Night of Acceptance

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Dark Nights Series : Night of Acceptance

Summary: Jimmie is forced to come to terms with thoughts he never wanted to face.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
SERIES: Dark Nights Series
CHARACTER: Jimmie Johnson POV
CATEGORY: Angst
COMPLETED: August 27, 2004
WORD COUNT: 6,433
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is the 4th in my Dark Nights series, and while you don’t have to read the others to read this (I’m trying to keep than as stand alone as possible) you would understand the character’s state of mind a lot better if you did. You can find the other stories on my site here. Hope you all enjoy this next installment, I have a feeling this series is just gonna get longer and longer. *grins*
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New York Apartment: May 20th, 2002

I can’t believe I came all this way uninvited. Well I guess that’s not technically true, since I do have a standing invitation, but I didn’t tell him I was coming so I guess that’s uninvited. I can’t believe how nervous I am, it’s not like I haven’t been here before. But all the other times I came here with him. I’m not even really sure why I’m here.

Ok that’s not exactly true either. But I’m not sure I really want to face the truth yet. The truth is just too complicated for words. So I’ll just say I’m here because I’m worried about him, yeah that’s it.

I step off the elevator and make my way to the apartment door I’ve been to a few times before but never alone. What if he’s not here? He could be out getting lost in the city lights like we did before. I wouldn’t even have a clue where to find him them. But for some reason I don’t think that’s going to be the case as the door finally comes into view.

I knock softly on the door, then a little harder as I don’t get a response. I bite my lip trying to decide what to do next as a guy dressed to impress passes me in the hall barely sparing me a glance. That’s when I realize I can’t just stand here all night debating with myself and I slip my hand in my pocket running my fingers over the key he gave me. He told me I could come here any time I wanted so, technically, I’m not invading his place. But should I go in?

I finally shake my head at my insecurities and pull out the shiny key. I notice my hand trembling a bit as I try to insert it in the lock and I realize what an idiot I’m being. He told me I had a standing invitation, why am I getting myself so worked up? I guess it’s just because I don’t know what I’ll find on the other side of the door. I’ve never shown up unannounced before. I’m not even sure why I am now.

I turn the key and hear the bolt slide back. Then I reach for the door handle and slowly turn the knob. It opens easily under my hand and I take a deep breath as I push it open and walk inside.

The apartment is pretty dark with only one lamp in the far corner on for light. I wait a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light and step inside. Close the door softly behind me and timidly call out his name. No response. I don’t know what I was expecting since he didn’t answer the door, I guess I just thought he would be here. I stand at the door for another few minutes still fighting with myself over what I should before I finally set down my bag and step further into the room.

I walk quietly into the spacious living room and look around. That’s when I finally see him. He’s passed out on the couch much like he was the night he stayed at my house. I see the empty bottles on the floor, the over flowing ashtray on the coffee table and I can’t hold back a sigh. I knew things were worse than he let on, I just didn’t know it was this bad.

I remember several weeks back when I first found him this way. He was so apologetic and it was like he couldn’t get out of my place fast enough. I told him not to worry about it, we’ve all been there. I mean, he had just been served divorce papers! But he didn’t want to talk about it. I tried to convince him to stay with me, but he just told me that probably wouldn’t be the best of ideas with him being my “boss” and all. I really didn’t believe any of that for a minute, but who was I to argue with him?

I mean, he’s Jeff Gordon! My idol. He’s everything I want to be, and I just don’t even know what to make of all this. I just want to help him, to…. I shake my head, cutting off that train of thought because I really don’t need to go there right now. I need to decide what to do, as I’m obviously unexpected. Should I stay? I still don’t know this city very well, and I really don’t have a clue where else I would go. Why the hell didn’t I call first?

Ahh, I know the answer to that one too. I was afraid he would say no. I was afraid he’d be doing exactly what he has been and continue trying to hide it from me. He really did a good job of that for the longest time actually. But when you know what to look for, it’s all in his eyes.

I look over to him again and see that he’s laying there with his head thrown back on the arm of the couch. One leg is hanging off onto the floor and his right hand is still loosely gripping an empty bottle on the floor. I look at his face and feel emotion squeeze my heart at the pained look on his features even in sleep. What happened to him? Why is he carrying so much pain?

I realize I can’t stand here anymore feeling like a voyeur looking in on his pain, so I glance around trying to find something to do. I walk over to the coffee table and pick up the ashtray filled to the brim along with a few of the bottles littering the floor. I carefully pull the empty one from his fingers and watch as his hand reflexively reaches for it. But he doesn’t wake up, and his hand falls back to the floor.

I glance at the bottle seeing that it’s tequila. He told me once how he liked good tequila, that the “good stuff” didn’t leave you with mind splitting hangovers. For his sake I hope this is the good stuff because from the looks of it, he probably drank the whole bottle tonight.

I carry my burdens into the kitchen, quietly placing the bottles into the trash so as not to make noise, then dumping the discarded butts. The kitchen is pretty much a mess too, and unfortunately I see a glaring lack of food around. Has he even been eating?

I walk over to the refrigerator and look inside. I see several boxes of take out Chinese and sigh as I feel relief wash over me. When did I get so concerned about him? Oh I know the answer to that question, and I’m still not ready to go there. Instead I busy myself with tidying up the kitchen as quietly as I can. But even as I do this I can’t help the memories from running through my head about the first time I felt like I made a real connection to him, even though I don’t know that I realized it at the time. I was still too shocked that he wanted to talk to me a second time, much less offer me a ride. My hand rests on the open cabinet door as I close my eyes and remember the best day of my life.

*****

I’m walking back to my team hauler after another mediocre qualifying session in my Busch car when I hear a voice behind me calling my name. I stop, turn around, and freeze when I see Jeff Gordon coming my way. Was he the one calling my name?

“Hey, Jimmie. Do you have a few minutes?”

I stand there in stunned silence for a moment trying to gather my thoughts and figure out what to say so I don’t look like an idiot. It took me a good two weeks planning out exactly what I was going to say before I approached him the first time, now I’m at a loss.

“Uh, yeah sure,” is all I can manage. God, I’m such a dork!

“Good,” he says and smiles. “Come on,” he tells me and starts walking to the motor coach area. I follow him and my mind is a blur. What does he want to talk about? Is he taking me back to his coach again? I couldn’t believe the last time he took so much time to talk to me when I asked his advice on moving up to Cup. I never expected him to come and seek me out even though he did tell me “not to do anything” until I heard from him. I didn’t really take him seriously. I’m not even doing well in Busch.

I see him cast me a sideward glance and smile again. The butterflies in my stomach are driving me crazy. I can’t believe he wants to talk to me. What on earth is going on? Maybe it’s all a joke or something. I nervously wring my hands then force them down to my sides. I wish I could stop doing that, but before I know it I’m doing it again.

We finally reach his coach and he walks in, stepping aside for me to enter. I didn’t really think I would ever be invited inside here again. He closes the door and walks into the kitchen and I just follow his lead. He moves over to the refrigerator and turns to me asking if I’d like something to drink. My throat is dry as a bone, but I don’t think I could even drink water right now so I just shake my head. He opens the door and grabs a Pepsi then walks over to the kitchen table to sit down.

I move over to the table and sit down across from him having no idea what to say, so I just fold my hands on the table and wait for him to speak. He opens the bottle of cola and takes a drink. Then he looks up to me and asks, “So, had any offers since we last talked?”

Offers? What is he…? Oh, he means for a ride. Hasn’t he noticed the season I’ve had so far? Surely he didn’t bring me here to give me a hard time. Where is he going with this. Finally I answer him, “Um, no sir. No offers.”

My head snaps up as I hear him laughing. Is he laughing at me? Doesn’t he know how much racing means to me? I really thought he did the last time we talked. Why is he laughing at me?

I see him shake his head as he laughs and then tells me, “First of all Jimmie, I told you, it’s Jeff. Second, I really don’t need my teammate going around calling me sir.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble remembering that he told me I didn’t need to be so formal with him before. Sometimes I just don’t say the right thing. Sometimes I wish…wait. What he said finally clicks in my head and I look up to meet his smiling blue eyes. Did he say teammate? “I didn’t know Hendrick was looking to start another Busch team,” I tell him, still shocked that such a big team would be interested in me.

At that Jeff just laughs again, and I’m once again afraid this could all be some kind of a cruel joke. But when we talked before he didn’t seem like the type to be so mean. Why would he tease me?

“Is that what you want, Jimmie? To stay in Busch? I thought from talking to you before you were wanting to run in Cup. Did you change your mind?” he asks me.

“No. I mean…yes, I do want to move up to Cup more than anything,” I tell him in a rush. Why is he asking me this? I’ve already told him all this before. “I know I would do well if I was just given the chance,” I continue. “But….”

“I know,” he replies with a smile. “That’s why I told Rick you were just the guy we were looking for to be in my car, well, our car actually.”

I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what he just said as he takes another drink of his soda. He wants me in a car? A Hendrick car? “I’ve never even met Mr. Hendrick,” I think aloud.

Jeff just softly chuckles at me again and replies, “It doesn’t matter. I told you before, I liked the way you handle a race car--”

“I know I haven’t been doing so well this season,” I interrupt. My mind is in a whirl. The car just hasn’t been running great, and it seems like bad luck is always following me around like a cloud. I don’t want him to think I’m not any better than this. “It’s just….”

“You’ve done everything you could with what you’ve had to work with,” he finishes for me. I look up to see total understanding in his eyes. “Like I was saying, you’ve obviously got talent on the track. Anyone should be able to see that with how you’ve handled what you’ve had to drive, and you seem to be able to handle yourself well off the track from what I’ve seen too. But most of all you’ve got that burning desire to win written in every look, every action. You really impressed me coming up and talking to me a few weeks ago, and after we did talk, I knew you were the one.”

“The one?” I ask still trying to follow everything he’s telling me. I never dreamed I’d hear someone like him saying things like this about me. I still can’t believe how he seems to know me so well. Is he really offering me a job?

Jeff just smiles and reaches over to a bag at his side I didn’t even notice before. He pulls out a folder and tosses it on the table between us. “The one I want driving my Cup car next year. I want you to be my teammate Jimmie. The contracts are all there. Take them, look them over, have anyone you want look them over. Then come by the shop on Monday, I’ll introduce you to Rick and we can finalize everything.”

“Are you serious?” I ask still not even daring to hope. Please, please don’t let this all be a joke, I pray, because I don’t think I could handle it if it was. This is more than a dream come true, this is…I don’t even know.

I look up from the folder between us and his look has completely changed. Gone are the laughing eyes and smiling face. Instead I meet a look as serious as I’ve ever known. I swallow hard as I meet his eyes and know whatever he says next will be the complete truth.

“We’re building a new shop for two teams. Mine and the 48. It’s going to be one big team with two cars. I want you in that other car. The decision is yours,” he tells me in all sincerity.

He leans back and just watches me as I take all this in. He must be able to realize how hard all this is for me to believe because he continues, “Don’t you remember what I told you the last time we talked?”

“Not to do anything until you came to me?” I ask.

“Exactly,” he says as he smiles at me again. “You did realize I’d be coming back to you right?”

“Umm, maybe?” I say looking up to meet his smile again. He just laughs again and takes another drink of his Pepsi. “But I’ve never even talked to Mr. Hendrick. He really wants me?” I ask still in shock.

Jeff just grins and replies, “I’ve been with Rick a long time. When I told him you were the one we had to get he just drew up the contracts and told me to go after you.” This is all almost too much to take. My mind is spinning at his words, and I’m still feeling like this is all a dream.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Johnson? Are you in?” he asks me with a grin.

“HELL YES!!” I reply not able to control my excitement.

He just chuckles again and replies, “Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of we can get to know each other a little better. So, have you ever been diving?”

*****

I’ll never forget that day, I think as I close the cabinet door. I put my hands on the counter and remember talking to him and laughing for hours in his coach. We just seemed to instantly click, and I didn’t really know why then. Time just seemed to fly as it passed so easily. We ended up talking until both our stomachs were growling, and I was sure that would be the end of the night. Surely he had better things to do than spend time with me.

But instead he insisted I come with him to where the Hendrick teams were grilling out. He introduced me to everyone, putting his arm around me and calling me his new driver. I never felt so special. He’s always made me feel that way. I had the time of my life that day, although I don’t think my Busch team was too thrilled. But what did they expect? I had just landed a ride with one of the biggest teams in stock car racing driving for a Winston Cup Champion!

I close my eyes again, reveling in those memories. Everything was so perfect. Nothing was complicated yet, and things just seemed to get better. I showed up first thing Monday morning at the Hendrick shop where Jeff was already waiting for me. He instantly made me feel at ease, calming my nerves in the way only his presence does. Then he took me inside, introducing me to Mr. H who just shook my hand and told me if I was good enough for Jeff, I was good enough for him. We signed all the contracts and then it was done. I was Jeff’s teammate.

But it didn’t all stop there. I ended up making a comment to Jeff about wanting to go home to California to tell some of my friends and family about everything, and he asked me if I could wait a week. I assumed it had something to do with the contracts but instead he told me if I could wait for the off weekend he’d fly me out there on his jet, if I wanted him to come of course. I was stunned! And thrilled. So that’s exactly what we did.

When he picked me up to take me to the jet we took up right where we left off. It seemed we always had something to talk about. We had a blast the entire flight. Then when we got there I introduced him to some of my family and friends, and showed him some of the places I used to hang out when I was growing up. He seemed interested in everything, and I enjoyed every moment. I never knew anyone like him.

Everything went smoothly the entire day, and we ended the day sitting up on a hill overlooking a small dirt track I used to visit as a kid. It was the perfect end to a perfect day as we sat there and talked, watching the dirt cars prepare for the night’s events. He told me stories about when he was racing growing up, and I learned more about those sprints than I ever knew before. It was just perfect…until the sun started to go down and night fell.

To be honest, I don’t think I made the connection then. All I knew was how he seemed to get quieter and drink from the cooler between us a little more often. As the sun went down it was almost like the light inside him went out too. His normally sparkling eyes turned more empty and became filled with what I now know was pain. The easy banter between us dried up and I was certain I had done something wrong, that I had upset him in some way.

Oh, it wasn’t like he was cold or mean to me in anyway. He just seemed to turn more in on himself closing off from me, and I couldn’t believe how much that hurt even then. But we stayed there and watched the end of the races practically in silence before heading back to the hotel.

Once we got back and into our rooms I was totally ready to lose it. I was convinced I had done something to really upset him, and it was all over. But the thing is, looking back on it now, I’m not sure what I was more upset over losing, the ride or him. I spent that practically sleepless night racking my brain trying to figure out what I did, what I said, but I couldn’t come up with a thing.

The next morning he came to my room to meet me for breakfast before we headed back to North Carolina. I remember how anxious I was as I went to the door, but when I opened it and saw him, the dark look and empty eyes were gone, replaced by his charismatic smile and confidence that always seems to radiate from him. He immediately apologized for the night before saying it had been a long day and watching the dirt cars just got him thinking a lot, that he didn’t mean to get so quiet.

It was a perfectly good explanation. I even allowed myself to believe it, and why wouldn’t I? Who was I to be questioning him? But before I pushed all thoughts of the night before away I did notice something different about his expressive eyes I never saw before, something deep and hidden in those blue depths. What I now know was pain that I had seen in his eyes on that hill was still there, just covered up with that smile he’s completely perfected. I really didn’t give it much thought then, I was too relieved that I hadn’t blown everything. But I’ve had plenty of time to figure things out since then.

I’ve never seen him look at me again the way he did that night. Maybe it was the California night that triggered his sadness, but he’s never let me see him so vulnerable again. But I know it’s still there. It’s all written in his eyes if you know what to look for. Sometimes I think that I may make a difference, and it means more to me than I’d like to admit.

I remember times when I would see that far away look in his eyes when he doesn’t think anyone else is looking. He’ll be in the garage and look totally lost. I bet other people just think he’s concentrating on the race to come. But I know better. I know that is pain in his eyes, the same as I would see if I went back into that room and woke him. But on those occasions, I’ve noticed that once he sees me, his eyes seems to be a bit brighter and the misery in them seems to lessen a bit. I just wish could always be there to take the pain away. If only….

I shake my head at where that train of thought is taking me.

I look around the now clean kitchen for something else to do, something to take my mind off these thoughts running through my head that I’m not ready to face. I can’t find a thing left to do so I decide to go back into the other room and check on him.

I walk up to him slowly and see that he has turned over onto his side with his head on the corner pillow. I feel emotion squeeze my heart again at the frown marring his face even in sleep. I wish there was something I could do. I just can’t help myself and I reach forward, running my finger tips over his temples and it could be my imagination, but his frown seems to lessen a bit at my touch. Could it be possible? Does he even know it’s me?

I lightly run my fingers down the side of his face and thrill at the small sigh he makes. It almost feels like electric shocks running through my arm as I gently caress him. Then I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from his soft slightly parted lips. I feel myself drawn forward just wanting to touch….

I jerk back suddenly pulling my hand away and banging my shin on the table behind me as I turn. I have to bite my tongue to stifle a cry of pain as I back peddle away from the couch. I can’t believe what I almost….

I turn and flee as fast as I can to the safety of the kitchen and can only think, what if he had woken up? How could I explain? What is wrong with me? Have I completely lost my mind?

I spin around the kitchen and spot a bottle half full of amber liquid. I snatch it and a small passably clean glass and stumble over to the kitchen table. I fall into the chair and with a shaking hand pour what is probably a double of what I now realize is whiskey into the glass. I sit there for a moment, staring at the glass, as my mind is becoming a blur of unwanted thoughts.

I remember when I took the pole at Daytona, my first race in his car. The look of pride on his face just made my heart melt, and when he hugged me I felt like my body was on fire at his touch. I wasn’t supposed to be having those feelings, and I tried to ignore them, tried to make it all not be true.

But it didn’t stop there. Anytime he would smile at me and tell me I did well, anytime we had any reason to touch I had to push back my feelings. I’ve ignored them for so long, why can’t I just ignore them a little more? My first win in California runs through my mind, how he came to me in Victory Lane. He just crushed me to him, then put his head to mine and told me how proud he was of me, how he knew I would win. I remember watching his lips then, just like earlier tonight. I wanted to never let him go. I wanted to go back to my coach and….

I snatch the glass in front of me and knock back the entire glass at once. The amber liquid burns a fiery trail down my throat and I choke and cough. I’ve never been much for hard liquor, particularly not straight. I stare at the bottle and wonder how on earth he drinks this stuff. I wipe my watering eyes and try again to clear my mind. But the thoughts won’t stop coming.

Why am I having these thoughts about my friend, my teammate, my boss. I mean he was married for Christ’s sake. He’s not going to have these kinds of feelings for me. But I can’t help but think, I was in a seven year relationship too, and it didn’t stop me.

I shake my head trying to convince myself that none of this is real and that all my excuses are. But I know they’re all lies. Just like I know I didn’t break up with her because of wanting to focus more on racing and my career, and that I didn’t come here tonight just to visit.

Seven years. Seven years, I was with her and never once thought of marriage. Is that normal? I thought I was happy. I really, really did. But then he walks into my life and my entire world turns upside down. How could I tell her the truth when I couldn’t even admit it to myself. That every time we actually did have time to spend together I was always wishing I was with him.

I grab the bottle again and this time I fill the glass to halfway. I grab it at once, drinking the burning liquid down. This time I’m ready for it and I don’t choke. I close my eyes as I feel the hazy warmth spread over me and I begin to understand why he does this.

I bury my face in my hands and let out a shaky sigh. There’s no turning back now, Jimmie, I think to myself. I didn’t break up with her to focus more on my career. I broke up with her because I felt more just being in the same room with him than I did seven years with her. I didn’t come here tonight to hang out. I came here because I needed to be with him. I couldn’t stand being away because….

I shake my head in my hands as for the first time I finally admit things to myself. I wanted to be here with him because I fallen for him, hard. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I can’t get him out of my mind. I can’t control these emotions I shouldn’t be having. I want more than anything to go back into that other room and hold him and try to ease all his misery away. But it’s even more than that. I want to touch him, feel him, finally touch those lips with mine.

I drop my hands and bang my head down on the table. I rest my forehead on the edge of the table and link my hands behind my head. I can deny myself anymore. But where does that leave me? There’s nothing I can do. It’s not like I can tell him these things. I guess I could go out and lose myself in the city lights the way he does, but I know there is no way I can leave him here alone. I glance up at the bottle of whiskey in front of me and contemplate drinking myself into oblivion the way he has, but the fear of getting too drunk and saying or doing something I won’t be able to take back prevents me from reaching for the bottle again.

All I can do is be here for him, I realize, let him know that I will always be around for him, and maybe make him smile a little bit more. I know on some level I make things easier for him, that he enjoys my company. So, that’s what I’ll do. Maybe at some point he’ll open up to me and tell me why his eyes take on that vacant empty look especially as the night falls. Maybe he’ll explain why he carries so much pain inside and let me take some of it from him. But for now, I guess, I’ll just be here and be his friend, no matter how it might tear me up inside.

I sit up and push myself out of the chair. Drop my head and take a deep breath as I turn and walk back into the living room. I see the awkward way he’s laying on the couch and realize if he stays there all night he’s going to really be sore, he should be in bed. I successfully shake away the ideas that try to run through my head at that thought and focus on the task at hand.

I walk up to him and put my hand on his shoulder and gently shake him and call his name. He doesn’t budge. I try again saying, “Jeffy, come on, wake up,” not even noticing the endearment that slips from my lips. He mumbles something under his breath as he slowly comes almost back to consciousness.

I wait patiently not wanting to push him too much. Finally bleary bloodshot blue eyes open just a crack and I hear him croak out, “Jimmie?” I feel a pang in my chest at his words because it almost seems as though he afraid to hope that it’s me. Maybe he thinks he’s dreaming, or maybe he won’t even remember this at all.

“Yeah Jeff, it’s me,” I reassure him. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” I tell him as I read confusion on his face before he closes his eyes again and gives me a small nod. He grimaces as he does this and I wonder if even that slight movement caused him pain. Maybe that wasn’t the “good” tequila after all.

I reach down and put his arm around my neck and ask him, “Ready?” He just grunts at me in response, obviously not wanting to nod to me again. I slowly pull him up, holding his arm around my neck with my left hand and sliding my other around his waist for support. For the first time I’m glad that he’s smaller than me because he doesn’t seem to be able to stand on his own. He weaves to the side and I hold him tighter trying to get him to find his balance, but instead I just have to support him upright.

I slowly maneuver him around the coffee table and towards the hall, basically carrying him as he’s not able to walk. His head is resting on my shoulder and I realize he’s barely even conscious. It takes awhile, but we finally make it down the hall to his room and I carefully ease him down to his bed. He throws his arm over his eyes and just lets out a soft moan. I move to the end of the bed, removing his shoes and socks tossing them aside.

Then I have to stand there debating what to do next. I think he’s already fallen back asleep as he’s breathing heavily. What would a “friend” do? At this point I’m so worried about crossing lines I’m not sure. I notice his rumpled shirt and figure that’s not exactly the way I would sleep. What should I do?

I move over to him and start unbuttoning his shirt and push unwanted thoughts about how I would like to be doing this under different circumstances out of my mind. Funny how much easier it seems to do that now that I’ve admitted things to myself. It’s not too hard to rid him of his shirt as out of it as he is. I toss the shirt aside and think I’m not even going to attempt his jeans because that’s just pushing things to far.

I stand there looking at him half naked in bed and bite my lip as I just want to crawl in beside him and hold him to me. I need to get out of here. I’m the last one that needs to be here. I turn and start to move towards the door and freeze as I feel a hand grab my wrist. He’s awake? God, I hope he doesn’t know what I was thinking.

I slowly turn around and meet tired pain-filled blue eyes. I look at him and can’t find words. What should I say? Did I cross the line? Why is he looking at me that way?

“Thank you, Jimmie,” I hear him rasp quietly. Then I watch as his eyes close again and his hand drops from my wrist back to the bed. I stand there motionless watching him until I finally hear a soft snore come from his lips. He’s asleep, and I need to get out of here. But before I do I realize he’s going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow and I walk into his bathroom searching the medicine cabinet for some aspirin I know he’s going to need. I shake a few of the tablets into my hand and fill a glass I find by the sink with water. Then I walk back into the bedroom placing my burdens down on the table next to his bed.

I spare another glance at him then hurry to the door, leaving the room I would most like to stay in. As I walk down the hall I glance in the second bedroom and see he’s added a bed there, and I know instantly it’s for me. He hated me sleeping on the couch. But I’m not interested in that room right now as I make my way back to the living room.

Once I make it back to where I started I’m not sure what to do. I feel completely drained. How long have I been here? It feels like an eternity. I drop down on the couch where I found him and lean my head back closing my eyes. I’ve never felt so lost. I’ve never been so confused.

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and yawn. I didn’t realize until now how tired I am. I guess soul searching will do that to you. I’ve crossed the line tonight and I know I can’t go back. I’ve admitted my feelings to myself, and even if there is nothing I can do, I can’t deny them anymore. I’ve fallen for him harder than anyone I’ve ever met. This isn’t a crush. This is the real thing, and there is nothing I can do about it.

I fall over on the couch stretching out like he was before. I toe off my shoes and bury my head in the corner pillow his head was resting on a few minutes before. That’s when it hits me. I can smell him, and I like it way too much. I close my eyes and inhale his scent imagining it all around me. I pretend I’m not on the couch, but down the hall with him. For the first time I let myself indulge in the fantasy.

I see him laying there and imagine taking him in my arms. I snuggle further in the couch and let my mind wander pretending he’s all mine. I just hope that one day it’s not all a fantasy.

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com