When Zeke called me, I left my house so fast that by the time my cord had stopped swinging from the violent ripping off my phone off the charger, I was already in his bed. I know how incredibly unhealthy it is to be at this man’s beck and call. I know that he does not care about me. I know that I am convenient, but I do not care. Maybe that isn’t entirely true, I do sometimes care, like when I am alone at night and realize that he probably isn’t. However, right now, wrapped in his red silk sheets, and tangles up tight in his arms, I could not care less.

There’s a hypnotic quality to his touch. His fingertips lightly squeezing my side make me forget the entire year I spent crying over him. His kiss on my neck blocks out the pain he caused, not only mine but every other woman he’s hurt. Right now, in his arms, I can’t remember a thing other than the I’ve missed you’s and the You better never leave again’s. It doesn’t matter who I had to lie too to be here, which I should add was a significant amount of family and friends. All that really matters to me is the way his face looks smushed up against his pillow staring at me, and the way he smiles while he’s kissing me.

No other man will give me that weak-kneed feeling like a school girl. Maybe Zeke can only give that to me because I was a school girl when he trapped me. He made me feel something for the first time, and now he’s the only person I fear I’ll ever feel for again. His fingers trace my back, and I look up at his face. He has me pulled close to him tightened in a blanket. One arm is wrapped under me, holding on. With the other arm his fingers were interlaced with mine. His heartbeat right underneath my face was comforting. Laying on his chest was my favorite feeling in the world, but the chances to rest on him are few and far between. He isn’t always willing to be this romantic with me.

Visiting Zeke was like Russian Roulette, broken heart edition. I never knew which visit was going to break me. The last time he called me over he kissed me hard and passionately but when he was tired of me, sent me away. After we got dressed, I tried to kiss him one last time before I was on my way back to the job I was supposed to be doing.  He shied away from me, and wouldn’t let me near him.  I remember yelling at him, pleading for him to tell me what I did wrong. I called him “Wishy Washy” and inconsistent. He didn’t even look at me. Then he said the words that sent me into a three-week spiral of drinking and not going to work and then drinking because I felt bad about not going to work. “We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” I still remember the slam of the door behind me. I wonder if he could hear me crying through his apartment walls. I still have a rule of never crying in front of him, but there is no doubt he knows how bad he hurts me. Sometimes I wonder if he craves the power it gives. Does he like the way it feels to be entirely in control of my emotions?

This visit, we haven’t even slept together yet. When I first came over, I immediately began undressing, per the usual. I felt that there couldn’t be much more he wanted from me. Before I could get to the second button, he stopped me. He kissed me on the forehead and said: “Let’s just hang out.” I was so confused, but I would never turn down time with him. He cooked me dinner, the meatloaf recipe I had stolen from my dad and cooked for him on our first date back during Freshman year. He had the same crumpled piece of construction paper. I jotted the recipe down on all those years ago. We ate and laughed. He kissed me, and it reminded me of all the kisses before everything became toxic. He kissed me like we used to before the “I hate you” conversations happened regularly.

I then put my jacket on and got ready to go; I was going to leave while he was in the bathroom because I didn’t want to hear him tell me goodbye. I like to leave randomly because when he is ready for me to leave, he isn't nice anymore. Rather than overstay my welcome, I under stay. As I am packing up my belongings into my purse, he asked me not to go. He doesn’t like to sleep alone. I knew this, and I didn’t expect him to choose me to keep his bed warm.

“Neither do I,” I respond and here we are. I wish our story could in right here. With him missing me so much he has me stay the night, and we are wrapped in each other’s arms for eternity. It won’t though. Eventually, he is going to get tired of me, he is going to tell me to leave, he will say things that hurt my feelings, and I will retaliate. It always happens this way. I think in the long run I am making a huge mistake by letting myself be all tangled up in his arms, but for right now everything about this just feels right. It’s like before I was with him, I was freezing, and now I need the warmth of his body to survive. Not literally, but emotionally. I go cold and numb without him, but when I am with him, he opens up every part of my mind. I am me again. It’s like I forgot how to exist when he left the first time, and I am only reminded every time he comes back around.

I look up at his beautiful face. I unlock my hand from his and reach to trace his plump lips with my fingertips. How could I not remember fondly all the times those where pressed against mine. He stirs slightly then opens his eyes. HE looks down on me, and I feel my entire body weaken. Luckily, I am already lying down, or else I would’ve faceplanted wherever I was at. He smiled, his big toothy grin, and I try to remember the last time He looked at me like that. It had been a while. His arm wrapped around my side, and he squeezed me close, pressing his lips on my forehead.

“What are you doing up,” he asked in his growly morning man voice.

“I couldn’t sleep” that was true. “It’s little hot in here,” but that was not why I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep because I feared the idea of losing any moments alone with him. I did not want to miss any part of him holding me, or wanting me. Dreams could never compare to the feeling of his arms wrapped around my body. I knew all too quickly I would be missing out on this again, so I need to relish it.

Tightening his grip around me and pulling me closer to his body, he grinned. “Too hot for me to hold you.” I closed the distance between his face and mine, disregarding his morning breath (with a hint of residual alcohol) and kissed him deeply.

“There will never be a time where I don’t want you to hold me,” I say as I pull away from his lips. His brown eyes held my entire world inside. He fixated me; his beauty was captivating. I could study the little changes in his face, the way he reacts with his eyes for hours. He was my favorite art piece. His perfect lips turned up into a smile as if he felt the same way. I know he doesn’t. If he felt the same way, we would be like this always. I would never have to worry about losing him. I would be able to relax a little more when he loosened his grip on me, instead of wondering when our time was going to come to an end.

“I wish I could hold you forever” he took a piece of my hair, previously framing my face and twirled it around his fingers. He seemed sincere; that was something I usually never get from him. The change of pace was refreshing, but terrifying at the same time.

“Why don’t you then?” I challenge, mostly joking, but in my heart, I want a real answer.

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“Do I though?” He looked away from me, and I pushed his chin back up, so we were eye to eye. “Or is it really just that simple?” He shook his head, and I dropped my hand back down to the bed. I laid on my side watching him as he stood up. My body tensed up when he let go of me, the fear of what could possibly happen next swelled within me. Was he about to cut our time short? Was I about to have to leave? He turned towards the wall to stretch out his arms. His shoulders looked as if they were contemplating tearing his shirt apart.

“I couldn’t hold you all the time, we both work” turning is head back to me he smiled. He knew that wasn’t what I meant.

I sat up in bed. I placed the pillow on my lap and squeezed it tight. Looking away from him, I stared out the window. The sun was beginning to come up. This is the first time in a long time I had been able to stay the whole night.

“I should probably get going” I toss the pillow on to the ground and hopped off the edge of the bed. He turned towards me and faster than I could get out of the way, he pushed me back on the bed playfully. He pinned me down, and his face sat right above mine.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said before kissing me deeply. I pulled away and snubbed my chin up at him. “You know you don’t want to leave” he kissed my chin softly before getting back on his feet and allowing me to get up.

“We both work,” I smirk as he realizes I’ve just used his own words against him. He shook his head and sat down on the corner of the bed. “Besides, I’ve been here all night, aren’t you tired of me yet.” I take off the white t-shirt he let me borrow and toss it at his head. His beautiful smile made a reappearance as the shirt bounced off his nose and on to his lap.

“I never get tired of you.”

“Then why am I always leaving” not expecting a real answer I slip my work pants over my hips. I have to do a little bounce to get them on quite right, and his eyes follow me. I begin to search for my shirt somewhere on the floor. Nothing happened between us last night, no sex at least, so my shirt should be folded neatly on the floor where I left it. I trace the entirety of his room with no sign of the blouse.

“Where is my top?”  I ask in defeat.

“Why does it matter? I don’t want you to leave yet.” He stood up to hold me, but I turned around. I was upset, and I didn’t want him just to touch me, and it make me forget just why I was leaving in the first place. Even with my back towards him, he held me anyways. He buried his face in my shoulder, with his arms wrapped around my waist. I turned my head, because I didn’t want him to know how much weight he had on my heart. A single tear fell down my face and landed so gracefully on his arm.

 “I have to go home and shower for work, I’ll come to see you some other time” I pushed away from him hoping he couldn’t see me tearing up.

“Are you okay?” He tenderly reached for me again, but I moved away from him. “Did I do something to upset you?” he looked hurt. I could say for a fact he wasn’t used to being denied by any woman, let alone me.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Zeke.” Looking in to his eyes, I ponder for a second what it would be like to never look at him like this ever again. Would I be able to cope having never woken up to him ever again?  Could I live without ever opening my eyes to seeing his messy slept in hair resting on his pillow and reaching over to kiss his forehead?

“Do what?” He reached for me again, but this time instead of just moving away, I push his hand down.

“This!” I gesture to the entire room, then to him, then lastly pointing at myself. “Every time I see you, we both leave more confused than we started!” He was shocked at the sudden raise of voice, but I though maybe, just maybe, if I yelled for once he’d actually listen.

“I am not confused about anything… I…”

“That’s right, you aren’t confused, because you know what you are doing the whole time” I interrupted him.

“What are you trying to say to me?

“I am not trying to say anything to you.” I throw my hoodie on over my head and walk through the bedroom door, “I’ve already said it.” Looking at him through the doorway, he catches my side eye. I begin to search for my keys and attempt to make a clean exit.

Walking out of the room, he tries to make eye contact with me again. It’s almost funny the way he moves around to catch my attention. If I wasn’t so sad, I would laugh.

“You aren’t making any sense!” He throws his arms up in defeat. “This is why we never work, you never talk to me.”

The air froze around us, his cold words slicing me open. How could he say something like that? I stop moving. It takes every piece of energy in my body to not attack him both physically and verbally.

“Oh, I don’t talk to you? Really?” I talk all the time, I wanted to yell. I tell him how much I need him around, and I always let him know how much it hurts me when he leaves. I’ve told him what I want, but he never listens. He never cares.

“Yes really, you get mad and storm off, we never really talk.” We always talk. We always yell about the same old things, but he ignores the true issues and I am left to sweep up the shattered glass of what we have and put the pieces back together. No matter how put together we may seem, I always end up getting cut again.

“You never really listen!” my hands hit the table in an attempt to not fall over. There is a stinging pain from the force with which my hands hit the wooden table, but the feeling was overpowered but the rage and hurt I was feeling in my heart. My head falls down, and it feels like my heart is level with my knees. Heavy, I try to hold it there because if it falls any farther, I just might die of heartbreak. “I try to talk to you, I try to tell you how I feel, you don’t care unless it benefits you”. I look up at him, hoping to see him finally understanding the words that are coming out of my mouth for once in his life. Instead, I am met with a confused look. I am cursed to love someone who never understands a thing I say; or, I am cursed with loving someone who knows what I am saying, but does not care.

“I love you Julian,” he says, and I see the beginning of tears in his sparkling eyes and suddenly I feel bad for having picked this fight. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

“I love you too, but I can’t keep doing this” I look down again, mustering up the courage to finally end things. I can never come back here, I can never taste his lips again. I can never allow myself to become trapped in his embrace again because his love is like quicksand. I am slowly suffocating with every sleepover, every I love you. I am losing myself. Every fight breaks me, and kisses are like duct tape. I am over the cycle.

“Neither can I.” he let out a sigh. I probably should be relieved, but part of me wanted him to fight for me. I wanted him to care slightly more. I love you’s were just words at this point because I knew how many other girls had received that praise from him. I wanted his actions to match, but they never would. He looks at me with pain in his face as I packed the rest of my things into my purse and made my way to the door.

“If you wouldn’t have gotten pregnant in high school,” he stopped, and I looked at him dead in the eye. I can’t believe he would bring that up. The worst part of my life and he’s using it to stop me from leaving. Well he’s about to get what he wants.

“What Zeke? What are you going to say? If I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant in high school what?” I yell at him, throwing my purse down on the ground. His back hits the wall of the kitchen where he was standing, and he slides down the wall, holding his knees to his chest.

I had never elicited this much emotion from him before. I was slightly apologetic. I do love him, and I would never want to see him hurting. At the same time however, it felt good to see him actually understanding the weight of what he’s made me feel all of these years.

“If you hadn’t gotten pregnant in high school would you still love me?” I wanted to say yes, I wanted to yell yes from the rooftops, but I can’t because that would just make leaving all the harder. I couldn’t say no either. I could never lie to Zeke, that was his strong suit, not mine. I just love him. There is no rhyme or reason. It was not a side effect of carrying is child. The baby was a side effect of me loving him. There is no incident that I can blame the way I feel about him on, other than the way it feels to be in his arms. The day he first met me was the day I became trapped.

“If I hadn’t of lost the baby, would we still be together?” I asked back, avoiding the question. I regret this question the second it leaves my lips. It brought back such painful memories. It hurt so bad already that I had lost my little one. The idea that I could have had Zeke forever along with my baby if things were different was emotionally crippling.

“I think so…” he looked away. He had tears forming in his eyes, and a few were making their great escape down his face and too his chin. He caught my stare and wiped the salty water away.

“I have to go… Sometimes I wish I could just delete that from my past” I push my wallet back in to my purse, it flew away in my fit of rage. “Our past.”  I don’t know what I expected when I tossed my purse on the ground. It severely angered me that I had to recollect my things. Flustered because my wallet would not fit back in to my purse. I shake the purse in frustration. All of my emotions use this outbreak over the purse as a gateway to show themselves. I fall to my knees in the open-door way and allow my tears to finally freefall.

“Do you ever wish you can delete me? Like from your past.” He said leaning up against the doorway.

His voice seemingly cracked, and I could hear that he was hurting. We needed this, to finally talk about this. As adults, we needed to finally sit down and feel these emotions that we had been suppressing for years.  I had never thought much about what my life would have been like without him. I am sure I would have missed out on a lot of hurt.

“I’ve never thought about it before.” I look at him one last time. “But now, I kind of wish I could” I pick myself up off the ground.  “We have to end this; I can’t be your call girl anymore.” I take a deep breath. “You say you love me but you haven’t acted like it in years, you are mean to me, you make me sad more than you make me happy. We haven’t been in a real relationship since freshman year. I think this is over.”

“You’re no…” I start walking down the hallway before he could finish and turned to look at all of the people who had stepped out of their apartments to eavesdrop. Who could blame them? Broken hearts make great entertainment. I throw my hair into a bun and force myself down the hallway, but the world gets darker as I walk further and further away from his apartment. I could hear him scream I love you down the hall and my heart broke knowing I would never hear that again.