Relationships are tough enough as they are. It's no mystery why most of them fail; without a considerable amount of determination and cooperation with each other, it can turn into a war zone.
When there is a large amount of history behind the relationship, things can get even more sticky.
I've often wondered if I have a smaller version of post-traumatic stress disorder. My earliest memories of life are blurred images and sounds of yelling, screaming, crying, pushing, hitting, and fear. So much fear. Sometimes I remember glimpses of being happy, of my parents being happy, but it's much less rare than the horrible things I tried very hard to not remember.
The thing is, I've been haunted my whole life by that fear. The gut-wrenching, deep-stomach-sinking fear of someone you love. When my adopted father started to get vocally violent shortly before, all during, and for much afterwards the divorce with my mother, I found myself plugging my ears in the fetal position on my bed.
When I talked with Alex about her relationship life, I admitted to her that I never had a boyfriend during school because I avoided relationships with guys whether they liked me or not. I've always been a hopeless romantic, but even though I was lonely, I was afraid I would end up pinned against the wall with a bruise on my face and children crying in the corner. My entire life was spent swearing I would never, ever let myself fall into that hole or drag my little ones into it.
Rewind to over a year ago, and I'm in the kitchen of our small apartment, snatching a large knife off the counter to defend myself and my home from whoever the hell it was masquerading as Tristan (trust me, I can tell). In that moment, that flash of silver and blur of arms, I saw a little girl who looked a lot like me standing in the doorway. I knew she was just part of my mind, but something chilled me and drove me to fight that much harder for survival.
But my mother taught me well. I grew up to be a fighter, not a runner. I fought back in the best way I could without causing damage, which was reciprocation. And Jake had taught me how to disarm opponents, so I didn't have to fear weapons no matter how they were weilded. Learning to observe behavior in others served my own sanity well, since I was able to clearly see that Tristan wasn't even aware of what was going on. So when I finally found myself pinned against the wall with hands around my throat, I silently pleaded for the man I loved to resurface and save me before one of us passed out or died (yes, I had my own hands around his throat and squeezing).
The hardest part about moving forward is forgetting the past. Sure, I've forgiven easily enough. I love Tristan like no other, and forgiving him was much easier than I thought it would be. Forgetting, well, that's an entirely different story. Only an absolute idiot with a death wish forgets what went wrong the first, second, third, fourth and iffy-fifth time around.
This past month has been epic in shoving aside and burying what I remember oh so clearly. Things don't bother me like they used to, and last night I had a dream in which I not only confronted the root of my fear, I shot it 3 times in the chest with a bow and quiver of arrows. In the past, if something went wrong, the horrible fear would surface and I'd end up in a seizure of sobbing and hyperventilating. Now, so much less goes wrong to begin with and the little things, while in principle and logic bother me, don't create chest constrictions or lung compressions. I consider that progress.
So what do I do when new information surfaces? Like how, according to an anonymous source (I gave my word, no backlash, so we're leaving this at that), I was continuously the subject of jokes and taunts for the last year between Tristan and our mutual friends. My stomach sank as I read this, and I instinctively wanted to confront Tristan about the validity of the information. I'm no idiot, and I'm not about to be made a fool yet again by the "same" dude over and over and over and over again.
However, I am no idiot. I wasn't an analyst for the Unit because I'm easy to look at. After a moment of consideration I realized how stupid it would be to confront the man I love about something someone with emotional issues (possibly sprinkled with jealousy) said. Not only that, but Tristan and I had just spoken earlier tonight about trust, boundaries and where we stand as a couple.
People have continuously asked me if I am sure things are different this time. Especially, as I described earlier, things haven't been picture perfect in the past.
How do I describe the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he talks with me? Even tonight, when we discussed the propriety (or lack of) hanging out solo with friends of the opposite gender and I was totally botching my attempts to NOT sound bitchy, Tristan was still wonderful. I'd dreaded even having the conversation because I remembered the many times we've had the same topic before, and it never ended well. To my very big surprise, not only was he calm and collected through our talk, we actually came to a compromise. A real, honest-to-goodness compromise.
While it's difficult to forget, love makes it much easier to let things go.
11.28.2011
11.17.2011
In Color
Lately I've noticed my color preference has concentrated more on purple and less on green. When I took a moment to wonder how that happened after almost 10 solid years of loving green, I remembered the first home Tristan and I shared. The top floor of a old duplex/former meth lab.
Note to new couples: There are three tests to discerning if your relationship is true: 1) Assembling, decorating and positioning the Christmas tree 2)Taking a road trip across America with no GPS, no radio, no air conditioning, and no hotel reservations 3) Painting your residence.
The first test we passed with flying colors. Tristan is very artistic and I was determined to prove to my mother that I can be calm and NOT throw artificial tree branches at my significant other, so I let him steer the assemblage and decorating. The second trip was a huge bonding experience for us, so much that even though we began the journey as "just friends" since we broke up a week before departure, we were back together halfway through the trip. And the third test is why I no longer like green so much.
We could be having a fantastic day together, but once we entered the home improvement store parking lot, we were at each other's throats. Then once we walked to the sliding doors, Tristan would stick his hand out by his side and grumble, "Hold this." Hand in hand, we'd exchange smiles and embark on an epic journey to find the right shades of paint and window treatments. One lady, whose name I think was Lucy, often became a sort of therapist as we bickered over curtains and smacked each other with paint stirrers. The biggest debate was what colors we would paint our apartment.
Tristan loves blue. I loved green. We both agreed to paint the foyer a warm beige with dark cherry-wood brown on the border, but when it came to the living room and bedroom we were at a standstill. I HAD to have green. He needed a room with blue. In the end, he was able to convince me with an article about colors and moods that a light blue with a dark blue accent wall was perfect to create a relaxing atmosphere in our bedroom. Once I conceded, he agreed to help me paint the living room a medium green with an army-green accent wall. Throughout the entire apartment, the wood borders were the same shade of brown.
In retrospect, I should have seen the living room painting adventure as a great sign of love from Tristan. Not only did he let me choose the shades of green for the largest room in our home, he did most of the painting since the archway was much taller than I am. The day he finally finished painting that archway, he slipped up behind me in the kitchen and pulled me close in the warmest hug he'd ever given me at that time. "Well hi!" I giggled and snuggled closer to him. "What's this for?"
"I just feel very accomplished," he answered with a smile and a kiss on my cheek.
Looking back, I think the reason why I never, ever complained to anyone about how much I hated that stupid green room was because of that one moment we shared. Because it only took a week before I loathed having an entirely green room that didn't match the warmth of the foyer. We would sit on the loveseat and recount our work days, or watch movies, or sit on the large windowsill to eat corn chowder, and all I could think about was how much I wished we didn't paint the living room green. And I knew it was my own stupid fault for insisting so strongly on having green walls, and I hated that my favorite room was the calming blue bedroom brainchild of Tristan's creative genius that I so enthusiastically tried to prevent from happening.
So whenever I wonder what happened to my love for all things green hued, I remember that living room. Which makes me remember the whole apartment and everything that happened in it, and despite the rough times that did occur, what I remember the best are all the good times. Tristan and I ripping off wood planks from a beautiful picture window, or huddling in the middle of the carpeted kitchen with candles and wine glasses filled with heart-shaped ice cubes and soda because we had no money for food or decent tableware. For most of our first month there, which happened to be January, the heater didn't work and we had no sheets for the bed. It was with scraped-together money that we bought flannel sheets on sale at my old workplace. Every morning Tristan would wake up a few hours before dawn to go to his early shift, and every morning he would kiss me right before he left.
"I realized that I was happiest when you were in my life. More." When Tristan told me that a few weeks ago, that eventful afternoon in which everything I'd given up on was suddenly handed to me on a silver platter, I couldn't help but wonder if that was just another easy line fed to appease me. But with all these memories, I realize now that he was 100% right. I was happiest when we were together, and "together" as in side-by-side, experiencing life and exploring the world.
Now we have that again. And I'm never, ever, ever painting a single wall green again.
Note to new couples: There are three tests to discerning if your relationship is true: 1) Assembling, decorating and positioning the Christmas tree 2)Taking a road trip across America with no GPS, no radio, no air conditioning, and no hotel reservations 3) Painting your residence.
The first test we passed with flying colors. Tristan is very artistic and I was determined to prove to my mother that I can be calm and NOT throw artificial tree branches at my significant other, so I let him steer the assemblage and decorating. The second trip was a huge bonding experience for us, so much that even though we began the journey as "just friends" since we broke up a week before departure, we were back together halfway through the trip. And the third test is why I no longer like green so much.
We could be having a fantastic day together, but once we entered the home improvement store parking lot, we were at each other's throats. Then once we walked to the sliding doors, Tristan would stick his hand out by his side and grumble, "Hold this." Hand in hand, we'd exchange smiles and embark on an epic journey to find the right shades of paint and window treatments. One lady, whose name I think was Lucy, often became a sort of therapist as we bickered over curtains and smacked each other with paint stirrers. The biggest debate was what colors we would paint our apartment.
Tristan loves blue. I loved green. We both agreed to paint the foyer a warm beige with dark cherry-wood brown on the border, but when it came to the living room and bedroom we were at a standstill. I HAD to have green. He needed a room with blue. In the end, he was able to convince me with an article about colors and moods that a light blue with a dark blue accent wall was perfect to create a relaxing atmosphere in our bedroom. Once I conceded, he agreed to help me paint the living room a medium green with an army-green accent wall. Throughout the entire apartment, the wood borders were the same shade of brown.
In retrospect, I should have seen the living room painting adventure as a great sign of love from Tristan. Not only did he let me choose the shades of green for the largest room in our home, he did most of the painting since the archway was much taller than I am. The day he finally finished painting that archway, he slipped up behind me in the kitchen and pulled me close in the warmest hug he'd ever given me at that time. "Well hi!" I giggled and snuggled closer to him. "What's this for?"
"I just feel very accomplished," he answered with a smile and a kiss on my cheek.
Looking back, I think the reason why I never, ever complained to anyone about how much I hated that stupid green room was because of that one moment we shared. Because it only took a week before I loathed having an entirely green room that didn't match the warmth of the foyer. We would sit on the loveseat and recount our work days, or watch movies, or sit on the large windowsill to eat corn chowder, and all I could think about was how much I wished we didn't paint the living room green. And I knew it was my own stupid fault for insisting so strongly on having green walls, and I hated that my favorite room was the calming blue bedroom brainchild of Tristan's creative genius that I so enthusiastically tried to prevent from happening.
So whenever I wonder what happened to my love for all things green hued, I remember that living room. Which makes me remember the whole apartment and everything that happened in it, and despite the rough times that did occur, what I remember the best are all the good times. Tristan and I ripping off wood planks from a beautiful picture window, or huddling in the middle of the carpeted kitchen with candles and wine glasses filled with heart-shaped ice cubes and soda because we had no money for food or decent tableware. For most of our first month there, which happened to be January, the heater didn't work and we had no sheets for the bed. It was with scraped-together money that we bought flannel sheets on sale at my old workplace. Every morning Tristan would wake up a few hours before dawn to go to his early shift, and every morning he would kiss me right before he left.
"I realized that I was happiest when you were in my life. More." When Tristan told me that a few weeks ago, that eventful afternoon in which everything I'd given up on was suddenly handed to me on a silver platter, I couldn't help but wonder if that was just another easy line fed to appease me. But with all these memories, I realize now that he was 100% right. I was happiest when we were together, and "together" as in side-by-side, experiencing life and exploring the world.
Now we have that again. And I'm never, ever, ever painting a single wall green again.
11.07.2011
Sentimentals
I'm falling behind in my schoolwork, rent, life itself, and despite having every reason to be thrilled beyond belief, I can't escape this awful feeling of guilt and dread.
Tristan kept asking me if I've told Luke yet that we're together. I knew Luke was busy with his work, which consists a LOT of the things we used to do, so I didn't want to bother him in the midst of the current chaos to inform him of the relational changes. Deep down I prayed he would just never, ever contact me again so I wouldn't have to go through the awful process that is breaking a person's heart.
"I miss you."
At this text I banged my head against my work locker. Of course he had to text me. After a month of silence despite my inquiries, Luke just HAD to text me and with what? A sentimental note. I couldn't stop the hissed cursed and my new friend/coworker Niva asked me what was wrong. When I explained to her my issue, she just gave me a smile and shook her head. This was my problem to deal with.
So...I ripped it off quick like a bandage and told him. I have a boyfriend. What followed was a very, very tense silence and whenever he did respond to my texts, it was the short quips that indicate he is NOT happy at all. What was I supposed to say? I honestly thought he'd moved on, found some tail to bang on his downtime and forgot about me, and I totally understood. I thought he'd be happy for me since every time we talked about it, he encouraged me to just "go do it". Apparently I was wrong, or he was wrong, or whatever.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with Tristan and this needed to be done. So then why do I feel horrible? Why am I crying? To be perfectly honest... I'm going to miss the sweet little texts. And the "hey this song reminded me of you" links I'd get when we chatted.
I love Tristan, and he is a wonderful man and the one for me...he's just not really the warm-mushy type. I love him exactly as he is: strong, stubborn, resilient, passionate in his beliefs and adventurous in life. He is much more physically affectionate than he used to be, which is AMAZING and just leaps and bounds in improvement. And I will not ask him to "change" or do anything out of his nature, especially since that used to be a very bad habit of mine and I'm making as much of an effort as he is to making things work this time.
I just wonder, and often...does he think about me? Like, when he's at work or driving in the car, does he hear a song that reminds him of me? In the past he would surprise me with trinkets or just thoughtful gestures, like one night when I came home from an especially bad day at work to find our small apartment lit by candles and a note in the foyer. He had set up a scavenger hunt written completely in Goran (to sharpen my linguistics, of course) that led me around the softly lit area until I reached the end: a warm meal of sesame chicken and rice on a brand-new bamboo set with a wrapped box on the side. Inside the box was a small bag of chocolates and a large flower pendant made by one of my favorite designers.
Even when we swore we would never, ever be together again, I still wore that pendant. I could never figure out why. Especially when I knew we would be hanging out, or even if there was a chance we'd run into each other, I would pick an outfit to wear just to compliment that pendant. Oftentimes I would think about the morning he left for work at 5am only to return half an hour later with breakfast and the day off. Or the day I was almost tied up and stuffed in the attic, how he rushed home and searched for me then held me in his arms when we established he was the good guy. I remember sitting on the couch with him, his fingers stroking a strand of hair behind my ear as he told me we didn't have to worry about "uninvited visitors" anymore.
Perhaps it has just been difficult for me to believe that things are finally the way they should be. Or that I can actually allow myself to be happy again. I keep hearing the thousand reasons why this is such a bad idea, like "he's left you before, he'll leave you again", "you're not ready", "make sure he wants you for the right reasons". And I know they have grounds for disapproval. I have given my own friends the same "advice".
Is it so bad to want to be happy with the one person you've always known you love?
Tristan kept asking me if I've told Luke yet that we're together. I knew Luke was busy with his work, which consists a LOT of the things we used to do, so I didn't want to bother him in the midst of the current chaos to inform him of the relational changes. Deep down I prayed he would just never, ever contact me again so I wouldn't have to go through the awful process that is breaking a person's heart.
"I miss you."
At this text I banged my head against my work locker. Of course he had to text me. After a month of silence despite my inquiries, Luke just HAD to text me and with what? A sentimental note. I couldn't stop the hissed cursed and my new friend/coworker Niva asked me what was wrong. When I explained to her my issue, she just gave me a smile and shook her head. This was my problem to deal with.
So...I ripped it off quick like a bandage and told him. I have a boyfriend. What followed was a very, very tense silence and whenever he did respond to my texts, it was the short quips that indicate he is NOT happy at all. What was I supposed to say? I honestly thought he'd moved on, found some tail to bang on his downtime and forgot about me, and I totally understood. I thought he'd be happy for me since every time we talked about it, he encouraged me to just "go do it". Apparently I was wrong, or he was wrong, or whatever.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with Tristan and this needed to be done. So then why do I feel horrible? Why am I crying? To be perfectly honest... I'm going to miss the sweet little texts. And the "hey this song reminded me of you" links I'd get when we chatted.
I love Tristan, and he is a wonderful man and the one for me...he's just not really the warm-mushy type. I love him exactly as he is: strong, stubborn, resilient, passionate in his beliefs and adventurous in life. He is much more physically affectionate than he used to be, which is AMAZING and just leaps and bounds in improvement. And I will not ask him to "change" or do anything out of his nature, especially since that used to be a very bad habit of mine and I'm making as much of an effort as he is to making things work this time.
I just wonder, and often...does he think about me? Like, when he's at work or driving in the car, does he hear a song that reminds him of me? In the past he would surprise me with trinkets or just thoughtful gestures, like one night when I came home from an especially bad day at work to find our small apartment lit by candles and a note in the foyer. He had set up a scavenger hunt written completely in Goran (to sharpen my linguistics, of course) that led me around the softly lit area until I reached the end: a warm meal of sesame chicken and rice on a brand-new bamboo set with a wrapped box on the side. Inside the box was a small bag of chocolates and a large flower pendant made by one of my favorite designers.
Even when we swore we would never, ever be together again, I still wore that pendant. I could never figure out why. Especially when I knew we would be hanging out, or even if there was a chance we'd run into each other, I would pick an outfit to wear just to compliment that pendant. Oftentimes I would think about the morning he left for work at 5am only to return half an hour later with breakfast and the day off. Or the day I was almost tied up and stuffed in the attic, how he rushed home and searched for me then held me in his arms when we established he was the good guy. I remember sitting on the couch with him, his fingers stroking a strand of hair behind my ear as he told me we didn't have to worry about "uninvited visitors" anymore.
Perhaps it has just been difficult for me to believe that things are finally the way they should be. Or that I can actually allow myself to be happy again. I keep hearing the thousand reasons why this is such a bad idea, like "he's left you before, he'll leave you again", "you're not ready", "make sure he wants you for the right reasons". And I know they have grounds for disapproval. I have given my own friends the same "advice".
Is it so bad to want to be happy with the one person you've always known you love?
Epic
6am and I couldn't sleep.
After spending the day with our families, we were exhausted. Not to mention our own errands and breaks we took between visits... by 9pm Tristan was out cold in my bed and I was minutes from joining him. But I forgot one little, very important detail: he needs 12 hours to function or anything less makes him walk around like a zombie, while at 8 hours exactly I wake up and can't go back to sleep without spending some energy. So when we both went to bed at 9pm, he would be fresh and ready at 9am while I'd be awake for three hours beforehand, wondering what the heck do I do in the dark morning.
I rolled out of bed to use the bathroom, then slid back in with the idea that I'd just blog for a while until I would tire again. But the second I slid under the covers, Tristan rolled over in his sleep, slipped an arm around me and lay his head on my shoulder. He was warm, comfy, and in minutes I was asleep again.
Tristan once said that our story would either be one of the greatest love stories of all time, or the greatest tragedy. For almost two years I was thinking it was a tragedy, but now...what can I say?
When I was 13 I lived in an apartment with my mother and sister, a place we had found in a hurry after fleeing my adopted father. It was just in the county seat, and a nice place, but it was also a constant reminder that the things I had shoved away in my mind from when I was only 2 were happening again. The running, the hiding, and the constant yelling. I hated the yelling. And in this particular night, Mom was on the phone yelling at her soon-to-be-ex-husband over something, crying, begging for peace...and I was in my room by the window, trying to block it all out. I didn't want to hear it happening all over again. Most of all, I didn't want to go through it myself, especially if I were to have children. So I slid to my knees and begged God to spare me of the same fate, to be specific and force me to be only with the one man He chose for me. I cried, begged, pleaded for God to just let me have this one thing in life, a love story greater than any other, something for the ages, someone handpicked for me so I wouldn't go through the heartache that filled the world around me.
I had no idea that He already knew I would ask for that. I didn't know that when I was only 5 a boy from the stars was hidden on this planet by his father to keep him safe. When I was growing up I thought my father was a con artist living in California; even my mother had no clue that he was actually one of the top agents in a ghost division of Special Ops, and a trainer for a group of boys that included the one from the stars. The boy grew up to love and admire his trainer like a father, never knowing the other man who befriended him and kept a close eye on him was his real father. When my father was framed, the boy who was becoming a man wanted revenge and chose me to be the target. When he was exiled, his own father declined to accompany him and eventually became a friend of mine, someone I looked to for help and guidance. Then one day the boy who was now a man came home and met me, thinking he'd finally get the chance to finish what he started.
Tristan said it was something in my face. All the anger and hatred he had towards me for just being my father's daughter dissolved into something that worried him. It took two years of dancing on the edge of sanity, of reconciling the events of our lives that inexplicably bound us together whether we liked it or not, to come to an acceptance that no matter how much we struggled, God had something planned for us that has been in the works since before we were born.
All these things floated in my mind as I lay there in bed, my hand caressing Tristan's arm where it wrapped around my waist. Only God could make such an incredible story, an epic saga of an exiled prince and a half-human seer bound together by something greater than we can truly understand.
After spending the day with our families, we were exhausted. Not to mention our own errands and breaks we took between visits... by 9pm Tristan was out cold in my bed and I was minutes from joining him. But I forgot one little, very important detail: he needs 12 hours to function or anything less makes him walk around like a zombie, while at 8 hours exactly I wake up and can't go back to sleep without spending some energy. So when we both went to bed at 9pm, he would be fresh and ready at 9am while I'd be awake for three hours beforehand, wondering what the heck do I do in the dark morning.
I rolled out of bed to use the bathroom, then slid back in with the idea that I'd just blog for a while until I would tire again. But the second I slid under the covers, Tristan rolled over in his sleep, slipped an arm around me and lay his head on my shoulder. He was warm, comfy, and in minutes I was asleep again.
Tristan once said that our story would either be one of the greatest love stories of all time, or the greatest tragedy. For almost two years I was thinking it was a tragedy, but now...what can I say?
When I was 13 I lived in an apartment with my mother and sister, a place we had found in a hurry after fleeing my adopted father. It was just in the county seat, and a nice place, but it was also a constant reminder that the things I had shoved away in my mind from when I was only 2 were happening again. The running, the hiding, and the constant yelling. I hated the yelling. And in this particular night, Mom was on the phone yelling at her soon-to-be-ex-husband over something, crying, begging for peace...and I was in my room by the window, trying to block it all out. I didn't want to hear it happening all over again. Most of all, I didn't want to go through it myself, especially if I were to have children. So I slid to my knees and begged God to spare me of the same fate, to be specific and force me to be only with the one man He chose for me. I cried, begged, pleaded for God to just let me have this one thing in life, a love story greater than any other, something for the ages, someone handpicked for me so I wouldn't go through the heartache that filled the world around me.
I had no idea that He already knew I would ask for that. I didn't know that when I was only 5 a boy from the stars was hidden on this planet by his father to keep him safe. When I was growing up I thought my father was a con artist living in California; even my mother had no clue that he was actually one of the top agents in a ghost division of Special Ops, and a trainer for a group of boys that included the one from the stars. The boy grew up to love and admire his trainer like a father, never knowing the other man who befriended him and kept a close eye on him was his real father. When my father was framed, the boy who was becoming a man wanted revenge and chose me to be the target. When he was exiled, his own father declined to accompany him and eventually became a friend of mine, someone I looked to for help and guidance. Then one day the boy who was now a man came home and met me, thinking he'd finally get the chance to finish what he started.
Tristan said it was something in my face. All the anger and hatred he had towards me for just being my father's daughter dissolved into something that worried him. It took two years of dancing on the edge of sanity, of reconciling the events of our lives that inexplicably bound us together whether we liked it or not, to come to an acceptance that no matter how much we struggled, God had something planned for us that has been in the works since before we were born.
All these things floated in my mind as I lay there in bed, my hand caressing Tristan's arm where it wrapped around my waist. Only God could make such an incredible story, an epic saga of an exiled prince and a half-human seer bound together by something greater than we can truly understand.
11.02.2011
New Beginnings
We sat on the couch, drinking the epic cranberry Sierra Mist that (sadly) only comes out for the holiday season, just staring at the blank television and talking. I was trying to ignore the if-he-was-normal-these-would-be-signals that Tristan had been giving all week, and chastising myself for even entertaining the thought that maybe, possibly, there was more to it than weirdness.
He was currently telling me about how he was unhappy in the gay scene, how it seemed to all be about just sex, etc. I know he said more on the subject but it's a blurred memory due to what he said next: "So that's why I want to give us another chance."
To prevent myself from coughing Sierra Mist out of my nose, I took a deep gulp and swallowed hard, then turned to Tristan with a calm smile. "I'm sorry, what?"
Tristan laughed softly and smiled. "I want to give us another chance."
Somewhere inside me I rebelled. I'm no idiot; last time was hell and a half just trying to ride my own emotions alongside his "episodes", not to mention the barrage of verbal and emotional abuse on both our parts. "Keep talking."
He explained that he'd spoken with his mom about his unhappiness, and she told him to think about when he was happier and see what's different. "That's when I realized....when I was happiest, you were in my life. More."
"Awwww!" I leaned back into the couch, the ice around my heart melting already. Dammit. "I hate you. I'm supposed to say no, but after that..." I sighed. "Sure, why not."
I didn't expect much. I mean, I knew what to expect. Hanging out, pecks here and there, hugs when needed, but otherwise we'd spend time talking about hypotheticals that would never happen. Just like now, where we would return to staring at the wall while I stammered my way through an awkward conversation-
He gently grabbed my chin, turned my face back to him and kissed me. I mean, kissed me.
For a moment I actually thought and pulled back enough to see if this was really, truly happening. Tristan grinned and said, "I've been wanting to do that all night."
Okay. That was new.
24 hours later hypotheticals were being erased by reality and my expectations for the same old, same old were thrown out the window.
He was currently telling me about how he was unhappy in the gay scene, how it seemed to all be about just sex, etc. I know he said more on the subject but it's a blurred memory due to what he said next: "So that's why I want to give us another chance."
To prevent myself from coughing Sierra Mist out of my nose, I took a deep gulp and swallowed hard, then turned to Tristan with a calm smile. "I'm sorry, what?"
Tristan laughed softly and smiled. "I want to give us another chance."
Somewhere inside me I rebelled. I'm no idiot; last time was hell and a half just trying to ride my own emotions alongside his "episodes", not to mention the barrage of verbal and emotional abuse on both our parts. "Keep talking."
He explained that he'd spoken with his mom about his unhappiness, and she told him to think about when he was happier and see what's different. "That's when I realized....when I was happiest, you were in my life. More."
"Awwww!" I leaned back into the couch, the ice around my heart melting already. Dammit. "I hate you. I'm supposed to say no, but after that..." I sighed. "Sure, why not."
I didn't expect much. I mean, I knew what to expect. Hanging out, pecks here and there, hugs when needed, but otherwise we'd spend time talking about hypotheticals that would never happen. Just like now, where we would return to staring at the wall while I stammered my way through an awkward conversation-
He gently grabbed my chin, turned my face back to him and kissed me. I mean, kissed me.
For a moment I actually thought and pulled back enough to see if this was really, truly happening. Tristan grinned and said, "I've been wanting to do that all night."
Okay. That was new.
24 hours later hypotheticals were being erased by reality and my expectations for the same old, same old were thrown out the window.
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