I've Got A Feeling

Fourty

I'm here my love. Let's just hope you want to see me. Readjusting my hair for what feels like the sixty-fourth time within an hour, I knock on the door and wait for it to open. To my revulsion, an ebony haired woman greets me in her antipathetic tone. "Oh, Paul. Don't you have anywhere else you could go besides here?" Ah, the consistent question of 'Can't you just fuck off for one day so I don't have to hear that bloody noise you call music upstairs with my nephew?' It always bothers me. I always try not to be in other people's way and oblige when I shouldn't have. But this is the only other "safe" place we can be in love freely. John's tried to tell me several times that I don't need to always be cordial, that the world isn't going to reward you for being nice. But I cannot help it, I was raised in the manner. I hear a sigh graze past her lips, causing a sliver of annoyance to bubble within me. Nevertheless, I keep up a brave face and try to keep the clouds away. "Well I don't today. If I could see John that would be appreciated." Her arm showed me the way in, seeing that it was still china cluttered and dormant as always. I gather that John would be upstairs in his room, since his aunt isn't always the most pleasant person to make conversation with.

Trudging my way up the carpeted and steep stairs, there appears to be no light coming out from the space between the floor and the door. "He's been in there all day, only screaming at me to leave when I tried to get him up and about." I couldn't see him shouting at his own aunt now but then again, it wouldn't surprise me if she had been getting on his nerves. Crossing my fingers in hopes that he won't be in a rowing mood, I slowly turn the handle feeling the cold metal against my fingertips. My suspicions were correct as it was dim like the night sky with only one orange lamp lit on the desk. Closing the door I set my guitar beside the wall and turn my head only to see John fast asleep with his head resting on the desk. His glasses are barely holding onto the curve of his nose, his eyelashes glistening in the light against his fair skin. The watch on his wrist said it was 6:09 in the morning, but checking my own watch, it read 1:09 in the afternoon.

His hand must have been writing something, as there was a fountain pen resting in between his thumb and index finger. Damn right hander. At least you can use the bloody things, while I'd get stuck with lead and ink on my hand. He's wearing just black trousers and no shirt can be seen. I hope he's wearin' pants at least under those, it can be uncomfortable like that. Not that I come from experience or anything. I can understand why he's not wearing much, it does feel very toasty in here. It smells of cheap liquor, gin most likely. I lightly caress his skin, feeling how warm he is. Well, it is like a summer's day already. Which is weird for it only being spring. He's burning up though. I try to gander at the page he was working on, but it was very hastily scribbled. Much like a mind at times. Knowing John very well, I carefully manage to slip on a shirt with him not moving. He can get very insecure about his body at times and I know if he were to see that I woke him with no shirt on him it would just fire up his anxieties more than they need to be. I know he's perfect no matter what anyone says or thinks, but the thoughts that creep in are like venomous snakes or eels.

"John.....John, love it's time to get up. Johnny, love. Thisaaaaabeeee, arise my beautiful soul." I tried rubbing his arm to see if it would cause him to stir but he stayed quiet. "John, you have to wake up. I won't be able to stay here forever y'know. Johnny please, I love you."

Slowly there were some stirs and whimpers coming from my sleepy husband. Opening the curtains, I saw the tears forming in his eyes with the tear stains spread across his cheeks and hands. "Oh, love I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to let you know I was here." There was panic written everywhere in his body language, as he began to frantically search the room while the whimpering and breathing increased in decibels. "S-Stu? W-Where are you? S-Stu-" "Johnny, it's gonna be alright." I took his hand, feeling the cold sweat that ran down it. "Stuart passed away over a month ago. You have to start letting go, John. I know it's hard to hear, but he's not upset with you anymore. He's no longer in pain, he'll be alright." Looking into my eyes I could see the affliction and misery within his irises. "B-But he-" "John, listen to me. Those voices in your head are wrong. You are such a good person and you know that. Keep those monsters away for me, yeah? You are so loving and caring and deserve to be loved."