Tristful, adjective
Deeply yet romantically melancholy.
I stared at her face, finally finding peace as she drifted off to sleep. I was worried fucking sick, wondering whether my instincts had been wrong, that I should have taken her to the hospital despite the warnings from her friend. She was beyond fucked-up, her eyes telling me as much as they flitted open and closed before she fell asleep. I was scared for her and scared of her, my body trembling and making me think I wasn’t the man I’d seen myself as for years if a tiny woman like her could bring me to my knees.
The need to touch her was overwhelming. The simplest of touches, feeling her lashes against my lips, feeling her eyelids fluttering with dreams beneath my mouth. I wanted to kiss her, taste her, have her, but it was an ordeal just being in the same room as her. I was fucking struggling, fighting two conflicting urges in my head—one telling me to run as far away as possible, and the other demanding I wake Bebe up and make her finally submit like she should have a long time ago.
When I’d gotten the call, I didn’t even think twice. I rushed out of there the next second, and I felt like I’d been transported to a new world when I walked into that club and saw Bebe passed out on the couch. A world where beautiful girls drank too much and took questionable drugs; a world where Bebe and I could be together, where it was the easiest thing in the world to throw her over my shoulder and at the same time, throw caution to the wind and take her home with me, where she belonged.
Seeing her on my bed, her hair fanned out over my pillow, made my heart ache. I couldn’t bring myself to put her in the white room. She belonged here, in my bedroom, on the sheets that smelled of me. She was so stunning, so vulnerable lying there. My heart pounded with a pain I didn’t understand, and as badly as I wanted to touch her, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I watched her fall asleep, her eyelids heavy as sleep took her away from me. I got up from the floor and took a step backward to the door. I needed to get away. I couldn’t be this close to her, couldn’t afford to lose my cool when she was just a few inches away. There was nothing I wanted more than to touch her, have her in my arms again and inhale her sweet scent. But I couldn’t handle it, the pressure so strong I thought my head would explode. I needed to get the fuck away from her.
Stumbling out of the bedroom, I held onto the doorframe for dear life. I was dizzy, feeling nausea take over as I half-walked, half-fell into the living room. When it came down to it, I couldn’t be near her, couldn’t stand her being so close because I was terrified of her hurting me or me hurting her. Nothing in my head made sense. The only thing that was prevalent and so very clear was the fact that I needed to get away. Being outside, alone in the cold streets, would be better than being alone with her in my apartment.
I took the stairs one by one, shaking with each step that brought me closer to my cold destination. The doorman didn’t say a word this time, though he seemed worried about my sudden departures when I hadn’t left the apartment for at least a year beforehand. I walked away from him, from the confines of the apartment building. I needed to get away from it all.
The cold air hit me hard, chilly and threatening with its frozen fingers wrapping around my throat. I stumbled down the street, only realizing then I’d forgotten my jacket. The cold was biting my skin, desperately trying to get through the thin fabric of my shirt and making my heart freeze under my skin. I was afraid, more afraid than I’d been in years.
Stopping meant thinking about her in my bed, so I kept going. Step after step, one moment blending into another until I started to breathe lighter, without the panicked gasps that could barely get any air down my throat. I followed the street, away from the center of the city and towards a park I’d been to before, back when I still thought my agoraphobia was something I’d get rid of.
The park was closed with a wrought iron gate, but I climbed it easily. And then I was inside. The small ponds were frozen, the park still and quiet in the midnight hour. It wasn’t time for dawn yet, but if I stuck around for long enough, I would see the sun rise above the peaceful park.
I sat down on a stone bench, my heart pounding and my head hurting from the thoughts trying desperately to claw their way into the worried part of my brain. Bebe was first and foremost on my mind, the image of her sleeping body on my bed wreaking havoc on my mind. I was upset with myself for walking away, but there was no way my body would let me stay in the apartment.
The shock of seeing her in person, feeling her tight body under my fingertips and almost—fucking almost—tasting her was too much. I’d never wanted anything more, yet I couldn’t even bring myself to stay in the same building as her. Real fear settled in, deep and crippling in the marrow of my bones. I was afraid of her. Me, Miles Reilly, torn to fucking shreds over a little party girl that had gotten the better of me.
“Bebe,” I muttered to myself, letting my head settle into my hands.
For once in my life, I let the outside forces take over. I listened, I felt. I was quiet, stunned by all the sounds that made the silence so overwhelming.
Birds chirping. Leaves blowing in the wind. The sound of cars in the distance. All of it made for a perfect chaos that I’d been missing out on for years. And in a way, a strange, alien way, it was oddly calming.
Making myself sit through an hour of it seemed like a nightmare at first, and I counted every second of it, my lips wrapping around the numbers as they escaped my lips. I couldn’t leave just yet. I needed to stay here, let my body calm down and my mind stop reeling. Maybe after an hour, I would be ready to face Bebe again. Maybe after an hour, I’d be able to hold her again.
Maybe I would be able to tell her how I really felt. Maybe, just maybe, I could say those three little words back.
Because I felt it, too. And I knew exactly what she was talking about when she muttered them to me in her drugged state. I knew exactly what she meant because the same fire burned inside me. The embers that had ignited her own spark burned brightly inside my soul and for once, I wasn’t afraid of my feelings. No, I was afraid of her.
My Bebe.
Because she was beautiful.
Because she was broken.
Because she was just like me, and yet, unlike anyone I’d ever met before.
The pull I felt towards the girl was magnetic, the fire a passionate one, consuming me like nothing I’d ever felt before, not even my own panic and fear. I’d never wanted anyone this much, never craved another person the way I craved her. And that’s why I was afraid.
I would lose her.
Undoubtedly.
She would leave when she found out what I did—what I had to keep doing to keep my business going. Yes, she would leave when she found out the truth about me.
How obsessive I was. The shameful bleach baths. The hidden cigarettes. The dark, smelly room in the back of the apartment. She wouldn’t stick around for that kind of crazy, not beautiful, talented, stunning Bebe. Not her. When I lost her, I would finally break. It would be the end of me.
I sat there as the seconds ticked by and the fear grew bigger and bigger. I watched my panic grow until it was a big, shiny bubble, like the ones I used to blow when I was a kid. A big rainbow bubble of soapy water and childhood dreams. And then it popped.
It was all over, just like that. The bubble was gone, the fear exploding into the vast nothingness of the park.
I got to my feet. The counting I’d been doing trickled into nothing until all the numbers blended together and I was alone with nothing but one wish, one deepest, darkest desire in my heart—to have Bebe, no matter how selfish, how fucked-up, how evil of me that was.
My legs were quick to carry me back to the apartment and I watched the sunrise over the city as I made my way back. I was freezing cold, my skin like cool marble as I made my way to the building. I glanced up, but there were no lights on in my apartment. Bebe must have been fast asleep, and the thought of her hair fanned out over my pillow made my cock grow thick and hard. Desperate to sink myself inside her, I raced past the doorman who wasn’t even trying to conceal his shock anymore, and up the stairs. Two at a time.
Stumbling into my own apartment, I held onto the door handle for dear life, the speed I’d ran towards my home had taken it out of me. I was out of breath, not even my vigorous workouts at home preparing me for the brutal outside. But there was nothing that would dissuade me from the only thing I wanted. From holding her in my strong arms, making her promise she would never do anything like this again. Making her swear she’d be a good girl for me.
I walked into the bedroom, and my heart sank when I found it empty. The sheets were rumpled, and I noticed one thing right away.
Bebe had taken the white frame off the wall. She’d taken out the white paper and written a note on it in lipstick.
Thank you.
xoxo Bebe
I stared at the words, picturing her scribbling them down and then disappearing back into her own apartment. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to hold it against her. I understood, in the end, what this had meant to Bebe. Why she had run away.
Grinning to myself, I put the now ruined white canvas back into the frame, and put it back up on the wall. Her bright pink lipstick was now the focal point of my whole room, and I grinned as I stared at it adorning my wall.
It would have been so easy to despair in that moment, knowing Bebe had left me. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, couldn’t make myself get upset about it. Because now, I had defeated the biggest fear of all.
I laughed to myself and shook my head as I climbed back into my bed, the sheets still warm from her body being wrapped up in them. I inhaled her scent, filling my nostrils with everything that made her so very unique, so fucking special to me. My beautiful girl, my stunning Bebe.
Things would be different from now on, because she made me defeat the monster that separated me from her. From now on, I would not be the man she wanted.
I would be the man she deserved.