance, no matter the consequences, she kept coming back for more disappointment.

He came over late last night. Maybe he had a bad day. Maybe he was just lonely. Whatever it was, he came knocking on her door around midnight. It was Friday, and he knew she would be there in an old camp t-shirt watching Golden Girls. She often wondered what he would do if he came knocking one night and she wasn't there. Would he care? She liked to think so but deep down she knew he wouldn't. 

At that thought, she rolled over to look at him. He seemed so different when he slept. So vulnerable, so exposed. It was moments like this that she knew somewhere behind his high walls and locked gates was just a scared little boy. He did not believe in love, or so he said. But as she looked at him fast asleep, she just couldn't believe that. It's not that she wanted to change him. Or fix him. She wanted to have faith in him, because maybe if she believed that he was capable of love, he could believe it, too. 

His beard was unkempt but that was when he looked the most handsome. She gently reached over and ran her hand down his face. The scruffiness tickled her fingers and gave her goosebumps, but he didn't even budge. The man could sleep through the zombie apocalypse. She wanted to kiss him right then and there, but she knew if he woke up...he would leave.

Instead, she quietly got out of bed and scurried down the hall to the bathroom. She looked at her reflection in the dirty medicine cabinet mirror. Her hair was a mess and not in a cute, charming way. Just in a messy way. Maybe she should clean up. She grabbed a comb from the drawer and went to work.  It was a struggle to get her comb through the tangled disaster, but eventually she was able to braid her shoulder length blonde hair. She guessed that it looked better.

You see, she never considered herself pretty. She had stunning blue eyes, but the rest of her was not remarkable in any way. Nobody ever gave her a second glance. Maybe that was why she compromised. Maybe that was why she continued to wait for him. She wiped a small tear from her eye. Suck it up, she thought, you knew what you were getting into.

She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto her face. It was clear she needed to get her shit together, but she couldn't help it. Not tonight. Not with him in her bed, looking perfect. She touched her lips, remembering how they felt against his. Electric. Without fail, every single time they kissed was magical. To her at least. But there had to be a reason he kept coming back, right? She was sure he felt it, too.

As she turned the water off and came back down to reality, she heard him getting dressed in the bedroom. She quickly dried her face and tried to calmly walk down the hallway, despite the fact that she wanted to run. Sprint. When she opened the door, he was already gone. Her vintage lace curtains were blowing in the breeze, exposing his escape route. The window.

She never understood why he didn't use the door. 

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  1. That was beautiful. You need to become a novelist.