Better Than Words

Leaving

On Friday night we are sitting in my hotel room, watching Netflix on Niall's computer. His hand is in mine, thumb gently running over the skin on my wrist.

Being this way is no longer comfortable. Not like it was at the beginning of the week. But the reason why it's uncomfortable now is because of the pit in my stomach that's grown heavier and heavier at the thought of going back home tomorrow.

Our plane leaves in the afternoon, and every day since I've met Niall, I've gone over different scenarios of how this could end. There could be a tearful goodbye, a "see you later," or no goodbye at all; it all depends on whether or not this week was real and not just a fling. But with as great as Niall is and how genuine he seems whenever he does anything...it's hard for me to shake this off. So I've been going over ways to distance myself to make the cleanest break, and though I haven't decided how, if it's going to happen, now is the best time.

"Ali?" His soft voice interrupts me zoning out while watching Patrick Swayze dance to Time of My Life.

"Hmm?" I respond without looking at him.

"Everything okay love? You've been quiet this whole movie. All day, really...What's wrong?" His question lets me know my opportunity is close.

"Nothing. I'm fine," I flash him a quick smile and go back to watching the movie.

"Come on, Ali. I know it's only been a week, but I already know that you--"

"No you don't, Niall, that's just it. It's been a week. You don't know me, so please don't act like you do," I snap. The words come out before I can stop them, but not before I register the hurt I know they will cause the both of us.

"What? Ali, seriously, what's going on?" His clear eyes search mine for an explanation of my behavior.

"Nothing, I just..." I try to come up with a reason for my outburst. "I don't like that you act like you know everything about me. 20 Questions doesn't equate to my life story, and a week doesn't mean anything."

He recoils as if I've physically hurt him and turns to face the wall, his feet hanging off the bed.

"Doesn't mean anything...?" He stands to face me now. "I thought we'd had a good time this week--what the hell, Ali, where is this coming from? What did I do?"

The truth is that he hasn't done anything. He's fucking perfect. He's been sweet and kind and polite and everything a girl could ever want. Here's the catch though: we're going back home tomorrow. Leaving the country. And this perfect boy will be just a memory, no matter how great he was. We don't know each other and I don't know how I could have been stupid enough to let things get this far. I've got no clue how he will act when I leave--probably just like any other guy, and he'll move onto the next girl who will fall for his smile and his eyes.

The problem is that I don't actually believe that.

I don't believe that he's like other guys, and that's the hardest part. I don't want to leave him behind, but there is no way in hell I'm going to try to keep a long-distance relationship going. A guy in a different city is one thing, maybe even a different state, but across an entire ocean? Call it cynical, but that only works out well in books.

Here I've been, worrying about this for the last few wonderful days. What happens when I leave? What if this is too good to be true? What if I open myself up to him and it doesn't work, after putting time and effort into trying to make it? What if I count on it to stay good, and he gets bored, or loses interest, and it just isn't good anymore? A million doubts have swarmed my head since he first spent the night, and I'm scared shitless that one of them will be proven right.