It's September and I need a roommate. I couldn't live in the dorms anymore. I was fed up of being paired with idiots. I was done sharing my kitchen and my bathroom with an entire floor. When I signed the lease for my apartment, I did it with the guy...
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It's September and the editing isn't going so well for the documentary and I still have no idea what I'm doing or what I'm trying to say and everything pisses me off so now I'm just furiously cooking, trying to distract myself. Holt is gone to the gym so I'm all alone and I can blast I Don't Need A Man without being judged.
I'm so scared that this documentary isn't going to be as good as the others. Before, we didn't have anything to live up to. It didn't matter. But now people are expecting something good and it's scary. It's my idea, not Keith's, I've come up with this on my own and he's letting me figure things out and I'm not sure it was such a good idea to give me that much creative liberties. And I'm especially concerned because it's my first project with Holt. If it's not any good, I don't want the fault to fall on Holt.
I thought documentary making was going to get easier with time, not harder.
The front door open and Holt says, "Oh god, Pussycat Dolls? This is really bad."
"STOP JUDGING MY MUSICAL CHOICES!"
Holt walks in the kitchen, assessing the damages. "Boo, you're worth more than the Pussycat Dolls. Put some Beyoncé on instead."
"No, no, I don't deserve Beyoncé. All I get is Nicole Scherzinger and her nameless back up singers," I answer dramatically.
Holt snorts a laugh. "God, you're adorable."
"No, that's usually you actually. I'm not adorable, I'm like a cat that thinks it's a feral beast."
"Adorable," Holt repeats coming up to me.
He kisses me with a smile, his hand around my face. I wrap my own around his waist, holding on to him tightly.
Holt lets go of my face and starts turning off all the knobs on the stove. Before I can say anything about what he might want to do if he needs to prevent a fire, Holt drops on his knees and pulls my pants down and I'm fighting against my eyes that want to close.
He's so good that I have to hold on to the counter behind me and press a hand to his shoulder to stay upright. "Shit, Holt keep this up and I'm gonna fall on the ground," I moan and the beautiful bastard just smiles around my dick, and fuuuuuck.
I thought I was going to rock Holt's world. I thought I'll show him sex like he's never seen before, he'll think he was a virgin before he met me, and here I am, laying on the floor of our kitchen with my pants down my ass and I feel completely empty but like, in a good way, like everything bad inside of me has been sucked out by Holt and I'm still an incoherent mess, like I think I could actually cry, I've got my arm over my eyes to hide myself if I actually do and Holt is just sitting there beside me all proud of himself and he's got one of my foot on his lap and he's rubbing it, and I think I want to marry him.
And not just because our sex is mind blowing, but because I love him. I've only ever loved him. I'll only ever love him. There will never be anyone else. And I think I've wanted this for a long time now. I've wanted it when we were on the Great Wall of China. I've wanted it every time we were at my parents' place. I've wanted it when we first made love. I've wanted it when he first said I love you and when he finally realized his feelings for me. I've wanted it when I thought my unrequited love for him was going to kill me. I've wanted it when I realized he was my best friend. I've wanted it when he first walked into my apartment.
But I can't possibly just blurt it out like this. It's so freaking unromantic. Holt deserves more than a quickie after-blow marriage proposal.
"What are you thinking about?" Holt suddenly asks me.
I'm wondering who's going to look the hottest in a white dress. "That I love you," I answer, peeking at him from under my arm.
"I love you too," he answers, smiling at me. "And I know it's useless to say it, but don't make yourself sick over this documentary. It's okay if it's not a hit. It's okay if it's not a masterpiece."
I sit up. "But I really want it to be."
Holt strokes my hair. "And it will be, if you stop overthinking it. It doesn't have to be complicated. Make it simple."
I take a deep breath and take his hand, leaning my head against his shoulder. "Make it simple..." I repeat softly.
I look at his hand in my own. It would look good with a ring on.
