Misconstrue

TWENTY-FOUR minutes to go.

I woke up feeling quite confused. 

I knew that I am somewhere in Spain with Emilio, sleeping in his bed at his family home. When my eyes met the ceiling, I tried to find the root of my confusion. It's definitely not Emilio's scent or the fact that he rubbed my stomach for most of last night when he thought I was sleeping.

No, no, no. I'm not confused at what someone will see if they walk in on us. I'm cocooned in Emilio's arms as if it's where I belong.

I am confused because Beyoncé's voice is in my head, belting out the lyrics to Love On Top - the Beychella version to be exact. Why is Beyoncé here? And why won't she shut up?  

I turn on my side with a huff as I fight the urge to start humming. This actually sums up the current state of my mental health, last night I was an anxious mess vomiting all over Emilio's shoes and now I'm mentally reliving Beyoncé's set at Coachella.

It's a good thing I'm heavily medicated. 

That thought tickles me in an ironic way as I'm careful in removing Emilio's hands from my waist. I don't get far as he turns on his back then groans softly. "Come back." He doesn't open his eyes but pats the empty space beside him.

"I'm already awake." I say softly. And I need to take my medication.

I get a groan in response. If I wasn't feeling like absolute shit, then this entire interaction would be experienced differently. There was a time when I would dream of waking up beside my ridiculously hot boyfriend, hands trailing down his washboard abs all the way to his underpants, and then we would make sweet love before going off to conquer the day.

Instead, this is what I get: Beyoncé's voice going off non-stop in my head while I hunt for my Xanax. I just suck at being a girlfriend and I think it's best to let Emilio go. 

I found Emilio wide awake and stretching as I open the bathroom door. The curtains are pulled back and he's leaning on the windowsill looking down at the yard. I remain silent as I stand there and watch him like the freak that I am. I've been blessed with the opportunity to touch and feel Emilio's back muscles, but I'm still enamoured by the way his back looks. 

He's sexy. He's so sexy and I want to keep him all to myself. I want him to hold me tenderly, and sometimes I want his tattooed hands on my neck as he peers down at me lovingly. I want all of that and so much more but now it's obvious that I won't get what I want.

I thought I was better, but I have once again fooled myself into believing that I could be normal. 

"I'll be downstairs." My tone is unfamiliar. I sound restraint. Emilio turns to face me with a pout on his lips. "I convinced your mother to let me help with breakfast today."

"I don't think she expects you do that."

"Right." I move quickly to the chair in the corner where my tote bag is resting. "Especially after I spilled my guts all over your feet."

"How are you feeling?"

I fight the urge to respond sarcastically by taking a deep breath. "Fine." I look back at my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend with a forced smile on my face. "I think I really needed to get some rest."

"See you downstairs." I'm quick to cut Emilio off before he could get a word out of his mouth. I don't even give him an opportunity to stop me as I leave the bedroom in a rush.

Tears sting the back of my eyes as I'm ready to mourn what could have been. As I head to the kitchen, I could only manage to mentally chastise myself for not being honest and forthcoming with Emilio. I'm certain that it's not difficult to share what's going on personally with Emilio. To any normal person looking in at our relationship, they would also come to that conclusion.