Unexpected

Austin the Lover boy

*Austin's POV*

As the fan slowly rotates in the darkness of my room, I tap my fingers absentmindedly on my chest with one arm hooked behind my head. Since Gabby came over for dinner last night, something's been bothering me. Bothering me enough to keep me up late, twiddling my thumbs like an idiot as thoughts of the same girl swirl incessantly around in my brain. It's enough to make someone go mad.

I've held back on texting her today, and although I needed the time to do whatever it is I'm doing, I regret it. Even just through text conversations, I've felt her absence more than I would with any of the guys.

"I think she might be my best friend." I say out loud to the ball of fur curled up at my feet. He doesn't even lift his head at my musing, but that's well enough. The realization doesn't loosen the knots that have been in my stomach since yesterday and I'm starting to wonder if I'm regretting how much I've told her.

No, that can't be right I think. I felt better after talking to Gabby, I always do. I would've preferred she hadn't seen me get teary-eyed, but I'm reassured by having seen her in a much worse state. I know how hard it was for her to let me see her like that, but if she hadn't I don't think I would've been able to open up to her the way that I have.

So, what is it then, if not regret tearing at my stomach? Anytime I try to wade through my murky thoughts my dumb lizard brain goes back to her soft touch and piercing eyes, ultimately making my stomach twist around even more.

It's an anxiousness that's bringing about these feelings, but the reason for it is what I can't seem to make sense of. I don't regret opening up to her, that much I'm certain of. I can't imagine trusting anyone else with such personal moments; moments that I don't think I realized I needed until Gabby. Lately I've felt more at peace, like I don't have to keep fighting to prove that I'm someone I don't even like.

I knew that Gabby didn't like me at the start, hated me even, and I expected that to translate to me becoming the guy she wanted. What I didn't expect, was that guy to be me. The guy reduced to a hidden grimace with each crass remark from the basketball team or a twinge in the chest with each girl I pushed away. I was always there, in the recesses of my own mind, but it took Gabby to remember that part of me.

It's been painful, and embarrassing, to realize why I shoved myself down to make room for such empty, vapid space. And although it's lame to admit, Gabby's the one responsible. If someone so certain, so sharp, could like the parts of me that I was embarrassed of, why couldn't I?

The last person to truly see that side of me, and love me for it, was my grandma. When she passed away, my mom took it hard; we both did. She was the last living piece we had of my dad, she was someone who shared our memories of him and the grief that he left behind. When they lowered her into the earth, a part of me went with her. A part of me that knew how to love and be loved without anticipating the pain from loss.

I never thought I'd feel the way I did before, untethered by heartbreak. But here I am, eight years old again with a churning stomach and a chest full of hope, coaxed out of the shell I retracted into the day I realized loving someone meant having someone to lose. Coaxed out, that is, by a girl with a fiery temper and a heart just as bruised as my own.

The clenching of my stomach, I realize, is less of an anxiousness, and more of a desire. A desperation to hold onto a feeling I haven't felt in a long time.

I sit up in bed suddenly, jolting Romo out of his sleep. His head snaps to my alert state, now wide awake. As my heart pounds in my chest, one thought rings through my head, repeating itself, making itself heard.

"I'm in love with her." I tell Romo, his eyes wide from surprise. "I'm in love with Gabby." Saying it out loud makes it feel more real, though I know if I'd left it to echo around in my brain, it would demand my acceptance regardless.