I've only known three emotions my whole life.
Anger.
Hate.
Pain.
I let those emotions control my life, let it be an obstacle in every relationship of mine, and let it cloud all my judgement.
I had a friend before. Stacy. Stacy was someone I took comfort in. She was a loophole, an escape from everything. We met senior year in high school. She wasn't in my class. She was a year behind me, but I liked her. I liked being around her. I liked how I was around her. She was the only one I let see a part of me the others didn't. Looking back now, I wish things had turned out differently. I wish I had given her a second chance. Our friendship turned sour the moment I found out she liked Jesse. For me, anyone who had liked Jesse was an enemy, so I pushed Stacy away. I acted horribly, and she never looked back. Sometimes, I thought about her. I thought about the what ifs. I thought about all the things I had missed.
I wasn't exactly sure how this came to be. I couldn't explain it, but I felt the calmness take over my entire being. The kind that slowed me down. The kind of calmness that left me trembling with every shudder of warmth it left me with.
The kind of calmness that came with what happened next.
Jesse brought us back to the cabin. With one look, Cece knew I was going to stay. Kelly didn't question our change of decision despite knowing we lied before. Jason was still upset, but sent me a grateful smile.
This was the first time I took a decision that involved me caring about the other's feelings. This was the first time I pushed my selfishness behind to make others happy.
Things between Jesse and I weren't awkward for the reminder of the days. Though, we haven't spoken again, we eased out of our armours. I didn't believe there was much left to say. Everything we needed to talk about had been aired out, and quite frankly, I didn't think I wanted to talk about it again. Neither did he. We left the cabin on Sunday and I rode with Cece.
It was almost three am when I stirred awake by a light touch on my face. It was Jesse. His pinewood scent filled my nostril before I opened my eyes. It was six nights ago that we had fallen into this new routine-a weird way to seek comfort from each other without gaining anything. It started when Jesse called me one drunk night. I picked him up from a bar and he spent the night at my place. Despite giving him a pillow and a blanket to crash on the couch, he always finds a way to slip into my bed. The first time he did it, I was stunned, but it quickly dissolved the moment I succumbed into his warmth and the heat from his body. It's a bit alarming the way we settled into a comfortable routine. Every time I curled my hand around his arm, I put blame on muscle memory.
It became a habit, which happened often, but not through the whole week. At first, he would knock, then I would wordlessly guide him to my bedroom and cuddle to sleep. The next morning, he would be gone. Unlike the previous nights where he knocked, I thought it was easier to give him a key, so I did that. Jesse didn't react to the key, but he fisted it in his palm and left. The first time he used the key, I was almost half asleep when I heard him. Jesse had never been silent-he didn't need to be. I knew him well enough to know loud or quiet, I knew when he walked into a room.
One night, he came into my room tired. He was tired and looked spent, so I wordlessly helped him out of his clothes and into the new pair he left behind in my closet. I tucked him to bed and he would hold his breath until I was settled on my back. He would tug me into the cradle of his arms and it would be exactly what we needed: muscles relaxing, breaths coming out easier, and mind unwinding from that day's events. It felt like an entirely different reality where every worry was erased and it was just the two of us. How comfortable and easy it was to be close to one another-for my fingers to play with the edge of his sleeve, tracing his pulse point. For his fingers to loosely card through the soft locks of my hair.
And most of the time, it felt like the cage around my lungs would loosen. But something always lingered in the air every night-a conversation left unsaid.
Weirdly enough, it became a routine that was hard to let go of. Jesse came and went, warmed the bed all night and it was cold in the morning. It was not something I liked to dwell on because whatever was happening between us seemed to work a lot more than before. Sometimes, words weren't as needed as people thought they were. Comfort sought was love given. There were no words to it, and I was not ashamed to admit that I liked it like this.
"I don't understand." Cece scrunched her face into a frown, observing me with keen eyes. There were so many layers hidden behind those words. "You're okay with what's happening?"
"We are not fighting or arguing," I pointed out happily.
"You are not talking," she tried to fill in something I was trying not to see, or was deliberately ignoring.
"Yes."
"How is that a good thing? If anything, it's worse than before."
"Do words matter if you can convey your feelings without verbal use?"
"Yes!" Cece cried out. No surprise that she expected me to defend with that-she could probably guess Jesse thought that, too. She added, "Because that's how we release our pent up anger, stress, or frustration. Because words matter. What you and Jesse are doing is avoiding your problems."
I blinked and right my head to stare at her. "We don't have any problem." The words had been on the tip of my tongue for days.
Cece put more pressure on her next words. "What you're doing is a problem itself."
I sighed. "For once, Cece, no one is trying to take. No one is hurting each other," I said, relieved. "It's a fucking bliss." Our dynamic had shifted into something even closer than before. A switch had flipped again.
She stared at me, long, and hard. "It's insane. You don't think this is going to work, do you?"
She doesn't know. What she doesn't know, she doesn't care. For now, it was working.
The next time I saw him, while he was running a hand through my hair, pressing me against him, I pondered on a question. It was not supposed to happen, but it did. The words fell from my lips, dripping with anxiety.
"What are we?"
It was the question we had dodged for weeks, danced around it, and removed it from the equation. It was what halted Jesse, made him stiff, and in return, twisted my heart because it could be the wrong thing to say. It could be the wrong start of a conversion, and despite how alarming it was, I wanted to ask.
"Does it matter?" he hummed, resuming what he had been doing before I startled him. His fingers were soft in my hair, gently scraping my scalp.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't want to be friends." The words were slow. I was not afraid. I liked what we have, but I didn't know what it was. It was something we were afraid to name, as though it may tarnish what they had. This wasn't new, but it was fragile and delicate.
"Iris, we are not." Jesse's breath stuttered in surprise. He went still again. "The last time we tried putting a name into this, we fucked up, multiple times. Let's not try that again."
I pushed myself up on my elbow and turned to meet his gaze. "Cece thinks what we are doing now isn't healthy. She thinks it's a problem."
"Is there a problem?"
"No."
"She doesn't understand us. No one does." He couldn't bite back a smile. He reached out to smooth down the strands that stood up. There's fondness on Jesse's face that melted into something more calm.
I nodded, then asked, "Just to be clear, we are not going to see other people, right? Because I don't think I can continue with this if you're seeing somebody else. Tell me if you want to." I waited, watching the way his face transition through emotions.
Jesse lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, and something tight formed in my chest. I was careful to keep my mind blank, not wanting to assume anything because I knew Jesse would be honest with me, no matter how easy or difficult.
The time that stretched, and he hadn't said anything welcomed pain in my chest. I took that as an answer. I took that as he wanted to see other people.
"Jesse, it's fine," I said into the silence that was stretching between them. "We can wrap it up and pretend nothing happened. We are adults." I moved to get up, scoot out from under him, but he snagged my top in a tight grip. I paused, heart beating.
"You can't run away after saying that." He scrambled to sit up, hand dragging through his hair. Jesse rested his back on the headboard, darting a glance at me. I sat back on the bed, and he scrubbed his face with his hand.
"God, Iris, I'm trying to have a minute here," he said in a low voice-so low, so achingly honest, tinged with trembling desperation. "I'm trying not to be pissed, but I am. After all this time, you really expect me to look at other women? Be in a relationship with them?"
I took in a slow, deep breath. "Being with me sucks. Being with each other isn't going to be a smooth ride."
"Okay, and?" he deadpanned. "I knew that, and yet I was still pinning-still am." He reached out to curl gentle fingers around my wrist. "Being with you doesn't sound as devastating as you make it out to be. Yes, there are still underlying issues, but we have never been perfect."
Again, he sighed. Rubbed his thumb over my pulse point.
"My feelings are expansive and all-consuming, and the thought of being too much for you is what terrifies me, not being with you. Don't ever mistake that." I leaned forward, and he cupped my cheek. "I'm walking on eggshell, refusing to give this a name because I still think you are not a hundred percent there yet. If you were, I'd be confident enough to give this a name."
"That's not true." My voice wobbled.
"You just said you'd be okay if I was into someone else," Jesse mused. "I wouldn't be okay with it," he declared. "That's how I know you are not there yet, and to clarify, I won't be with anyone that isn't you."
Sighing, I pressed my palm over the hand that rested against my cheek. "I'm getting there," I announced firmly, making a smile slip onto his face. Turning around, I pressed my back into his chest and wound his arm around my neck, hugging me from behind. "I will get there," I mumbled.
"I love you," he murmured quietly.
He had never spoken the words before. Never needed to because his actions were louder than his words were. I knew he loved me. Jesse had loved me for years. With or without him saying those words, I felt it in the way he touched me. In the way he looked at me, as if he saw galaxies in my eyes. As if I held his entire world in my palm.
In the end, I got there. I got to the place where I was comfortable enough to say I was in love with him. That the man I loved was my boyfriend, even though we weren't big on naming what we had. It was perfectly okay if we understood each other. If we knew what each other felt, because at the end of the day, it didn't matter what we were to other people. It wasn't about giving it a name. It was about our feelings. It was what we show to other people, and what they receive from us.
Love, sometimes, was bigger than a name.
Jesse and I, we used to be enemies. He used to be my tormentor. Those were the names I gave him. Enemy. Bully. Tormentor. So, this time, I decided not to give him a name. If it doesn't have a name, it won't hurt me.
It won't hurt us.