New Home, Same Awful Attitude

Not long after they leave, Will arrives. He is here to build my bed for me. I greet him with red eyes and a tired smile, he knows I’ve been crying. It’s just the two of us, surrounded by boxes and a hopeful future. We head into my bedroom where I show him the box of the bed frame. I bring the floor cushion into the room to watch as he starts unpacking. He tells me he has done this twice before, so my expectations are big. It took us four hours. Four fucking hours to build the frame. It got to the point where we would take it in turns to screw half of the screw into the wood and then swap over. We giggled a lot, yelled, and threw things in frustration and enjoyed spending time together.

Sometimes I feel as if I am overwhelmed by being next to him, so close that our heads are almost touching. There is something intimate about building a bed with someone. Will and I swing between widely close and vulnerable with each other, and then acting as strangers. But I know in a room of people, we will always find our way to each other. He cut his finger so bled all over my bed frame. The hours flew past like a blur. I asked if he was going to cricket training, he said he was going to skip it. I asked if he wanted to stay for dinner, Anita and Dylan were arriving soon. He said yes and asked if they could bring a bottle of red as he doesn’t drink white. They arrived with chocolate and offered him some (he doesn’t like chocolate).

 As the four of us sat around, surrounded by boxes and wine, I couldn’t help but think that it almost felt normal. Will was joking around, actually speaking (which is big from him). When Anita and Dylan speak, we give each other knowing looks, it’s as if we can read each other’s minds. We are joking about my ex; he says he knows me better than Harry – he is correct but it feels like a sin for him to say it out loud.

It felt nice, I could get used to it. I got very drunk. Embarrassingly, stumbling through my house drunk. Will watched with amusement in his eyes. He says I need to get onto Chapel Street, I tell him not to tease me. As Anita and Dylan unpack my kitchen, the two of us are in my room, he sits on my bed. It feels suffocating. It’s overwhelming. We have spent the last few hours together. I feel so observed and perceived when I am with him. He doesn’t feel like a threat, he feels like safety. Anita and Dylan offer to drive him home, he grins widely. I put myself to bed after they leave. His scent lingers.


The author Anonymous

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