I'm Your Wreck

23- Can I Come In?

 "What the hell was that this morning?" Banks asked me, standing at the threshold of my bedroom.

I blinked at him a few times, not having expected the question or the strong tone of his voice. "I, uh... figured the reason you weren't talking to me was because you were embarrassed about what happened, so I evened the playing field so that there would be nothing to be embarrassed about."

His jaw twitched. "What I did and what you did were two completely different things."

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line, but I didn't know what else to do. You've been ignoring me all week," I reminded him with a twinge of frustration seeping into my voice.

"I needed time to prepare for this conversation," he said, glancing over my shoulder into my room. "Can I come in?"

My heart pounded hard in my chest. "What conversation is this?"

I stepped to the side and he walked through the open door, taking a seat on the edge of my desk. I leaned against the far wall, careful not to knock my head against the tapered ceiling.

"The one where you tell me I fucked things up and you don't want to be friends anymore and probably aren't even comfortable living in the same house as me, so one of us will probably have to move out for next semester And I'm the one that fucked things up, so it's going to have to be me."

His face was screwed tight, like he was trying hard not to cry. I tilted my head at him. "How many times have you had that conversation?"

He shrugged, looking down at the floor. "Enough times to recognize the pattern. I mean, it's not like I go around kissing straight guys without their consent all the time. It's usually just them thinking that I was checking them out when I wasn't, or something stupid like that."

"But I've been trying to talk to you this entire time. The texts and voicemails practically begging you to talk to me. Even after all that, you still think I want you gone?"

"I figured you just wanted to get it over with," he said, his voice fracturing on the last word. He looked so dejected, so afraid. It was painful to watch. "But I wasn't ready to not be your friend anymore."

I wanted to reach for him the same way I did in the alley that morning after I punched the guy in the street. Wanted to help him feel safe, wanted to hold him together until he wasn't afraid anymore. But after what happened, I wasn't sure if that was allowed.

"I'm really sorry, Liam."

"For what, exactly?"

"You really need me to say it?" For the first time in this entire conversation, he tilted his chin up to look at me. His eyes were wet and again, I had to stop myself from reaching for him.

"If you're apologizing for kissing me, I'm not interested," I informed him, my voice sounding more calm than my insides felt. "But if you're apologizing for shutting me out afterward, I'm all ears."

He tilted his head at me, like he was unsure of how to process what I'd said. Eventually, he said, "I shouldn't have put words in your mouth before you put them their yourself. I was just too in my head about what happened. And I shouldn't have kissed you either, obviously."

I let the apology settle in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time before asking, "Why did you do it?"

"Why did I... kiss you?" He seemed confused by the question.

I nodded, urging him to answer.

"I don't know, I was caught up in the moment," he said with a shrug, his eyes dropping from mine again to look around the room, at the wall behind my shoulder. His neck and ears were going pink.