Pent up

New things

After coming clean about everything, a few more tearful hugs and confessions later, we were officially over.

Finally.

It was a long time coming, honestly, and we were too blind to realize.

Free.

No more cheating, sneaking around, no more guilt or remorse.

We were free to explore the new relationships we so desperately denied to ourselves,

and I was free to do whatever the fuck I wanted. Fuck whomever the fuck I wanted.

This newfound freedom was almost dizzying, certainly scary.
And most definitely exciting.

My phone chimes with a new message, lighting up the already dim room, and I squeal. Not literally, but you get it...a manly squeal. A silent internal manly squeal.

Cris:
We're meeting at the bar at 11

That text is like a shot of adrenaline straight to the veins, bland in tone but the implication behind it titillating. I am left restlessly staring at my phone, reading the text over and over again, smiling to myself.

I am for sure doing whatever the fuck I wanted tonight- but, I mean, can I?

My foot bounces in place, and the clock seems to move so slow now.

I may be free but Cris... not so much. What does an open relationship even entail?
How far is too far?
Can we flirt or touch with Martin there?
Can we kiss?
Will we?- A sudden thrill runs up my spine at that thought.

God, look at me, quivering like a fucking schoolgirl.

I'm sure we will talk about that later, I think, shrugging to no one, in the meantime should I have a shower?
I bounce from the bed and open my closet, eager, restless.
Maybe I could pick an outfit for tonight... not like I have anything other than sweats and hoodies...
Should I go buy a shirt? Or maybe wash those jeans I never use...
Do I have any cologne left?

After some deep diving for something decent to wear, hidden beneath piles of sweaty shirts and hoodies, were the more casual non-athletic clothes I owned.
I washed and ironed some at random, and did the same with some jeans I managed to find stuffed into a duffle bag, wonder how they even got there, but after all that, I still didn't know what to wear.
Should I be more comfortable with the baggy jeans I found? The dark wash ones? The button up shirt or the sleeveless? God, this was a nightmare.
It's safe to say my room looks like a hurricane has visited after that fiasco and I am not even done getting ready.

Just as I am succumbing to the demon of deep despair telling me not to go, Diego enters our room.

"My... god" He mutters as he slowly closes the door behind him, visibly repulsed by the clothes strewn on the floor "What the fuck happened here? Hurricane Catrina paid a visit and no one had the decency to warn me?"

He tiptoes around the only two patches of visible carpet and makes it to his bed, placing his backpack on top.

I leap over the huge pile of clothes near the bathroom door that restricts my passage and make it in front of him, grabbing a handful of his shirt and shaking him.

"Help me! I don't know what to wear" I plead, literally getting on my knees to do so "I have the wardrobe of a 12 year old child. How am I supposed to show up at a bar wearing basketball shorts!"

He looks no more affronted than before, which is not saying much because he already looks horrified as he stares at me, wide eyed.

"Oh, so you are aware of the disaster that is your fashion sense. Great" He burst into a full bodied cackle, head thrown back and hands at his belly.