I'm Your Wreck

23- Can I Come In?

Banks stood on the other side of the door, staring at me wide eyed without saying anything. He opened his mouth a couple of times to try but no sound came out.

I wished I could be more patient but frustration was starting to crash over me. "Did you seriously just knock on my door so that you could give me more silent treatment?"

The tears threatening to spill over were about to do just that and I really didn't want him to see me cry over this. But when I tried to shut the door between us to save what tiny shred of dignity I had left, Banks flattened his palm against the wood to stop it from shutting in his face.

"What was that this morning?" he finally asked at the threshold of my bedroom, his voice tight and nervous.

I blinked at him a few times. "I, uh... figured the reason you weren't talking to me was because you were embarrassed about what happened, so I evened the playing field so that there would be nothing to be embarrassed about."

His jaw twitched. "What I did and what you did were two completely different things."

"Well, I didn't know what else to do! You've been ignoring me all week," I reminded him, stepping away from the door so that he could pass the threshold and shut it behind him.

"I know," he sighed, looking ashamed as his eyes skittered away from me to stare at the back wall of my tiny room. "I know, that wasn't my best laid plan. I just needed time to prepare for this conversation."

Banks looked like he was preparing for me to punch him in the face. My heart pounded hard in my chest. "What conversation is this?"

"The one where you tell me I fucked things up and you don't want to be friends anymore and probably aren't even comfortable living in the same house as me, so one of us will probably have to move out for next semester And I'm the one that fucked things up, so it's going to have to be me."

His face was screwed tight, like he was trying hard not to cry. I tilted my head at him. "How many times have you had that conversation?"

He shrugged, looking down at the floor. "Enough times to recognize the pattern. I mean, it's not like I go around kissing straight guys without their consent all the time. It's usually just them thinking that I was checking them out when I wasn't, or something stupid like that."

"But I've been trying to talk to you this entire time. The texts and voicemails practically begging you to talk to me. Even after that, you still think I want you gone?"

"I figured you just wanted to get it over with," he said, his voice fracturing on the last word. He looked so dejected, so afraid. It was painful to watch. "But I wasn't ready to not be your friend anymore."

I wanted to reach for him the same way I did in the alley that morning after I punched the guy in the street. Wanted to help him feel safe, wanted to hold him together until he wasn't afraid anymore. But after what happened, I wasn't sure if that was allowed.

"I'm really sorry, Liam."

"For what, exactly?"

"You really need me to say it?" For the first time in this entire conversation, he tilted his chin up to look at me. His eyes were wet and I had to cross my arms over my chest to stop myself from reaching for him to offer comfort.

"If you're apologizing for kissing me, I'm not interested. I kissed you too, so we're even anyway." Somehow, my voice sounded a lot more calm than the swirling hurricane of emotions tumbling through my insides. "But if you're apologizing for shutting me out afterward, I'm all ears."

He tilted his head at me, like he was unsure of how to process what I'd said. Eventually, he said, "I'm sorry for that too. I wasn't trying to worry you. I've just been so in my head about what happened. And I shouldn't have kissed you either, obviously."