On The Run

Chapter Forty-One - "Time & Growth"

 Chloe

I fell asleep on the couch. I don’t know what made me decide to wait up for him – actually, maybe I do; I didn’t want to sleep without knowing if we still stood in the same place. Normally, I could be very ambivalent, but with Fitch, it was different.

I’d spent my entire day replaying his words in my head:

“Chloe, I am utterly and completely crazy about you. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I first saw you, I wanted you, and honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And as time has gone on, I’ve watched you open up, little by little. I understand that there is a limit to how much you can let me in, and if that means I have to settle for only a piece of you, I will. Gladly. Because here I am, bordering on being in love with you, and I can’t imagine anything else. Or anything more.”

It was one of the times I was more than thankful for my memory. I knew I was being irrationally silly and sappy and maybe a little fluffy, but what I was feeling was irrational and sappy and a little fluffy.

I wasn’t born indecisive, and I’d always known what I wanted. I was sure of how I felt about Fitch and that it was real, and it wasn’t something I needed to mull over.

It was simple really:

The way he felt about me made me feel really special. I’d barely ever felt special or different or unique, and here I was feeling somewhat . . . well, not repulsive. My self-esteem hadn’t hit the roof, but I never felt better than when he turned his beautiful eyes on me and gave me that look reserved for me alone.

Fitch was beautifully and annoyingly selfless. He seemed to think it only natural that everyone got to be on cloud nine, even though it made him miserable. It was also one thing I couldn’t stand, or maybe I just couldn’t understand it.

I never needed to explain myself. He was the only one who I felt just might be able to read my darkly twisted thoughts, and it was a relief to feel truly understood.

Naturally, I couldn’t help my curiosity with him, and without asking, he was an open book, and he never asked me questions I wouldn’t be able to answer. I knew it was unfair, but I found myself longing to blurt out Annie and Harold stories and a few about Susan and Cam, and Suze, and once in a very blue moon, I’d try it out. A brief memory, a comparison, but it was hard, so I avoided it.

The best thing for me, truthfully, was sometimes, Fitch and I could just be. And I was so happy; it surprised me.

So, I waited up. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to be right there when he walked in. And I was. Asleep.

When I woke up to his eyes peering at me, from his position on the edge of the coffee table, I grit my teeth at the sound of my racing heart. Fear first. Then, my Fitch irregularities.

He smiled, “You have no idea how long this day has been.”

I did. Oh, I did.

I sat up slowly, and he added, “I wasn’t trying to wake you.”

I thought for a second and frowned, “So, you were just watching me sleep?”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, like a fish in water, looking a little embarrassed, “No. Um . . . no. Of course not . . . maybe a little,” he replied, jumping over and across his words.

I couldn’t help but smile at this touch of nervousness. “That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”

He chuckled, “A lot weird.”