Emersyn
I've been avoiding Marx again, instead of talking to him like an adult. I know I need to talk to him. I need to figure out what is going on between us or if nothing is. I need clarity. I always feel like the lines between friendship and more blur more often than not. I will be happy if we are just friends, or at least that's what I tell myself. But then I get nervous thinking about talking to him. The possibility that he will reject me stings.
But avoidance isn't a solution. It's a temporary respite. It's like holding my breath and hoping the problem will dissipate on its own. It won't. It hasn't. Every time I see him, the air between us is thick with unspoken words, heavy with a tension that neither of us seems able to address.
As I stand at the sink, the warm water running over my hands, I watch the soap bubbles swirl around the plates and glasses. The mundane task doesn't quiet the storm in my mind. If anything, it amplifies the silence of the kitchen, making each thought echo louder in my head.
I need to talk to him, I repeat to myself. But the thought alone sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me. What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I've misread every sign, every look? The comfort of our friendship is something I treasure, and the risk of losing that terrifies me.
I'm so lost in thought that I barely hear the door open. It's Fowler, his easy smile in place as he leans against the doorframe.
"Hey, Emmie," he greets me casually. "Val and I are going to catch the new horror flick tonight. Want to join? Might be good to take your mind off things."
I pause, considering. A night out, especially one filled with the adrenaline of a horror movie, might be just what I need to stop the spiraling thoughts. But then again, there's a part of me that wonders if this will just be another way to avoid dealing with Marx and my tangled emotions.
I dry off my hands, turning off the water and facing Fowler. "Sure," I find myself saying, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I could use a distraction."
He grins, pleased. "Great! It's a date then. We'll head out in an hour."
As he heads back to his room, I'm left with a moment of quiet. The offer hangs in the air, a momentary escape from the reality I'm facing. But as I wipe down the counter, I know that no matter how loud the movie is or how much I try to immerse myself in the fictional horror on screen, the real fear is what waits for me when I finally have that conversation with Marx.
An hour passes quickly, and before I know it, Fowler is calling me from the hallway. "Emmie, let's go! Val's waiting in the car." I grab my jacket and purse, giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out the door. The night is cool and clear, a sharp contrast to the muddled thoughts in my head.
We arrive at the theater, the neon lights casting a vibrant glow over the entrance. It's a modern multiplex, with posters of upcoming blockbusters lining the walls. We make our way to the concession stand, Fowler insisting on getting the largest popcorn combo with extra butter. Val orders a large soda and a box of chocolate-covered almonds, while I settle for a small soda and some gummy bears.
The theater is crowded, the anticipation for the movie is almost tangible. We find seats near the back, a strategic choice by Val who claims it's the best spot to experience all the jumps and scares. As the lights dim and the screen flickers to life, I try to lose myself in the movie, to let the suspense and the adrenaline drown out my own anxieties.
But as the characters on screen navigate their own fears and uncertainties, I can't help but draw parallels to my own situation. Like them, I'm at a crossroads, facing something unknown and potentially life-changing. And like them, I can either run from it or confront it head-on.
Throughout the movie, Fowler and Val react loudly to each jump scare, their laughter and screams a stark contrast to my own quiet introspection. I'm here, but not really. My body is in the seat, but my mind is with Marx, wondering what he's doing, thinking, feeling.
As the credits roll and the lights come back on, Fowler stretches and looks over at me, a smile on his face. "So, what did you think? Pretty good, right?"
I nod, mustering a smile. "Yeah, it was...intense."
We make our way out of the theater, the night now fully settled in. As we walk back to the car, I realize that the movie, for all its distractions, didn't change anything. I still need to talk to Marx. I still need to know where we stand.
"Hey, Emmie," Fowler says, breaking into my thoughts. "You've been quiet. Everything okay?"
I look at him, and then at Val, both of them concerned and caring.
"Yeah," I reply, a genuine smile breaking through. "I'm okay. Just thinking about some stuff. But I'll figure it out."
As we drive back home, the city lights passing by in a blur. I lean my head against the window, letting the cool glass ground me. The movie was supposed to be a distraction, but it only served to intensify my thoughts, making the need to confront Marx more urgent.
The car pulls up to our place, and we all step out, the quiet of the night enveloping us. Fowler and Val are chatting about their favorite parts of the movie, but I'm barely listening. My mind is racing, each thought colliding with the next.
"Emmie," Fowler says, turning to me as we walk up the steps. "You sure you're okay?"
I nod, forcing another smile. "Yeah, just tired, I guess."
Val gives me a quick hug, her energy always a comfort. "Well, if you need to talk or anything, we're here, okay?"
"Thanks, Val," I say, meaning it. Their friendship means the world to me, another constant I don't want to lose.
We say our goodnights, and I head to my room, the house quiet. As I close the door behind me, the weight of the day settles on my shoulders. I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands clasped in my lap.
I need to stop doing this to myself. It's becoming a repetitive dance between Marx and I.
I change into some night clothes and decide to go to bed. Sleep will keep my mind off of things.
**
I can't have been asleep long when I'm awoken by Fowler crawling into my bed.
"Shh, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you," he whispers as he snuggles into my back.
His arm comes around my waist, and his warm body presses against mine. My eyes start to droop again, sleep already creeping back in. I've grown accustomed to Fowler sneaking into my room in the middle of the night. He always has a reason for it, whether it's that he had a bad dream or he just wants to be near me.
I feel like it's been so long since it's been just me and him. Between me sleeping in Marx's room for a couple of weeks and giving Fowler and Val a little space to figure out things between them, we haven't had time for just me and him. I've missed him.
His soft breath tickles the back of my neck, and his hand rests lightly on my stomach. It's such a familiar feeling, such a comforting and loving gesture, and before long, I'm drifting off into a peaceful sleep.
When I wake up in the morning, the light is streaming through the curtains. Fowler's warm body is still pressed against my back. I turn slowly so I don't disturb him, and just lay here for a moment, looking at his face. It's a sight I never tire of, and one I hope to see every morning that I can. His features are so relaxed, so angelic in the morning light. I love seeing him like this.
I brush a strand of his black hair off his forehead, my fingers lingering on his skin. He's so handsome, so perfect. My heart aches with how much I love him.
As if he can sense my thoughts, his eyes flutter open. A sleepy smile spreads across his face, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer.
"Good morning, Emmie," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
"Good morning, Fowler," I whisper, my cheek resting against his chest.
We lie there for a while, content in each other's arms. The sunlight is warm on our skin, and the sounds of the city outside are a distant murmur. It's just us, together, in this perfect moment.
"What are you thinking about?" Fowler asks quietly.
"I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you," I reply, the honesty flowing easily.
Fowler pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine. There's so much emotion in his gaze, so much love and affection. "I'm the lucky one," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
My heart feels like it's going to burst, and I can't resist leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He returns the kiss, his lips gentle and tender against mine. It's a sweet moment, full of love and care.
When we pull apart, we're both smiling, our cheeks flushed. Fowler cups my face in his hand, his thumb stroking my skin. "I love you, Emmie," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on mine.
"I love you too, Fowler," I reply, the words tumbling out of my mouth without hesitation.
There's a long moment of silence, the two of us just looking at each other.
And then he kisses me again. This time it's deeper than before, more needy. My hands move to his chest, his muscles strong and solid beneath my fingers. He rolls me onto my back, his weight settling over me, and my heart races at the sensation.
He trails kisses along my jaw and down my neck, and I can't help the small moan that escapes my lips. His touch is electrifying, and every nerve ending in my body is on fire.
He reaches the collar of my shirt, and he pauses, his eyes seeking permission. I nod, and he lifts the hem, his fingers brushing against my bare skin. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and my breath catches in my throat.
He removes my shirt slowly, revealing my breasts inch by inch. When it's finally off, he tosses it aside and takes a moment to admire my body.
"You're so beautiful, Emmie," he whispers, his hands exploring the curves of my hips and waist.
I'm breathing heavily now, my skin hot and sensitive to his touch. He leans down, kissing me deeply, and I respond eagerly, my hands tangling in his hair.
His tongue slides against mine, and I can't get enough. The world around us fades away, and all that matters is the feel of his body against mine, the taste of his lips, the sound of his moans.
His hands move to my breasts, and he kneads them gently, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. I gasp at the sensation, arching my back to press myself against him.
"Fuck," he growls, his voice low and husky. "I need you, Emmie. I need to be inside you."
I'm aching for him too, and I nod frantically. "Yes, Fowler. Please."
He kisses me again, hard and passionate, before sitting up and removing his boxers. I take the opportunity to shimmy out of my panties, tossing them to the side.
He positions himself between my legs, his cock throbbing and ready. He presses against me, his tip teasing my entrance. I'm wet and desperate, and I can't wait any longer.
"Fowler, please," I beg, my voice a breathless whisper.
He obliges, pushing into me, inch by agonizing inch. My body stretches around him, and a loud moan escapes my lips.
"Fuck," he groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy. "You feel so fucking good."
He begins to move, slowly at first, but then faster and harder. My hips meet his thrusts, and we find a rhythm that has us both gasping for air.
The pleasure builds, and I'm so close, but I want this moment to last forever.
Fowler seems to sense this, and he slows his pace, drawing out each thrust, torturing me with the exquisite feeling of his cock buried deep inside me.
"I'm close," I manage to say, my nails digging into his back.
He pounds into me, harder and faster, and the tension in my body reaches a breaking point. The release hits me like a wave, crashing over me and dragging me under.
I cry out his name, my walls clenching around his cock, and he finds his release too, spilling himself inside me with a loud moan.
We ride the waves of our orgasms, panting and spent. Our bodies are slick with sweat, and the room is filled with the scent of sex and desire.
Fowler collapses on top of me, his face buried in the crook of my neck. We stay like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking.
"I love you, Emmie," he murmurs, planting a kiss on my shoulder.
"I love you too, Fowler," I reply, my heart full and content.