DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #125 - grateful express

Alright. For as far as I know now, it's well past 5AM now, I fell asleep on the cab, I dreamed of camels and bike rides in the Judean desert, and I woke up just in time to realise how (how?!) a ten minute ride from the night club would cost fifty pounds. I had a not very civilised argument with Sean on who had to pay for it... but he paid it, he cursed me, I cursed him back, he pissed me off for the umpteenth time all over again, we bid farewell to the creepy ass cab rider, and now we're in the elevator of the hotel, heading to my room to call it a night. I'm pissed, pissed and drunk, pouty and frowned, and he's leaning against the floating wall, trying to soften my mood by pulling some of the silliest face expressions I've ever seen on him.  One second before he looks like he's a thief and I've just caught him stealing my gold, the second after he looks like he's peeing and he's got kidney stones (ouch), and another second after, he's looking at me like I'm naked and wearing only a red clown nose. That's commitment, that's dedication, that's wholesome goofiness, that's Sean. And guilty me... I am giggling at his silly faces. Giggling my bum off, entwining our pinky fingers, like the not very closeted romantic lovergirl that I am, and looking at him with my best set of doe eyes. As to let him know that I'm sorry if I've held a pout at him, that I love him with all my heart... and that I just want a kiss now. A kiss doesn't fail to land on my lips, in the form of a sordid, super fucking cute smack... and of a decorative cheek squeeze. Almost aggressive, but very wholesome and sweet in a Sean way. Help meeee, I love my boyfriend to the moon and back, and his over the top attentions are legit making me squirm !

'So, anything else I gotta know, besides that you have fucking scary panic attacks?' He chimes in, as soon as I get my squirming just a little bit in check. And I frown a little, with surprise more than with anything else, because I don't remember having ever, openly told him I struggle with PTSD and panic attacks. He pulled me out of one, and we're quite peaceful about that... but how does he know that what I was experiencing, when he came to my rescue on the VIP couch, was an actual panic attack? Did his brunette goddess ex with a bike have 'em too? Only less violent than mine, because he's just labelled mine as 'fucking scary'? Or is just he a medical expert for real? Does he happen to know that I'm half broken too, bones wise ?

'Tomorrow'. I answer, stingy with my words, but just because we're both very drunk and clearly not in the right frame of mind to talk about any potential stuff he gotta know about me. There's quite a bunch of it, not gonna lie... and I'm willing and confident enough to make all of my secrets crumble down for him, as soon as possible too, because I'm done with doing the secretive to the man I love. But I will have to wait until we'll both be sobered up, aka until tomorrow morning, to tell him everything he wants to know about me. Including some stuff that will either leave him shocked, or have him leave me. The temptation to open up to him now is strong, but I know that if I opened up now, it'd pretty much useless: remember when I  tried to take a step forward and tell him where I'm from, while we were playing that silly guessing game in the backseat of the cab? Remember how he thought that the West Bank is a restaurant, and firmly believed that I asked him if he knew what it was just because I wanted to be taken to lunch there? Come on... Sean is no strong geographer, he's the same guy who thinks that Syria is a federate state of Jordan, but how can he not know what the West Bank is? I mean, I'm from the West Bank, and I know what the Music Bank is. He's from Seattle, he's part Irish, he has a television and common sense... there's no way he's never heard about my native.

He nods at my dry answer to his question, more or less like he wants to let me know that he's totally fine with having a personal talk with me by tomorrow morning. As it should rightfully be, because we're so drunk that the doors of the elevator are opening, and we are struggling to walk straight out of this cubicle. We are so wasted that it's almost comical, and also kinda romantic in a very Sean and Cherry way. Hand in hand, both of us shaking in the legs, we somehow manage to make it to the door of my room. And as soon as we're in front of the wooden shield, we look back and forth at each other like we're silently wondering who's got the badge. I don't remember having it. He doesn't remember having it, either. I'm ravaging the inside of my purse, and I just can't find the damn badge. He's digging into his pockets, but no badge sighting whatsoever, so far. Then he looks at me, more like he laughs in my face and poisons me with his super strong, alcohol breath... he slides a hand into the front pocket of his jacket that he's let me borrow, and he pulls the sought after badge out of it. He slides it into the key lock, opens the damn door, turns the lights on... and I smell the incense goodiness of my super tidy, super neat girly dome. I'm happy, and I know it !