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fifty-four:: when pauly met jules.

[Hold Me Down by Daniel Caesar; Pablo Luis Martinez-Jones]

THERE IS MATURE CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER. IT'S NOT THAT SIGNIFICANT TO THE PLOT SO IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE READING THINGS LIKE THIS, I'LL GIVE YOU A WARNING BEFORE IT STARTS AND WHEN IT ENDS.

TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT, SELF-HARM MENTIONED, NOTHING too GRAPHIC.

FIFTY-FOUR: when pauly met jules.

We didn't acknowledge the love thing after he'd said it. I was completely sure that this was something that he wanted to talk about in person and I tried to ignore how sad that made me. Paul had already told me something like this before and he hadn't meant it as much as I did and getting my hopes up now would only spark the match used to incinerate my feelings later. I was doing that thing where I pretended like it didn't bother me, pretending had become increasingly hard to do though.

It was almost as if my feelings were something like Pandora's box, once I opened up I couldn't shut down like before. I had become used to talking about my feelings or coping with my feelings that keeping them to myself felt like an impossible chore.

It wasn't all bad though, our relationship had never been stronger, my father and I talked frequently and I could safely say that I was realizing that the way I felt was valid.

Still, I knew that Paul had his reasons for what he said and how he reacted to things so I grazed over it. I could tell from his sigh that he was somewhat relieved that we wouldn't hash it out right then, we exchanged some sentiments and then he'd hung up.

That was for the best because, even if it did throw me into a spiral of me trying to distract myself from the fact that maybe we'd never get there, it got my mind off of the blond who had bulldozed through my life yet again and I couldn't help the fact that it felt like a new wound, I had kept it suppressed though, shaky breath leaving me. A mixture of sadness and optimism weighed me down and stretched me out like a game of tug-of-war.

It was around two hours later when my front door had opened, footsteps ascending my stairs and I sat there sketching in a book Paul had gotten me a while back. During my first few months in therapy, Paul had made sure to attend a few meetings with me and one day in particular, he'd pulled up in front of a craft store afterwards. I wasn't quite sure what he was doing when he'd drug me out of the car and -due to it being a rough day- I had held my head down to hide my rosy, tear-stained cheeks. I was in sweats and he still made sure to assure me of how good I looked as he led me through the aisles, holding my hand until we'd gotten to the drawing section of the store and he'd told me to pick out a sketchbook I wanted.

There was something so intimate about how he wrapped me in his arms then, craning his neck over my shoulder and his hand grazing the books as he explained the differences and the sizes and which ones I could paint in and then over the different tools and media and I had sunk into his frame, listening to everything. He was taller than me, yeah I was bigger, but in these moments, he had made me feel so small and secure.

"Hi, baby." He'd spoken once he'd knocked on my door a few times and I had called out a greeting, him stumbling in with a few shopping bags and a little duffle that he'd carried while traveling. I knew he had come straight here and the thought of being the first one he went to see made my heart warm.

He was dressed nicer than usual, a white button up rolled up to quarter sleeve and some dark jeans clinging -perfectly tailored- to his thighs.

Smiling, I watched as he threw his bags down before jumping onto the bed beside me and shoving his face into my chest, trying to gain my attention. I'd set the sketchbook in my hand down, gently, smiling at the way he instantly wrapped me in his embrace and I had to laugh at the way he huffed when he couldn't get comfortable, until he'd draped his entire body on top of mine and went to kiss my lips gingerly. It was a slow kiss but it was also sweet and I felt his fingers brushing my cheek with such care before pulling away and pecking me once more.