After Life

46

Next, came the frantic list of all the things he needed to complete before his start date in three weeks time. He had to find a suitable apartment, something close to the publishing house, or at least with easy access to transit. He had so many little details to work out, from banking, to phone services, and the like. So many little things that you never really think of, but that are so much more difficult when being arranged from the other side of the country.

He had text me each night, asking out my interviews for the day had gone. I would tell him 'well', to which he would reply 'that's good'. That was usually the end of our conversations each night, a drastic contrast to the long back and forth of our daily lives that I was used to.

Even though he was guarded and secretive about everything in his past, and anything overtly personal, with his daily life he was fairly open. I found myself missing the sound of his voice, missing the way he would blow on the top of his pop can before opening it for no apparent reason. The way he would laugh at the stupidest things, and the way he would put his hand at the small of my back any time he guided me through a door.

I missed him.

But another aspect to my despondence over recent days had been, yet again, the emotional mind fuck he dealt me. I didn't know what to feel about him, because I had no way of knowing how he felt about me. He acted like a boyfriend, a concerned lover has he bit my head off at the idea of me taking a position in Somalia. He held my hand, asked of my day, knew my dreams. In all the ways that all girls wanted, the ones of depth and meaning and romance, he fulfilled without question.

But in terms of admitting his feelings, of overtly showing me, or telling me that he cared, he was still under the tight lock and key he kept himself since the day we met. More than once, he had moved towards me, giving no doubt that he wanted me. But just as he caught himself, he would stop, pulling back and shutting down without answer or explanation. What was it that held him back? And why was I such a coward that I couldn't just take matters into my own hands?

The answer to the latter I knew too clearly. Because I was very much so afraid of his rejection. I had never been the girl to draw attention, or the one to garner stares. I had boyfriends in the past, but each relationship had developed through friendship over time. A gradual progression, much like with Harry. I wasn't the one to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and take what I wanted. In some aspects of my life, I was confident and sure, like with where I wanted my career to go. I had no doubt, once all these interviews were completed, I would be able to make a decision and stand by it. I would be excited and nervous and anxious at staring this new chapter, and had no hesitation of being forward and asking for what I wanted.

The same came with my friends. If I was being treated unfairly, or if I felt something needed to be said, I would usually say it. I was never harsh, or lashed out. Usually, I would consider the situation, and say what needed to be said. Because I was a firm believer that nothing changed if you didn't initiate it. So, if I needed a change, I would change it. I had done so with Harry on several occasions already, the most notable of which was our standoff on campus, where I walked away from him. That seemed to be a turning point for us, and although we still argued, he had stopped being so harsh.

For the most part, the same went for relationships. If I felt unhappy, I would say so. If it didn't work out, so be it. I was not a forceful person, but I wasn't a doormat either. So why was I being so quiet with the way Harry made me feel? What was it about him that made me not want to push him away, even though he had done nothing but confuse the shit out of me for months?

And why, of all the men I had ever met, did he consume me the way he did?

I was frustrated and flustered around him, but I was also entranced and happy. We had started out as colleagues of sorts, me careful and cautious, not knowing how to proceed with this curious and temperamental man. We progress slowly to a friendship that was less rocky, but no clearer in its boundaries, its lines blurred by my developing feelings, and Harrys demonstrative nature. Currently, I didn't know exactly what we were. In my mind, we were more than friends, but not quite a relationship. In all the ways that most people thought of, we were together. We had meals together, talked on the phone, knew each others desires. But apart from one passionate, thigh clenching encounter, he had yet to touch me. Beyond the hand holding, the sly kisses to my forehead, or the adoring glances, he gave me no indication that he wanted me.

I had no way of knowing if his reluctance was routed in his past, or if it was a fault of my own. Maybe he just wasn't attracted to me that way? Maybe, he enjoyed my company, and felt a strong connection with me due to our rather personal start, but in terms of more, he felt nothing? Maybe, there just wasn't the chemistry that he needed to feel when he was with me?

I knew, eventually, our relationship would change. One way or another, we would shift. Either to more, or to less. Regardless of what position I chose, Harry was moving across the country. Putting such a wide physical space between us while in such an emotional limbo left no substance to sustaining anything beyond a casual friendship. The kind that most continued after university, of random texts, chatty emails, and updates on life. But eventually, you drifted apart, having no solid promise between you to hold you together.

If we did cross that line, and become more, it had the chance to change all the plans I was currently considering. If I confronted Harry, and demanded to know what I was to him; if I told him of my feelings, my own fear of rejection be damned. If it all resulted in us being together, really being together, would I still so seriously consider leaving the country for months on end, putting myself in such a dangerous place, knowing I had him to come home to? Right now there was nothing keeping me in New York. There were opportunities like the ones here all over the country, that I had yet to investigate. So that was another consideration, if we moved to that side of our tipping point.

Would he even want me to be with him? Or would he still want me to stay in New York, safe from the war zone, but away from him?

It was funny, in a sick, twisted and sadistic way, how much his acceptance and admittance of feelings could change my own course. Was I really that girl? The one who would seriously consider altering her own plans, based on the feelings of a boy?

Normally, no I wasn't.

But Harry wasn't just any boy.