The Fuck Journal

Chapter Seven

Slash

Oh, Duff. Oh, my sweet, sweet, dorky asshole. He finally caught me. I finally said it, and I hadn't felt this fucking good in a long time! But before I get started dishing out details on all my plans for our date night, let me try to explain my side of the story...besides the fact that I acted like a total asshole before the whole situation came to a head.

I had spent days agonizing, trying to rationalize what I felt after the night at his house. It really did hit me like a fuckin' freight train, right there as we were eating. I felt like a damn mule had kicked me in the chest. My stomach clenched and I actually felt kind of...nauseated. I was scared and I didn't have a fuckin' clue how to handle it. Maybe that's why I spent the next few days calling him so often, because no matter how skittish I was, a part of me always sought out that comfort, that familiarity, even if it was just over a phone.

I tried denying it, but I could never ignore the surge of happiness I felt every time I heard his voice...especially when I heard him laugh. Over and over again it happened, with every ring of the phone, every joke, every stupid little thing we bullshitted about. I didn't know how to tell him. I didn't know if I could go through with it. I'd pussed out so many times before, even just trying to fuck around with him before we first started, and I had made my decision before I hung out with him and Axl that night at the bar: I didn't want to chicken out anymore. I was gonna do it. I just didn't know when or how it'd come to light, and I was willing to hang out, bide my time and wait for the right moment...I just didn't know it'd be so soon.

I'm actually quite grateful for that fucked up night at the bar, Axl throwing us off, poor Sherry, who I'm sure was really freaked out, and finally, me getting drunk and sick enough to let these emotions out. It was like a dam broke and I couldn't stop. All this shit just came tumbling out and I couldn't hold it back any longer.

I hated myself. I fucking did. I felt like such a complete, utter asshole. I felt like I was leading him on, and I was so ashamed of it 'cause he was my friend and I really cared about him, and here I am, fuckin' around, and suddenly get hit with, "Oh, shit. I'm in love with my best friend!" right there in that kitchen. I panicked. I ran away. Classic fuckin' Slash. I was a total dick to a guy who'd just given me one of the best nights of my life, just fuckin' left him standing there while I took off to brood and wallow with this realization.

I was well aware that I had some fears, some irrational and some not. I knew that we both felt the same somewhere deep in my heart, but I couldn't get over the paranoia that I would be judged, even by him, though I knew in my heart of hearts that he would never drag me through the coals, but I was so afraid of being laughed at, so afraid of being ostracized that it temporarily overrode my want of us to be together. Really, truly be together, not just ducking away into secluded corners and hotel rooms, sweet little words and gestures adding fuel to a growing fire, as well as this fucking primal, passionate sex that I craved just as much as the attention he doted upon me. It had started that way, after all, but after some time the need for him to hold me, kiss me, and spend time with me in a way that wasn't physical grew stronger, even more than the love of the sex we had together. But don't get me wrong, though, the sex is fuckin' great!

He'll never know how thankful I was for his kind words, there on my bathroom floor, and I'll never forget the emotions on his face when he told me he loved me. No one had ever looked at me like that before. No one had ever made me feel like that before. No one had ever made me feel more loved, more safe. I was so racked with guilt for running away and not manning up. I finally knew how much he cared, and I had just left him standing there that day at his house. I'm a fucking asshole!

I spent so much time clutched to his chest like a depressed, tortured barnacle that I had time to think, albeit frantically. Think about all the emotions I'd been feeling over the past few days...alright, fine, over the passing weeks and months. Take them apart, scrutinize them, and arrange them into a coherent, undeniable core truth. I had time where I actually felt safe enough to think about what I needed to say and how to say it. Time to gather that courage that I needed and tell him the words he had to hear and that he absolutely deserved to hear. The genuine words that I had to say out loud, to admit, and to repeat like a mantra. It was true, I loved him. Simple as that. And once I could see it for what it was, I had felt pretty ridiculous for being so afraid. This dude would never hurt me, so why the hell was I so terrified?