Again...

What was that?  I sit up in my bed.  I can’t see.  It is pitch black.  It is quiet.  Too quiet.  The air conditioner must have shut off.  I rub my eyes and blink as they start to adjust to the dark. 

To my right music blasts for a full ten seconds.  The chorus to Feel Like Makin’ Love has broken the silence. 

Oh.  It’s my phone.  I have a text message. 

What time is it?  I look at the clock and see 3:30 am flash back at me in bright blue.  I grab my phone to see who has disturbed my slumber.  It’s you.  I should have known.  I scroll through your messages.  It seems you want to pay me a late night visit.  Figures.  Late nights are all we seem to have these days.  It takes me a full 3 minutes to decide I don’t care.

I want to see you.

Clumsily I text back.  It takes my fingers a split second to realize I’m asking them to type coherent words on an impossible sized keyboard, in the dark.  I’m too tired to think of something clever so I just type back…come over.

Quickly I search the room and assess the situation.  I have clothes in a pile on the floor.  My dinner dishes are still in the sink.  The trash should really be taken out.  Is that dirty cat litter I smell?  Oh well.  I decide you’re probably not going to care what state my apartment is in when you arrive.  I hope not.

Even though I know it won’t matter, I get up to “freshen up.”  I stumble to the bathroom and trip over a pair of shoes.  Or maybe just one shoe.  I don’t know the difference.  I wish I would pick up after myself once in a while.  Or at least on days when it matters.

I fumble for the light switch.  The light instantly hurts my eyes.  Looking in the mirror right now is the last thing I want to do.  Who looks good after sleeping for three hours?  I frown in to the mirror and then try to smile.  Ick.  I don’t know which is worse at this point.

Sighing, I grab my tooth brush.  At least one of us can have fresh breath, I say out loud.  My voice is husky from yelling over the band all night.  I am glad I did not have to talk to you on the phone.  Sometimes I feel like the inventors of the text message had moments like these in mind when coming up with their ideas. 

My face is a lost cause.  I am not putting on makeup when I do not plan to have any lights on.  Luckily my hair is still curly and my legs are freshly shaven.  My friends gave me shit for taking so long to get ready, but I was hopeful that it would pay off. 

I look in my closet deciding if I want to change in to “something more comfortable.”  My shoulders droop as I realize that section of my closet does not exist.  I curse under my breath and tell myself I will go shopping one of these days.  Guess my old work shirt will have to do.  I can, however, change these drawers so they’re fresh.  I bet you won’t even know the difference, but I’ll feel sexier.  For the entire ten minutes I will be wearing them until you arrive...

I hop back in to bed because I don’t want you to think I have prepared for this.  I want it to seem as if I stayed in bed the entire time.  When you sleep alone every night, visitors to your bed become special occasions.  But you do not need to know that you’re my special occasion.

I find my fingers drumming an imaginary beat while I lay wide awake.  There’s no way I’m going to be able to fall asleep while I wait for you.  The anticipation alone is enough to keep me up all night!  Okay.  Calm down.  I don’t want to seem too eager.  It’ll be as if this rarely happens.  It’s true.  But you don’t have to know that. 

Staring at the clock doesn’t make you come any faster.  The cab driver must have taken forever to pick you up.  Busy night.  Lots of drunks needing rides home.  Seriously though, where are you?  I wonder if I shouldn’t have done something more to prepare with all this extra time.  I grab my phone and look at the time you sent your message.  It’s been 17 minutes.  Really?  That’s it?

It feels like an eternity.

Buzzzzzzzzzz.

The door!  I jump out of bed and quickly head in that direction.  I trip on a pair of shoes.  Damn it all!  I really need to pick up my shit.  I kick them out of the way.  I don’t want anything tripping us up on our way back to my bed. 

I press the button to buzz you in and hold it down for longer than is necessary.  I need to make sure you actually get the door open the first time because I don’t want to wait any longer.  I can feel the anticipation begin to pulsate.  It starts at my core and radiates out.

Even though I am standing directly behind the door, I do not leave it open.  I want you to knock.  I think it’s tacky to stand with the door open waiting for anything other than the delivery guy.  I giggle to myself when I realize you are a delivery guy, of sorts.  Your knuckles wrap on my door and I take a deep breath.  Casually I turn the knob and open the door. 

You are standing in my doorway with one arm up on the frame and a cocky smile on your face.  I can not decide if you’re grasping my door frame to hold yourself up, or because you are trying to look sexy.  Either way, I decide it’s working.

The light from the hallway illuminates you.  Only a half a second passes, but in that time I have looked you up and down, drinking in the sight that is you, at my door, wanting to come in.  Hey, you say casually.  What’s up?  Well, no one can expect you to be very articulate at a time like this, can they?

I grab your hand and pull you inside, quickly locking the door.  If I were a lady, I would have invited you in first.  I am no lady.  And you are no gentleman because, without even asking me, you press your lips to mine.  Your kiss is hard and urgent and tastes like whiskey.  I can tell you must’ve been mentally preparing yourself for this on the ride over.  I can feel it actually.  

Thankful that my body does not betray me the way yours does, I pull back.  As much as I like the hallway by my kitchen, I’m not about to stand here all night and waste what is left of the dark of the night.  I grab your other hand and begin to pull you to my room.  You stop me at the end of the hall and twirl me around to face you. 

My heart starts thumping so loudly I can hear it in my ears.  You pull me towards you and press yourself up against me while the wall holds us up.  Your kiss is sloppy this time.  I realize I am no where near the point you are and this night may not be all it is cracked up to be.  But then your hand travels down my spine and you pull your head back and look down at my face.  Your smile looks devious.  Okay…maybe it will be…

My chest rises and falls in rhythmic time with yours.  The blanket has been tossed to the floor—as well as most of the pillows—but I have the sheets tucked up in my arms.  You do not seem to have any qualms about laying there naked, and to be honest, I am okay that. 

My skin is chilled as the sweat evaporates off of it.  I realize the air conditioning must have turned back on as soon as the temperature in the room had risen.  I am sure it is because of us.  It will turn off again as soon as it cools down in here again.  I hope that it will be a while…

I reach over for you with my right arm and set it on your bare chest.  You inhale quickly and then turn your head to face me.  I think I startled you awake as you were drifting off to sleep.  I feel bad until you grab my hand and squeeze it as you smile at me. 

Your other arm reaches behind me and pulls me in to your nook.  I nestle in to the spot on your shoulder that feels like it was formed so that my head would fit perfectly there.  Realizing you’re naked, or just because you are cold, you pull the other side of the sheet up and then rub my arm as if to warm me up as well. 

I sigh deeply in to your neck and kiss the soft spot beneath your chin and your throat.  Slowly your left hand strokes my hair while mine tickles your stomach.  Sometimes I can convince you to stay awake with me.  I’m not ready to go to sleep just yet.  As it turns out, you seem to have found another wind that takes you away with me. 

Rolling over to my side, I realize the night is over.  Even my mind is tired now.  At some point I had retrieved the blanket from the floor.  I tuck it around myself now, even though I’m not cold.  Actually, I am perfect. 

You come back from the bathroom and slowly get back in to bed.  My bed.  I feel you shuffle and adjust to the extra blanket I have added.  I figure you will do as I do and curl up and fall asleep.  What I do not figure is that you scoot yourself up behind me and drape your arm across me.  Your hand finds mine and our fingers lock. 

This is nice.  This is safe.  This is home.  And yet…

My mind is having trouble wrapping itself around the concept that is us, right now.  You and me.  Laying here.  Like this.  As much as I wish I could have this every night, I do not.  In the daylight hours I wish on every chance that I get that you’ll see how great this is.  Yes, I think about you during the day.  I don’t think you do the same. 

You softly begin to snore and I realize that the night is over for you.  You have gotten what you wanted and now you will sleep soundly.  In my bed.  This is not the first time you have come to my bed at night.  It probably will not be the last.  As much as I want you, you want your freedom.  I do not understand why I allow you to come back every time.

Yes I do.  Because in some small way, I hope I am slowly getting in.  I hope that I am slowly making my way in to your heart.  I hope that you will see that you can not live without me.  Without this.  Without us.  Every time you come back I believe is another chance that I have to convince you to stay.  Not just for this night…for every night. 

I tell myself that you wouldn’t ask to come over if some small part of you didn’t feel the same way I do.  I tell myself you enjoy my company outside of the bedroom as well.  I tell myself that one day you will finally tell me that you don’t know why you waited so long to tell me how you really feel. 

I lie.  I lie to myself.  I lie to you. 

Deep down I know…this is what it is.  But there is another side to me that fights back and tries to believe.  Believe in romance.  Believe in two people sharing these moments because they actually mean something.  Believe they actually mean something to each other.  People do not act this way if they do not mean it, do they?

What, about me, is not good enough for you?  Why am I good enough now, at night, in the dark, alone?  Am I your dirty little secret?   I feel like I am.  I feel like I am not good enough for you in the real world.  The world out there.  Outside my door.  In the daylight. 

I can not believe I am here again.  At this point.  Again.  I do this to myself.  The three minutes I took to decide earlier tonight were not long enough.  My mind was not thinking clearly.  I should have ignored you and gone back to sleep. 

Who am I kidding?  I was not going back to sleep and you knew it.  You knew I’d answer if you called and you knew I’d invite you over if you asked.  This is what we do.  Over and over to ourselves.  Only I am the only one getting hurt.  And it is all my fault.  I tell myself I needed this as much as you did.  It is the truth.  But it is not the whole truth.

My night.  Your night.  Becomes our night.  Here I am.  Here we are.  For better, or for worse.  I squeeze your fingers and exhale.

There is light in the room and my eyes squint.  At some point in the night we have rolled apart to our separate sides of the bed.  You are still asleep, as you usually are.  I brush aside my fears from the night.  There is no reason they need to make an appearance now.  If you are going to be here…if I am going to let you break my heart again…I am going to at least get my money’s worth.  You are only half awake as I reach for you under the covers…