And I need to tell him before he spends another second believing the way I look at him when he’s fucking me is anything less than it is.
Ineedto tell him I love him.
It drives me out of the kitchen and in search of my phone.
I find it in the hallway, on the floor by my boots and it leads me to realise Bhodi’s coat is still hanging on the hook. I reach for it, already halfway out the door in my mind before I remember he’s not there. That wherever he is, he’s probably fucking cold, and I hate that as much as I hate that I’ve messed this up so badly. That I didn’t tell him from the start that our FWB arrangement was messing with my head too.
Reeling, I leave the coat where it is and retreat upstairs with my phone, giving the tranquilising couch a wide berth.
In the studio, I contemplate my desk. I’m so behind and all-nighters aren’t a sustainable answer. But I struggle to care about Christmas cards and handwritten gifts. I swipe at my phone instead and get my reward in the form of a text that arrived three hours ago.
Bhodi: sorry I’ve been a ballache. and i’m sorry about the other night. i love being friends with you and i don’t want to lose that
An instant frown heavies my face. I feel his nerves in every word and I hate it.
Tam: You’re not going to lose that. Ever. You matter to me xx
It’s not as late as the dark makes it feel, but I’m still surprised that Bhodi reads my message and starts typing back.
And typing.
And typing.
And typing.
He’s scared to say how he feels.
I’m not, but I don’t want to tell him I love him over text. So I wait and try to pull myself together enough to work. Force myself to pick up a pen and write, like I had to all those years ago when I’d have rather jumped off a motorway bridge.
I’ve come a long way since then. I know how to ground myself. How to breathe when my mental health reaches a fork in the road. And my work is as good for me as it’s always been. I’m unaware how much time has passed when my phone finally lights up. Just that the stack of cards I need to burn through is less.
Bhodi: thanks for saying that. you don’t owe me anything. sorry i’ve made this so weird
I set my pen down and hold my phone with both hands, measuring my words when all I want to do is blast him with the reassurance and love I’m not sure he’s ready for.
Tam: It’s not weird for friendships to get complicated. You haven’t done anything wrong. Are you at work?
Bhodi: yeah
Tam: When do you finish?
Bhodi: midnight
Midnight. I glance at the clock on the wall and the hour tells me two things: One, Bhodi must’ve left for work about tenminutes before I woke up. Two, that I have just enough time to finish this year’s Christmas orders and deliver them before most people around here are in bed.
Fate works in mysterious ways. It’s almost like she wants me to finish my work before I get to live the rest of my life.
Outrageous.
I text Bhodi back.
Tam: I’ll be up when you get home and I’d really love to see you. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Let’s talk first…please? x
The message is sent and gone before I think to question it, and then I settle in to wait. Bhodi’s at work. I’m aware he probably doesn’t have his phone in his pocket, and it’s an hour before he responds.
Bhodi: you don’t have to humour me. it’s fine. everything’s fine
Fuck that.
