It had been a week- a week where I became little less than a zombie. I got up, went to clas, went to work, came home, ignored Jess' cals and texts, studied, wandered around the neighborhood until I was exhausted, slept for a couple of hours (if I was lucky), then did it all again.
Jess had never been a patient guy: when I was first getting to know him, he regularly complained about the girls who didn't call, or who kept breaking dates. When we started dating, though, he seemed to change: if I was busy, he came back later; if I had to study, he kept me on task; if I didn't want to talk, he didn't push me to, and chewed anyone out who did.
But, no matter how bad I felt, I'd never just blown him off like I was doing now. Vaguely, I wondered how long it would be before he just quit calling.
One night, as I sat up reading about Monet for an Art lecture the next day, I heard a tap on my window. Slowly, it opens, emitting Jess who looks at me critically, sighs, pulls off his jacket, and throws it into a chair.
"You look like shit." he announces, plopping down on the bed beside me.
"Wow, thanks Jess. That's just what every girl wants to hear." I answer sarcastically, moving a little further away from him. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me back.
"So, baby, do you wanna tell me why you've just left me hanging?"
"Not especially. Do you wanna tell me why you've decided that breaking and entering is the way to go?"
He looks sheepish, "I've been driving by every night to make sure that you were ok. I've been worried about you."
"I don't want to talk about it."
Jess wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my hairline, "Baby, i've been your friend for, what, five years? I won't make you talk, but I hope you'll trust me enough to tell me. It doesn't have to be now- just one day."
No comments:
Post a Comment