Untitled, By Unknown

7: Communication Problems

One: He was impressed by what he saw. That's not me boasting, by the way (well, not completely) but it was said, and so I'm repeating it. To be honest, I was kind of proud when he said that. But, for the comfort of I think all readers, I'll move on.
Two: Yeah, he was definitely trans. I'll let you work that out yourself. I mean, it's not like I was expecting any different, but still. It was a little weird. Not unpleasant (which sounds like the absolutely worst word to use, but I didn't want to repeat 'off-putting'. To be fair, there are worse synonyms. Formidable? Frightening? No.) but still strange.
Three: I was apparently very good. His words, not mine. Due to my lack of experience, I was partially expecting this to be a pitiful affair, but I apparently outdid myself. Well... good for me, I guess. However, experience is no guarantee of aptitude, as shown in point number-
Four: He was a bit... awful. And he'd done this before. Granted, that guy had said he was bad, and he had said to me that he was bad, but even then... I expected a bit more. The whole 'first time' thing did add to the experience, but I left feeling a bit, well, 'unsatisfied' and having to do the job myself. Now I know how Thanos must feel. I mean, he spent the last 10 minutes watching the comedy show, for God's sake.
Five: We didn't go all the way. Almost, but we were missing a certain important thing, otherwise we might have. Who knows?
And finally, number six: It killed us.

Afterwards, I had to go downstairs to put away the chickens (yes, I have chickens, five of them, and they're lovely). I was away from him for five minutes, maximum. I headed back up and re-entered the room, to find him staring at me with a peculiar look on his face.
"What?" I questioned, baffled by his reaction.
"Nothing."
Dismissing it, I headed to the bed, which he was unhelpfully sprawled across. I'd have to climb across him to get to the remaining space, unless....
"Can you just move over, so I can sit down?" I asked. A reasonable request, you'd assume. But something was wrong. The way he moved, looked- what was it?
Sad? Scared?
Sick?
He felt ill. Not physically- emotionally. Something to him just seemed so incorrect, so horrible, that it was causing physical pain. The way he looked at me...  I started to feel the same. The fear, the panic, the wrongdoing. It was what we'd done. He'd enjoyed it. I had. We'd been fine just after, but now.... the fuck was happening? He didn't want to stay anymore. He wanted to go home. So he did.
My stepmam was kind enough to drive him back, leading to the most awkward car journey I've ever been in. After returning him home, she asked what had been wrong with him. She presumed the pizza. I responded with vague bullshit. Incidentally, she didn't know about us. I decided not to bring it up. Probably the wrong time to tell her.

When we got home, I messaged him. He still felt off. The assumption from us both is that we'd pushed too far. He'd found something about hormones that could have explained it. Truthfully, we didn't have a clue.
And then he really made it weird.
Apparently, he was still kind of aroused. So he recommended... something graphic. In text form. I agreed. Looking back, this is the bit that confuses me the most- why would he suggest that after such a colossal fuckup? Does this make sense to anyone?
The next day dawned. We messaged. He still felt strange. As did I. Then he left the chat. He didn't want to talk anymore.
Sunday. More of the same.
Monday. He explained. The moment I walked back into the room, I looked aggressive to him. That was why he stared. When I'd asked "What?", I'd sounded angry. It was the same when I asked him to move. He'd been scared. I pushed him on this: What? How? I told him the thought in my mind- that I was frightened that he thought I could be like that. Because that wasn't me. Was it?
His response?
'Ok, you're scaring me by saying that. I'm going to go.'
Oh, I was scaring him? Well, sorry. I'm clearly being so inconsiderate. Seriously? I'm scaring him by saying I'm scared? The actual, actual, actual fuck?
Tuesday. Nothing. Just one message from him, saying we should pull ourselves together and just move on.

Wednesday. Well. If you want to find where it started to go wrong, look at Friday. If you want to find where I fucked it up beyond no return, look no further than here.
We'd discussed other plans for the upcoming weeks. One was a cinema trip. The other was a day out to a nearby seaside town via train. Turned out his plans had changed. He was only free tomorrow, and so could only do one. I gave him the choice- and he chose the seaside. Which would have been fine- if I had told a parent about the train ride. I knew it would be far too late to tell one of them now. But of course, I was too awkward to say that. So instead, I said I was busy. I said that I'd thought we cancelled our plans after the disastrous events of Friday (partially true) and that I'd made other plans with family (not true). I swear, I've never seen disappointment conveyed so harshly through message before. I apologised profusely, now racked with guilt. He'd been having a rough enough time already without my input, and now I'd done this? I said I didn't want to let him down as others had. His reply?
'Too late...'
There the conversation ended. It didn't resume until Sunday. He'd sent the odd link or image, trying to initiate a chat. He'd failed. I just didn't know what to say, and told him as much. The relationship was crippled. There was no grand battle, great scandal, treachery, deceit. It was just ebbing away, no life left in its broken remains.
I'd spent the weekend at my dad's. Away from home, maybe my mind would be clear and I could think- or just forget. Inevitably, that was too much to ask for. I'd brought some books with me, and two of them had his name in. Seriously? This weekend of all weekends, what are the fucking chances?
Sunday evening, I returned home to my problems. I was speaking to friends that night, the emo included. They agreed I should just end it. Even her. The one who'd brought it to life was now examining its corpse and telling me to move on.
So, I did. I sent the inevitable text. He messaged back with a sad emoji. Strange how in a matter of weeks, days even, his childish nature had gone from endearing to infuriating. I despised that feeling. I loathed it. I HATED IT ALL!!!! He'd killed it, just by misreading my FUCKING FACE! For FUCK'S SAKE! Could I not just have SOMETHING nice? Just SOMETHING?

He continued with text, agreeing it was probably the better choice. We then bade goodbye. And I felt fine.