Took the post down to enter the competition, and now it’s back up.
“You bitch.” I smile tentatively, my blue eyes tinged with fear as I stare at you.
You raise an eyebrow. I’m not funny anymore, not an entertainment to you. But I’ve ingested too many knock off alcopops to care. You think I’m a lightweight, and you tell me so.
“It’s not funny.” You say, serious now as you run a thumb along my jawline. I always flinch when you do that, but you haven’t worked out why. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I struggle to suppress a nervous titter as I move back from your hand.
“You can look but don’t touch.” I smile weakly.
Your eyes narrow. “But you love it when I touch you.” and you drop the word touch like an icy tombstone.
I bite my lip, stained blue from the cheap drinks.
“That’s what you think.” I say, eyes wide, in a feat of bravery you haven’t encountered in months.
You start to laugh. “No, I know it,” you say, and your arms curl around my waist, holding me to you. I’m shaking inside, but I don’t let on. No amount of alcohol ever prepares me for this inevitable moment.
“I love you.” You lie to me at whisper volume.
My voice has dropped and it’s shaking, as I lean up to whisper into your ear, “I love you too.”
Because being here with you, terrified, is better than being without.