'Hey Belle, I'm really sorry about last night. I'm hoping I can make it up to you. Please call me.'
I held my finger anxiously over the keyboard, contemplating whether to text or call. He'd asked for a phone conversation, but I felt that it might be too uncomfortable. He'd sent the text more than an hour ago, but I wasn't checking my phone due to the fact I wasn't sure he would contact me; if he hadn't, I'd feel a little upset. The choice was difficult, but in the end I hadn't had one anyway. My phone buzzed in my hand, George's called ID flashing on the screen. Answering, I felt nausea wash over me. The lump in my throat felt a little too large.
"Hello?" He spoke, and I waited a few seconds before responding.
"Hi." The only word I could seemingly get out. It wasn't because I was sad, as I wasn't. I felt happy that he'd cared this much. Maybe it was fear. The dawning feeling he genuinely doesn't like me like I do, and he truly regrets last night purely for the reason that he 'led me on'. My eyes drifted across the wall and down to the floor. I replayed the moment in my head, over and over. It was such a special moment - it reminded me of when we were younger and first started dating.
We'd ordered pizza and stuck on some superhero movie, though neither of us were actually interested in it. After six months together, we'd had ups and downs. But hearing the rain pour on the dorm window, picking up cheesy slices and feeding one another to the faint sound of Spiderman seemed romantic. Smiling widely, he picked up another piece. It drooped down, and as it did he held it up nearer my face. I opened my mouth, and he put the tip onto my tongue. I bit down, pulling away and chewing the pizza. Afterward, I did the same for him. I didn't know how, but on the second-to-last slice, we'd ended up kissing. He tasted like cheese and tomato, of course with hints of tobacco. Our tongues met, and my top was being thrown to the floor. Pulling away, I placed the pizza box on the floor beside the bed, knowing I would want to finish it off after. George laughed at me, and when I turned back round to face him, I felt this pull of attraction to him. The closer I got, I looked into his eyes. The usual brown iris, yet every time I'd looked into them, I felt that I was seeing more beauty. We leaned forward once more. It had escalated to us both being in our underwear, and him kissing down my stomach, trying to distract me from focusing on him putting on a condom.
But then there were worse times. As the relationship aged, he rarely reciprocated my affections toward him. When he did, it had made it more special, though. I blame it to be due to his illness. He was growing more and more depressed. But, at the time, I thought it was me.
"Please." I begged, inches from his face.
"Shut the fuck up." He pushed me off of his lap, and I sank into the mattress. He didn't want to kiss me. Had it been me? Getting up, I go to the bathroom, looking into the mirror. Staring at me had been a pale faced girl, of which I barely recognized. I had lost weight, bruises framed most of my features. Maybe he didn't like how I'd looked - if only I had a natural beauty. I took off my shirt, standing on my toes to look at my body. Bruised, and fatter than usual. The only part of me I'd liked had been the tattoo on my collar, because George had shared the same one. It was all I'd liked - this showed I was his. Walking back into the bedroom, I sat beside him once more.
"Do you love me?" I asked quietly. He turned to face me, looking pissed off.
"Fuck off with that. If I didn't love you, I'd have left you by now."
Although that had meant he loved me, it felt bad. I wanted him to be as happy as I was around him. The company we gave one another should have made the other feel safe, comforted, happy. The protection I felt around him, I knew he didn't get that from me. He loved me, but did he like me?
"I'm so sorry. Really, I am." His voice was deeper than usual, either due to the early hours or perhaps he'd been smoking non-stop. A reply from myself was absent. After running through scenarios in my head, I couldn't say anything. I wanted everything back to normal, our odd relationship and the does he, doesn't he, instead of the feeling of an overpowering doesn't.
"Please talk to me." He tried again, and although I hadn't known what to say, I had to think of something.
"I still love you, George."
That hadn't been the right thing to say, that would never, in any situation, have been the right thing to say.
"You can't - after everything? How-" I cut him off, trying to justify my words.
"I don't know why, but it doesn't change how I feel. Mom was right. You shouldn't be back, because when you leave again it will hurt five times more than the last time."
"Can I come over?" He questioned.
"No, George." I was shocked that I was suddenly taking this by the balls.
There was no communication over the line for a while. It must have been a few minutes before he piped up again.
"What if we lay down some ground rules or something-"
"This isn't the fucking Kissing Booth George, this is real life. If you don't feel the same, I genuinely have no idea what to do, or what I should do." I stopped myself, but as he started to speak once more, I interrupted. "But you know what, if you do feel the same, I still won't know what to do. Because I'm still afraid."
"I don't know how I feel." He said bluntly. I took that worse than most people would have, but this means there's hope, right? I knew he was just saying this to save me from going off the rails again. He didn't love me, perhaps he had liked me as a friend, but not how I'd wanted him to.
"So this is it, then?" I asked. He cleared his throat, and all I could hear is the crackle of the line.
"Of course I have feelings for you, Belle," As he finished, I began to smile. There was a mutual emotional agreement here. Perhaps I would be able to not feel like I'm treading on ice. "but I can't be with you, because I can't hurt you anymore."
"That's bullshit." I replied, angry. "The only way you're hurting me is by not being honest with me, and also yourself. You'll hurt me if you want to. But if we feel this way, don't we deserve a second chance?" It sounded a little bit like I was begging at this point, though I had been desperate.
"A second chance of an abusive, overpowering relationship? Belle, not to be rude, but I don't know if I can meet your emotional needs - and my illness is also a lot to take on. I don't see how it would work."
My heart sank. Although I understood what he was saying, I couldn't accept it.
"Can't we try?" I asked. I could feel his hesitance over the phone.
"Let me come over, please." He asked, and I sighed.
"Okay."
sorry so short - unedited 1300 wordz
