She is a fever, longing still

chapter 4

( 1642 words :)

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When I get inside the Rainy Day residence, I feel like my heart is going to explode—rainy day? Really? It just had to be related to us too, even the name of her apartment complex.

The first floor is just all mailboxes and nothing else. Just the stairs in front of me. I wonder if she's on the second or third floor. Loud girl said she was at door 22. What if she lied? No. She didn't. Oh no, she did. I decide to hunt her down if no one answers door 22. It is the only way.

I go up the stairs. I walk to door 22. I'm tempted to listen but that would be weird. I have a hold on myself. So I take a deep breath and prepare myself. If she's here, I'll cry. If she's not here, I'll cry.

I knock. I hear a voice that I have no idea what to do with. I'm afraid my brain makes me believe it sounds like her. But loud girl said she was here, it has to be her. But maybe she lied. Why would she lie about that though? But we both know, my brain and I, that she has several motivations that would bring her to do that. And my desire to humiliate her like she tried to humiliate Andrea earlier keeps growing.

I decide to knock again. Just once more. A last time. Our knock. One, pause, three.

My thoughts are loud and clear. The next ten seconds are long. They're endless, in fact. And I make up my mind. I know that whatever the answer is, no matter if she is behind that door or not, the answer doesn't matter anymore. Because either she isn't and I should leave, or she is and I should still leave. Because she doesn't want me here.

If she is behind that door, she—I hope—recognized the knock. And she knows I'm here. And she chooses not to open. And I won't push her. If she doesn't want to see me, if she doesn't want me here, then I'll give her what she wants. I'll leave her alone until she calls again, until she needs me, until she needs anyone or anything.

So I walk away. And I get that pinch in my chest. Like when we were in high school and she was in that tiny room while I was searching for her. It's not hard to translate. She's behind the door. I know for certain she is now. But no. I won't do something I shouldn't do. I won't make her cry again. I won't be the cause of her suffering. I refuse to be.

My heart races and I don't understand why. I look behind me to find her peeking at me, hiding behind the wooden surface. Hiding from me.

She opened. She's here. Holy shit what do I do. I'm losing it. I'm happy. But it will destroy me if this interaction ends like it did last time. Or worse. Is that even possible?

What if she just closes the door on me? If she shuts the door in my face?? I'm actually starting to panic. I should say something before she actually does it. She wouldn't cut me off. I mean, she would. Totally. Definitely. But not with a door.

"I knew I heard your voice." I walk very slowly back to her. I give her space. She needs space. I shouldn't rush it. I shouldn't take her in my arms and spin her around like I've done so many times in my head, like I've thought about doing for approximately three hundred and twenty-four days in a row.

I shouldn't hug her and wonder if she changed her perfume, her shampoo, her soap. I shouldn't wonder if she threw the perfume I gave her on our love day away. I shouldn't think about the way she complained about me not paying attention to her damn dress—sorry, gown—and her wearing the stupid overpriced perfume I gave her.

I shouldn't want to take her in my arms and kiss her everywhere. I shouldn't want to take her to her bed and never let her go. Not when she's most definitely very close to shutting me out of not just her apartment but her life. I hate myself. No matter how many times I repeat it and remind it to myself, my brain doesn't listen to me. That she probably didn't see my love as love but as arousal. That she saw it as sex rather than lovemaking. That thinking about this always made me hate myself because it's disgusting to think I can never shake off those thoughts completely.

I always always always want to make love to her to remind her she is the only one I think about, she is the only one I love dearly, she is the only one I want, and she is the only person I unconditionally adore. She could ask me to become her toy and I would accept if that guaranteed time with her. I'll be her servant. I'll be her thing. I'll be anything.

She's shockingly gorgeous. But her eyes are small and I realize she was crying a few seconds ago. She's beautiful even when she cries. Especially when she cries, she would have told me. I disagree. She's prettier when she smiles. Even prettier when she's mad.

"What are you doing here? How did you find my address?"

I come back to reality immediately. My fantasies die with my heart and sink to my feet. I have no idea when I stopped walking. I wasn't focusing. I was focusing on her tattoo. I have to try to make this better. My hardest isn't enough. I will be pushy if I have to be. I won't leave her like this. With the knowledge of what I caused. Without doing anything to fix it. I thought she was better without me. Her college site publications made me believe she was. She isn't.

She isn't okay.

"I..." I have to fix this, "I saw that loud girl at the coffee shop and asked her where you were. She sort of insulted me and gave me the address."

"Did you wait for her there??" Oh. Oh no. What do I do. What do I say.

"No. It was pure luck, I swear" I lie. Well, I wasn't searching for her. I'm not entirely lying.

"And she gave you the address??"

"She said it out loud" I defend myself as I can, but I just cannot seem to help myself, "yeah, loud. There's no other word." Ugh just thinking about those interactions angers me.

I see the tears flooding her eyes and I'm eager to take her in my arms, hide her face in my shirt and dry it all out until I have to take it off and let it dry. Until she has no tears left to cry. Then, there's something else. A flash of self-consciousness. Insecurity. It's fucking ridiculous. Just look at her. Fucking divine.

I want every glimpse of emotion I can get. I want to know everything that goes on in her head. I am watching her thoughts very closely. It irritates me to see so much insecurity and guilt and all those emotions I have screwed myself over to make disappear. It breaks me to see them still there. Even more present than before.

I take a step towards her without meaning to. It will have consequences. "Andrea." I can't get over how sweet she sounds, even coming from me.

She doesn't back away but her body slightly moves. So little I'm actually surprised I caught that. I should probably stop doing that. My obsession makes me uncomfortable, I don't even want to imagine how she would react if she knew about it.

"Nobody calls me that anymore." I almost say something bad. Something like really? You like that stupid name so much you want me to call you it like you're not the same person? Like you aren't the same Andrea I have always loved? Like your beautiful name deserves to be belittled into three tiny insignificant letters?? But if I don't want to eat the damn door, I better shut my mouth. Because I can already taste the door. And I can already see this end badly for me and she closes it. I can see my life going to shit very quickly, and the endless efforts to survive until now go to shit with it.

"Do you want me to call you differently?" I say and I'm surprised by my genuineness. "I can call you whatever you want. Just please, don't close the door on me." I can't believe I just begged her. I mean, I don't mind begging. I know she likes it, and I'll be honest, I do too. But not when I'm begging her not to ignore me for the rest of our lives.

"Why are you here??" she asks and I frown. What is she...what? I don't understand. I do not understand. Did I misunderstand her after all??? I never thought she would ask me that. I guess I should have expected it. I seem to forget I should always expect everything when it comes to her.

I come to an agreement with myself. We decide it's better to play the bold card from now on. No more surplus of guilt that just ruins the few chances I have left.  Let's just be honest. Let's be transparent, like I used to be.

I want her, she will know. And I will do everything for that to happen. She will be my person again. That's how it always worked. And it's not going to change.

"Because you asked me to come."