30WriteNow- Day 5- Fear (I’m just backfilling, disregard!)
After all that ranting about not wanting to read personal posts, I was driving home and thinking about today’s prompt and a situation popped up and it was personal and EAUX NEAUX I did a personal post. D’AWELL. Click the read more if you wanna read it. If not, I don’t blame you.
They are words I’m not accustomed to saying. Not just in the way I mean them; the way that I want to say them. I’m just not used to saying them. In my family, we aren’t wildly emotional, declaring our love for each other all the time. We’re not close like that… at least not at this particular time. Years later, once we have experienced the loss of a loved one, we will. But at this time, it’s just not us.
So I’m not used to opening my mouth and letting those words fall out. I’m not used to feeling the emotion. I’m not used to meaning it, really truly meaning it like I do. I’m dreading saying them, for some reason. Not because I think I am going to stumble over my words or because I’ve never really said them before, but because I almost have a sixth sense about it. In the back of my mind, I think I shouldn’t say them.
There are myriad reasons why. It’s so early, just a few months in. We don’t know each other ‘that well’, though we have spent so much time talking and getting to know each other. It might well still be infatuation—he’s my first, after all. I’m still giggly and silly and blushy and bashful about him. I still get butterflies when I hear his voice and I still almost squeal when I get a text r an email from him. I could be just caught up in the happiness of finally having someone to spend a few nights a week with, someone to laugh and talk with, someone to send me an email or a text in the middle of the day to say, ‘hey’, or ‘do I need to pick up anything on my way over?’
All of those reasons, however, fall by the wayside when I talk to my gal pals “You should say it if you feel it,” says one. “He should know how you feel,” says another. “It’s not too early,” says a third, reassuring me that she and her husband had said the words around week three of their relationship.
Buoyed by confidence, giddy with feeling and emotion, I float through my day and anticipate the evening. I am going to tell him. I am going to say the words. And those thoughts, the ones creeping forward from the back of my mind? Well they are just going to be things we laugh about, years from now. We’re going to call them nerves, and say they were cute, and laugh them away, years from now.
I prepare a nice dinner, painstakingly lovely. Thick grilled pork chops, steamed veggies, a pasta side. One of my favorite meals I make that he claims to enjoy. He arrives, makes himself comfortable as usual. I let my mind wander and daydream that this is every day for us. At some point in life, in our future, he will walk through a door that we both own. He will sit down on our couch and check the mail and relax and he will be home. I’m loving the idea of this, shoving down the chiding from my sub conscious that I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s early, remember?
Early schmearly. When you know, you know, right?
Dinner is over and we’re relaxing on the couch, watching TV. Probably Rush Hour for the 49th time because I don’t have cable and TBS plays Rush Hour every single weekend. As usual, we can’t keep our hands or lips off of each other. The room and the action heats up and I get up and lead him around the corner to the bedroom. I like to be comfortable. We lay across the bed, facing each other. Talking and laughing and stroking. I decide… right then… that it is time.
“I have… something I need to tell you.”
I’m not discouraged by the flash of… something… in his eyes. He probably knows what’s coming. Who knows how many times he’s heard this in his life? I soldier on.
“Uhm. So. I need to tell you that… uh…”
“You know,” he interrupts. “You don’t have to say it.”
Why not? I ask him in my head, but don’t say it.
“I want to,” I say instead. “So…. I uh… I love you. There, it’s out.”
I am breathing light and easy now. A sigh of relief. And I’m not really expecting anything back. Anything positive would be okay. But he’s quiet. And the look on his face says, ‘oh no’. And I am instantly mortified.
“Well,” he says, after a hard swallow. “I mean, how do you know it’s love?”
I’m slightly offended. How are you gonna question -“Because I do,” I say, trying to maintain the sweetness of the moment but getting a little salty that he isn’t doing the same.
“You know what?” I sit up, tuck myself back into my bra, pull down my shirt and scoot to the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just… I’ll just…”
Some words fall out of my mouth. I don’t know or remember what they are or if they have meaning. I just need to get away from this situation, this time and place. And him. HIM.
I feel like vomiting. I’m so disappointed and angry and upset and MAD. I’m FURIOUS.
Not at him, though.
At me. Because that niggling feeling? Those thoughts at the back of my mind, creeping forward, that I ignored and thought I would laugh off? I’m not laughing now. I knew it. I. knew. it. He didn’t love me. He couldn’t even fake it. He couldn’t even pretend.
My reality crashes down around me. My fear roars to life. A self fulfilling prophecy… well, self fulfills.
In that moment, I know two things:
I will never again ignore that gut feeling.
I will never say it first. EVER AGAIN.