Atelophobia (Love is Misery)

now

"I what?"

He's in front of me. He's so close. I can feel whatever it is that's pulling me to him since we met, even if he is steps away. He seems so close.

"You called me. You asked me to come to you, so I did."

I think about my sister. The way she told me not to mess things up when I called her a few days ago. When I cried all the tears I had on the phone with her because I had no idea what to do. She told me to let him manage because he obviously knows better than me. And she is right, but I'm not sure I can do that.

He's Ethen. He's mine. He deserves to have whatever he wants, even if that's not me. Even if I'm not part of it.

I close my eyes for a second, "you...came from the other side of the world after one phone call?"

"Yes. Of course I did."

We look at each other. I only seem to realize now but...he looks different. He has somewhat of a beard (not much), he is wearing elegant clothing, and his hair is longer than it used to be. Maybe he likes it longer now, but regardless, the strand of hair we had died together is still there. Almost like it didn't move. Like he took care of it so it would stay the same.

I know that's what I did.

He is still wearing rings and necklaces. A pearl necklace, now. And that tattoo is still there, too. The one under his right eye. He is absolutely and jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

"Can I come in?" he asks carefully. I don't answer and he proceeds, "I'd like to catch up a little. All this time...you're. Different."

"What do you want, exactly?"

"I just want to talk to you."

I laugh, "but why??"

"Because you called me and told me you missed me so much you didn't feel alive. And because you told me you loved me and asked me to come to you because you needed me."

I thought that was a dream. I didn't think this actually happened. When Philo smacked the phone out of my hands and yelled at me to stop crying over him. When she carried me to bed while telling me he wasn't worth it. When I slapped her and blamed it on the alcohol, because how could she ever say something like that about him.

"I was drunk."

He stares at me before whispering, "jeez, how many bottles did it even take you." Right. He knows I can hold my liquor. And he does know very well I don't like alcohol, too. The silence grows until he finally says, "are you telling me you meant nothing of it?" His tone. I want to punch myself for making him feel like he's a burden. "Tell me to leave and I will, Andrea."

I tilt my head down as I close my eyes and whisper, "don't say that."

I feel him coming closer to me. He doesn't touch me. He wouldn't. He knows it's not a good idea. But his presence just makes everything so much lighter. Easier. Everything is so easy when he's here.

"You finally called me, Andrea. After ten months and a half. Do you have any idea how happy that made me?"

He wanted to come back? All this time, he's been waiting for me to call?? I was so certain he was perfectly happy without me. I was so sure he was living his dream. Was I wrong for the past ten months? To think he might've never accepted to be with me if I called, to think he might reject me, to think he might give up on what he wanted to do if he actually accepted. Because of me.

"Stop it." There I am, crying again.

"But if you don't want me here, then I'll go back and wait for you to call again. Drunk or not, I won't hesitate to come to you whenever you ask."

I let go of the door and try my best not to cry all the tears I have left in front of him. He doesn't need to know more than he already does. I don't need to make it any more obvious.

"The choice is yours, Andrea. Do you want me to leave? Or should I stay?" he whispers, holding the door open with his foot, getting closer to me but still not touching me.

"You can't make me go through this again, I'm begging you," I say through the tears as I try to hide them.

We look at each other and I'm not sure because of how blurry the tears make my vision, but I could bet he is crying, too, or something like it.

He turns away and my head suddenly hurts. One of the worst headaches I've ever had.

The door closes and I cry, "please stay." I place my hot forehead against the door and try to ease it all, "please, I'm begging you, stay."

Right after that, the door slowly moves again and I step back to let him open it. He comes inside and locks the door behind him.

My first instinct would have been to hug him as tight as I could and never let go, but if I did that, there would be no going back. I want to hug him and kiss him and keep him in my arms for way too long, like I thought...like I have dreamt and pictured I would so many times in the past. But I just can't, and it disappoints me. That a scene I have pictured so many times before doesn't go as I imagined it. That seeing him again scares me more than it makes me happy.

That it makes me cry more than it makes me smile.

"I'll stay for as long as you want me to."

"Why are you doing this?"

He fakes a tiny smile, "because I want you to tell me what you want."

"It's not fair to put so much on my shoulders. I would never ask you to give up on anything for me."

"It's not much at all, actually. You just feel that way because I make your needs my priority and you feel bad for it."

There it is again. That damn psychology coat he puts on me like I'm some doll he can dress however he wishes. "This is your life we're talking about, it has nothing to do with me."

He gazes at me like I just said something absolutely stupid. "I'll never give up on anything for you. You're the only thing I want, and you know that."

"I don't want to make you renounce anything," I retort.

His face changes a bit. "You just did."

No I didn't. I really hope I didn't. Asking him to abandon his life for me is selfish. It's something I refused to do once. And I will do it twice if I can.

Except I can't. I never want him to leave again. I want him to stay with me. How selfish can I possibly be?

"I just want to talk a bit. I want to know how you're doing. I want to know everything and not feel like I missed such a huge amount of time" he declares, walking to the table the box is still on. Fully open. With pictures of us on the table as well.

He takes one and smiles, "you kept this," he whispers.

I walk closer to the table, while still being careful to keep a distance. I don't want to accidentally touch him. "Of course I did."

"And you kept everything else." He looks at me, "even the notes."

"Especially the notes. Every single one," I murmur. I hope he didn't hear that. Which is stupid, but aren't I the stupidest person on earth right now? Haven't I been the worst moron for the past (almost) year?