All Over You

He Will Wait

The days go on but I see less and less of Liam. I head out of work on Monday and wander past his office. I haven't seen him all day and crave his presence, though he isn't there. It's unusual but I assume that he must be pre occupied with the new segment of Conversations With My Conscience. Regardless, I call him when I get in, as our code has allowed. We chat for a few hours until he heads off to bed. I hint at our deal, wordlessly asking for some reassurance, and he promises he will wait. I am unsure on whether to trust his words, but I do trust that the universe has bought us together. I hope more than anything that there's weight to the things he says and that it isn't just another empty obligation. He will wait.

On Tuesday I hang out in his office first thing in the morning. I have to tell myself that I'm being paranoid when he seems a lot more withdrawn and distant than usual. I start to worry whether he meant what he said at all. I still take my daily sweet from the glass bowl on his desk and act as if nothing is up at all. I pretend his tone isn't off. I bump into him once more on Tuesday. We met accidentally in the post room while sorting out some new casting files. It brings back memories but I almost want to scoff at how I used to hold these experiences in high stead, when now we are making out in his office instead. We make smalltalk but something is off. I dismiss it all. He will wait. 

On Wednesday, I go to his office in the morning once more. He sits at his desk, swivelling back and forth in his office chair. We share a few moments of general chat, but this conversation gets cut short when he gets a call. I hover in the doorway for a moment but it drones on too long. I feel too awkward just standing there and waiting for him when his eyes fixate on the wall opposite me. I take the sweet from the bowl and stroll away, sick of having the back of his head as my view. I bump into him in the studio just before transmission. No one is in there so I take the leap of faith and lean up to kiss him. He staggers backwards and brushes me off. I shake off the hurt in front of him, but he just declares he promised to wait and will uphold that promise. I thank him, but run to the toilets to cry afterwards. At this point, my palms are sweaty and the seed of doubt in my mind has grown into a tree. I forcefully tell myself it doesn't mater. He will wait. 

Thursday morning his office door is closed and the lights are off. I stare in horror as a feeling of dread creeps into the pit of my stomach. I tempt fait and ease the door handle. It's not locked. The office is illuminated with mid-Summer sun and I almost snoop through draws before I stop myself. We are building a relationship. Relationships are built on trust and I need to trust him. I grab a handful of sweets from the bowl in spite and rush back to my desk to eat them while tears prick in my eyes once more. I don't see him again for the rest of the day and my hopes are getting so much lower that they're basically on the floor. Thankfully he is in his office at the end of the day and I dare to put our code into action. He agrees to needing 'help in photography' and I call him the second the clock strikes eight. He apologises for being distant and claims to be stressed with work but forever upholding his promise. He does emphasise that I was the one who asked for space in the first place, but I never meant that I wanted to be left completely on my own. I accept his apology even so. He will wait.

Friday rolls around and the day goes as usual. I spend hours and hours daydreaming about Liam. The evening falls and I stand millimetres from his door, the occasion feeling so strange yet wonderful. We are going on a date (of sorts). Liam Natward has basically asked me on a date. If someone told me this was going to happen a few months ago, I would've laughed in their faces. Liam doesn't do dates or romance or settle with girls. He doesn't spend nights in with women, ordering a Chinese. Being the one who could change that fills me with so much comfort, I can't contain the bubbles of hysteria in my stomach.

I smooth my skirt down and nibble my lip, resistant to knock in case this date is just a dream. I have put on my best white skater skirt and blue blouse to gain his approval. I have always loved the way this skirt clings to my waist but flows behind me when I shimmy about. He doesn't know that I spent the morning shaving the entirety of my body in case today is the day. It tired me out to the extent that I was almost late for work. Thankfully, the second my knuckles collide with the hard wood, his lopsided smile springs to his face at the sight of me. I am bought back to blissful reality.