» à deux // luke hemmings « [editing]

26

[Luke]

Ivey smiled.

That was all that mattered; she was happy.

For the first time since I told her of our relationship, she was open. She asked about everything and anything, from our firsts to our lasts. It was a light and quiet conversation, just the two of us under the hotel room’s duvet with the television on although completely ignored. Our legs were intertwined and it wasn’t anything sexual or romantic; it was friendly and comforting.

Maybe friendly and comforting was better.

“Ivey,” I said quietly.

“Hm?” She looked up from the bracelets she held in her palm.

I touched her cheek with a tiny smile before quickly bringing it back down to the small, unoccupied area that separated us. “I love you.”

Her eyebrows went together and she opened her mouth to respond, but I shook my head and stopped her.

“No,” I said and sat up. “I don’t need you to love me back.”

Ivey looked at me with confusion and sat up as well, facing me with her legs crossed. “What are you saying?”

I sighed and looked for the right words but couldn’t find any. It took me a while before I could organize my thoughts, and when I did, I was speaking so quickly, I was surprised I didn’t stutter one bit.

“We’re both time bombs. We’re both dealing with the loss of someone we love; yours being Jack, and mine being you. We’re both ticking, waiting for the day we finally burst and had enough of the sadness and misery of dealing, coping with loss. Now, if two time bombs were together, then what will happen if they explode at the same time? We can’t be together; time bombs weren’t made to be together.” I said in realization.

“Luke,” Ivey sighed, but I shook my head once more.

I stood up from the bed due to my sudden realizations and paced the area between the bed and the television set, feeling Ivey’s eyes on me. My hands went to my hair and I pulled onto it, trying to piece things together and looking for the proper words that would somehow express what was going on in my head.

“You know,” I paused in the middle of the room, “I’ve always thought that I’d want to get back together with you.”

I proceeded to pace back and forth in front of her. “Now that I think about it, I don’t. Not that I don’t like you; I love you. It’s just that, I don’t want to start over. If I do, then it won’t be the same as before—not because you’ve changed or I’ve changed or anything, but because there’s nothing that compares to the first time.”

I looked at her and she nodded, signaling to carry on. I went back to sit down beside her on the bed, crossing my legs before continuing. “Nothing compares to the first time we kissed, the first time we went out, the first time we held hands. All of that’s done; the tingly, honeymoon stage is finished, and if we start over, it won’t be the first time we kissed or went out or held hands. It won’t have the same fireworks when I first touched you.”

We stayed quiet for a while with a rerun of a Friends episode the only noise made. I rubbed her bruised wrists, careful not to press onto them too hard, and smiled to myself. I liked it. I liked being near her. It was comfortable and peaceful, the only thing I needed at that moment. We both stared at her hands as I held them in mine. I traced the bruises and touched the bracelets that were now on her wrist, accompanying the purple marks.

“Luke,” she spoke gently, still looking down.

“Yeah?” I breathed.

She paused for a moment before turning to face me, her eyes locking with mine. “Did you just friendzone me? Again?”