Catherine (GirlxGirl)

Catherine- What Are You Waiting For?

Chapter 6

What are you waiting for?

The couch was implicitly warm and not cold like the outside. It's been a while since Catherine had stormed off into her room. Turning on my side, trying to avoid the pain in my ribs, I managed to catch a glimpse of the clock above the fireplace. The hands were facing one, which meant I had been awake for an hour now since the argument had occurred. This endless echo inside my mind kept me awake to this point, of the words Catherine had spoke.

'What are you waiting for?'

Confusing isn't even the word. I was flabbergasted, astound, surprised. You get it? Catherine and I had always been the best of friends, we always believed we'd be together forever, but never in the way i had wanted to be with her. I don't suppose she'd have realized I was gay, I never told her. Truth is, she's always tried to set me up with guys, saying I needed to find someone sooner or later. Though, that isn't entirely true? Why do people have to rely on others to stay happy?

Love isn't always the answer to tranquility and contentment. Actually, the more you answer love, further the questions emerge. It was all so mind boggling. I never quite got the resent hype about finding someone. The way the world relies on finding love, making babies and carrying the deadly cycle. Why do we commend relationships and sex? Sex used to be glorious, love felt and meaningful. Now, it's just a price tag on the back of a commercialized society. It's not about love, just about the pleasures.

Yet, lying here now, staring blankly towards the ceiling in deep thought, i can't seem to grasp the concept of it all. Catherine wanted me to date people, but what was the point? I was in love with her (she didn't anticipate this) but it was still the cherry on top of it all. Dating someone would be pointless knowing my heart will always belong to her, which is why I never met anyone since I left. I'm turning nineteen in two weeks, but the whole idea of losing my virginity was not heavenly to me, nor was it special unless I lost it to her.

Yes, I've had sex with other women, but I never let them have their way with me, not once. Like I said, sex isn't about love anymore unless you're in love. I was in love, but not with them. I enjoyed watching others feel happy in the moment, stealing their pleasure to fulfill my own. I only had sex with those who were unhappy. It sounds ridiculous, but the actions of pleasing someone was that moment of glory, where they experience happiness inside, not just their expressions on the outside. Sex made people happy, unless of course it was boring.

Perhaps you think I'm crazy, maybe I seem it, but this whole idea of making love to the one girl I've always had feelings for was a dream I wanted to have. For her to love me would be the greatest honor of all. So what made it difficult was her endless remarks about him, her love for her boyfriend. Has she given her virginity to him? I don't know. It wasn't always about whom you lost your first time with, even though it can be special. To me, it's who I've gave my last with, apart from the fact that I'd love to give everything to her. Now she had confused me with this whole 'what are you waiting for' statement.

What was I waiting for? Maybe, her forgiveness or some type of sign of reassurance that it was ok to kiss her? Or perhaps I was too damaged for her now? After everything that guy did to me, why should I have the pleasure of love? I remember that night so clearly, the night I had ruined some innocent girl because I chose to take her out into an alley just to sleep with her. It was my entire fault. The desperation she held within her eyes when she stared into mine would haunt me every night. Still, it wasn't the only part that haunted me; it was the night after when Troy decided to provide a punishment for my actions.

"Knock, knock, can I come in?" He asked, standing in the doorway to our boarded house he had found a couple years ago, once he had been thrown out onto the streets by his parents. Thinking about it now, I don't blame them. He's a psychopath. His frame was skinny, clothed with nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts and a towel thrown over his left shoulder as he carried a blade on his right side near his hip. He never could part from that thing. I suppose leading a gang was dangerous, so keeping protection was a high priority.