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Fuck.
What do you want from me now?
I've got a horrible headache, I'm almost pulling my goddamn hairs out, because I can't get anything to work and because you hate me for it. You must. I swear I tried everything I could. But I somehow always get on your nerves, and somehow I always end up making it ten times worse by reciprocating. I'm just as hard-headed as you, after all.
I don't know how the hell we ended up together.
But, God, I hope we make it through.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never do. I'm sure you don't either. I know you're sensitive, so am I, I know you've got your issues. From now on I swear I'll be more understanding.
Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to see you again and we can pretend nothing ever happened and we never shouted things that shouldn't have been said.
But the sun has set a long time ago, there's a lonely cricket serenading us outside, and there's nothing I can do but stay in my room and try to go to sleep. It's too late for anything else. I'm sure you're probably in bed right now, probably not thinking anything of what I'm thinking.
The beds in this hotel are awful. The creaks that sounded when I laid down could've woken up the whole crew. They make my brain ache and I want to violently claw my eyes out, because everything seems insufferable right now.
I swear, all I want is for you to love me. I swear I love you. I know moments like this happen sometimes, but they're nothing compared to how much I love you and how much time I spend together with you, enjoying every second, wanting nothing more but to be able to live a whole life together. Some arguments just mean nothing. We'll get past it, we always do. I sigh in relief knowing this. But I can't help but feel like you maybe just don't love me. I hope you do, but what if, what if, what if, so on, so forth… I want to quiet down my mind, because it hurts. I don't know what to do with you.
Again, I'm sure you're at ease.
I try my best to go to sleep, so I pull the blanket over me and close my eyes. I feel slightly better. I finally relax and hope I can dream about something nice.
But I swear I heard a noise. My eyes crack open and then I hear it again: soft knocking on the door. I stand up to focus on it better. There's a third knock, and even though it's slightly louder than the other two, it maintains its shyness and uncertainty. I hop out of bed to open the door, almost making a run for it, because fuck it, of course I know it's you, Roger, because who the fuck else could be so timidly searching for me at this hour, and I open the door, and I'm correct, of course I am.
I look you in the eye. I try to seem as tough and snarky as when we argued. For all you know, your words didn't get to me and I don't care. Something tells me to relax when I notice the way you avoid my gaze, looking at the floor instead.
The headache from earlier returns. What do you want?
“Uhm, David…”
“What? Do you want anything?”
My tone cuts you off and I feel a bit pitiful at the way your voice shakes saying my name.
“Did anything happen?”
I ask you again, but this time my voice is softer. I just want you to look at me and not the fucking floor. You look like I just beat you up.
“Could I just come in for a second? I just don't feel all too well.”
I'm about to ask why you couldn't go over to someone else, but the answer is obvious, and there's no reason to make any more sarcastic comments. I move out of the doorway and let you come in.
You step in like you're scared of stepping on a mine and setting it off. I motion to the bed and you sit on the edge and I sit by you, keeping a painful distance between us. I'm scared you might tell me you don't want to be with me anymore. Truthfully, I'd understand – it's more of a burden than anything, with how difficult it is to keep it hidden from everyone else and with the luxuries that we can't have – but I'd sacrifice anything in the world to be with you. Now, only our pride is coming between us, and there's nothing more I hate more than myself.
I wish you'd stop fidgeting and just say what you have to say.
I let my head drop to my hands and I rub my temples, hoping to ease this infuriating pain.
“Do you hate me, Dave?”
I turn.
“What?”
You turn as well, but you still haven't looked at me. Instead, you rub your wrist with your hand nervously, looking at the wall.
“Do you hate me?”, you repeat more clearly, as if I hadn't heard you. I heard you well the first time – that's not why I was confused.
I take a while to answer. But it's not because I'm unsure of my answer.
“Why in the world would I hate you? Of course I don't. Don't be silly.”
“I'm really sorry, uh, for the things I said.”
You sigh, I know it's difficult.
“I'm sorry too.”
“It's just that… I don't want to lose you, too. I love you. I'm so sorry, I don't know… I don't want you to hate me, please.”
The distance between us feels insulting, so I finally close it and cup your face with my hand. You finally look at me and I see a clear fragility I haven't seen often in you, at least not this exposed. I wonder what happened that made you desperate enough tonight to come to me and say these things to me.
“Roger, I truly don't hate you. I love you so much, alright? What's making you feel like this, did something happen?”
Your eyes get wetter and you grimace and I know you're about to start crying, so I just hug you, as tightly as I can, and you pull me to sit on your lap, and I let you bury your face in my chest, and you start to softly cry and I forget that I was ever mad at you. Running my fingers through your hair makes me feel at ease. Your weeping intensifies and I hold you even tighter, and I can feel the way your hands hold me desperately.
“Roger, please, tell me what happened, baby.”
“What do you mean, what happened?! We shouted at each other again, don't act so goddamn ignorant!”
I sigh.
You whine, hiding your face in my shirt again, and maybe you're sorry that you just snapped again.
“We've shouted at each other before and you haven't acted like this. You know that we make up every time, Rog. Why are you worrying now that I hate you?”
“How can you not? I'm fucking insufferable. You know I am. Everyone acts like I am, I must be.” You raise your head and you look up at me, face contorted into an ugly cry (even though you're still as beautiful as always), eyes clouded by tears. Your words come out choked out. “You must either hate me or you force yourself to love me. I just don't want to be a burden on you anymore, David, you deserve someone who actually treats you well.”
You're talking a lot of bullshit right now. Nothing of what you said is true. I couldn't dream of somebody better. The moments when you hold me, when you kiss me, when you even just look at me, when you make me yours and nothing more – those are what I live for. I wouldn't expect it to come without challenges. Our resistance, our ability to get over everything is what makes us so perfect for each other. Our arguments are just the trials that fate makes us go through, I suppose. I need to prove that I'm worthy of you somehow. No arguments will make me ever stop loving you. You awakened something in me, something that I don't think anyone else will ever make me feel, a connection that nobody else could dream of forming with me. I'm not just going to give that up.
Insufferable is the furthest thing you are to me. Obviously, you get damn annoying during fights, but I don't doubt the fact that I'm the same. I know how stubborn I am. And when we're not fighting, there's nothing more that I want to do other than admire you all the time, have you right by me, feel the way that you touch me, the way I touch you, the way you smell, sound, taste – I don't know what I would do without you. I love you as much as I possibly could, Roger. I desperately love you. You changed my life forever and I wouldn't want it any other way.
“Roger,” I manage to speak, sounding like I'm being strangled, “don't ever say anything like that again.”
I stick my cheek to yours and your tears wet my face, as well. Your face burns mine. Your heartbeat controls mine.
“If anyone has ever thought you're insufferable, then they must be the biggest idiot ever, Roger. I know you're hurt. I know. You're not insufferable, you're hurt. If people can't handle that, they can fuck off. I can. I promise I can, baby, I swear I can. I'll take care of you, babe, because you take care of me, and I wouldn't want it to be any other way. You're not insufferable, and I love you, and I don't give a fuck that we had an argument. It doesn't mean anything to me – except for the fact that it makes me want to be better to you. That's it, baby, nothing else. I could never ask to have anyone else in my life, and if someone would be to steal your spot, then I'd be really fucking mad. I love you and nobody else. I love you, okay?”
While I've been talking you've been crying more and more, and you've been fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. I breathe in, because I want to feel the smell of you.
“Okay?” I just whisper it to you, turning so my breath touches your ear.
You nod.
I pull your head in to rest upon my shoulder and you hide in the crook of my neck.
“I'm sorry, David, I'm so sorry for everything I've said. I feel dreadful whenever I hurt you, I feel like a monster, because you're the one thing I love most and I still can't help but hurt you-”
“You're not a monster. Please, Roger. Believe me. I love you. We'll get through this, okay? We always do. We always will.”
You nod slowly. I grab your head and kiss your forehead carefully, then I kiss your pretty nose, then your lips, softly. I love you.
“Let's sleep, Rog. And stay here – I'll miss you if you leave, babe.”
I wipe your tears away and you smile at me and you're goddamn beautiful, you're so cute when you smile. I pull you down to lie together in bed and I can finally rest in your arms, cuddling so close to you, your body warming up mine, and now I can finally sleep peacefully.
“I love you, Dave.”
I murmur something in response and I hope you don't mind – it's just that I've already fallen asleep.