The Hanging Words

What Felix Wants

In a couple hours, morning will come, but it won't matter much since I've been awake most of the damn night. God forbid I know what adequate sleep feels like.

Above me, the ceiling is dark and plain. When I'd last been lying on the couch like this, Milo had been over me, and for a few brief minutes I'd known a bliss that I'd long denied myself. But as close as I'd come to allowing that bliss to happen, the whole ordeal had ended in a fiery, self-destructive implosion.

To be fair, though, Milo is still above me. He'd drunk far too much to drive himself home, so I convinced him I was comfortable with him staying the night. Of course, he'd claimed the couch, but I couldn't let him do that. Not after the dedication he'd shown me today. I might be a shithead, but I wasn't enough of a shithead to make him sleep on the sofa.

I'd told him that if he went up and slept in my bed, eventually I'd join him when I was tired. I didn't want him staying up with me. I needed time to be alone and think. We went back and forth, but I convinced him in the end. After all, I could tell he was dead tired, and I knew, despite what I was saying, that tonight would be a wash. I nearly went up at two, thinking about how hopeful he'd looked at the prospect of holding each other, but the thought of lying beside him felt more torturous than lying on the sofa alone.

So here I am, wrestling with that decision.

As per usual, I've run the full gambit in my isolation—anger, frustration, sadness. I've settled on self-loathing, which is usually the finisher. Pinning me to awareness despite the exhaustion inside. My heart hurts from the emotional extremes of the day, from the turmoil that still grips me. Why do I let the dissenting words of others control me? Why have I let them become so ingrained in my psyche that even though I live an independent life I'm still incapable of obtaining the things I want? I have, in my home, someone who wants to make me happy. Someone who, despite my erratic behavior over the past fourteen hours, finds it in himself to remain with me. Milo is a better person than I've ever had. Milo is a better person than I deserve, and yet, somehow, he's here and he's willing to help me. How does that make any sense at all? And how long will his good faith that I'll eventually come around last?

I'm managing to destroy it. I'm doing everything I can to drive him away—self-destructive tendencies, disapproving words from people who shouldn't have any say in whom I love, self-diagnoses that are not based on fact but a desire to cripple myself. None of it is real. And none of it should dictate what choices I make because I want to be with Milo Reid.

I want to love Milo Reid.

And maybe that admission is all that matters.

I am the one standing in my way.

I slide my feet onto the floor, the cold hardwood stinging my skin. Hearing the rain drum a heavy rhythm against the building, I decide to keep the blanket with me, wrapping it around my shoulders to fight the chill in the air. Teeth clenched around my resolve, I cross the living room and step up into the hallway. My home is dark, but I feel my way by memory, navigating past the foyer to the stairs. On my left is the rock wall, a relic of the condo's 1970s construction. I climb the stairs, one hand tracing a grout line between the rough stones. Through the window, moonlight casts the palest glow through the rain-soaked glass over my path. My steps are light and quiet. Weightless, like a ghost's. I'm grateful for the carpet on the landing. Through the upper-floor hallway. He kept my door open, hoping I'd join him but probably aware on some level that I had no plans to.

"Milo," I say softly. I drop the blanket before climbing onto the bed. This is what I want. Nobody else besides the two of us can decide what we do together. I decide to crawl over to him. I place a hand on his bare shoulder, feeling him stir as he's awoken from sleep. His eyes open in the dark, somehow still glinting like gemstones, and I wonder for a moment if he'll be angry that I woke him. But then he looks up at me and those fears are dashed.