Dance with me darling

olivia

I didn't realise the time until I hear a knock on the door. It's almost 11pm and Van is asleep and I can't think of a single person who would be knocking so late, so with a racing heart, I peer out of my window and I almost drop dead at the sight of the person at the front door.

I throw on a hoodie over my bra and shove my feet into my slippers before I make my way down the stairs. My fingers hesitate over the door handle for a few seconds and I take a deep breath before I open it cautiously.

And when he looks up at me, his eyes glimmer under the porch light and the glow on his face makes the dark circles around his eyes stand out. He looks tired and he looks worn out, but he still looks so perfect. He always has.

"Uh... Van's asleep... are you okay?" I ask, assuming that he's here for my brother because I can't think of another reason why he's standing outside of our house at stupid o'clock.

"I'm not here for Van" he says nonchalantly and looks behind me, "I just... I wanted to see you"

He stands with his hands in his pocket, shuffling awkwardly on his feet and he looks down at his feet as if he's trying to hide his face from me. I don't really know what to say to him. I didn't exactly plan this moment in my head. I didn't expect him to rock up at my front door asking to see me while I was getting ready for bed. I didn't really expect to ever see him again after we parted ways at the pub.

"Do you wanna come in? It's a little cold out there" I say with a weak smile, trying to show a bit of sympathy on my face, but trying my best not to make it look like I'm pitying him.

"Uh.. yeah... sure, thanks" he says, hanging his head low as he steps into the warmth of my house.

I shut the door behind him and when I look down, I cringe at the fact that I didn't even think to put some pants on before I came down to answer to door. I'm wearing the smallest shorts I could possibly find and the length of my hoodie doesn't exactly leave much to the imagination.

He makes his way into the living room and awkwardly stands in the door way, not really knowing what to do with himself. I want to ask him why he decided to come here, if he actually planned to walk all the way to our house and knock on the front door as if that's a normal thing to do. I want to ask him why he isn't in bed, why he's still wearing the same clothes as he was earlier today when we were at the pub. I have so many questions for him but I don't want to ask them because I don't know how.

"You can sit down" I say, slowly letting myself fall into the arm chair in the corner. The couch is a lot comfier but I'd feel too awkward sitting beside him.

I stare at him for a moment. I watch as he cautiously sits down on the couch and crossing his foot over the other. He rests his elbow on the arm of the chair and brings his hand up to his mouth to bite his nails. He isn't looking at me, his eyes are on the floor and his other hand is playing with the hem of his shorts. The sight of him makes me want to cry but I don't think I have any tears left after the months I spent sobbing over him.

"Sorry for just turning up like this... I dunno why I even came here" he says quietly, glancing up at me for a second before he averts his eyes back down to the carpet.

"D'ya want a brew or something to drink?" I ask.

"A brew would be nice yeah... I can make it myself if it's too much trouble" he says nervously.

"Don't be daft" I smile, getting up from the chair. I shove my feet back into my slippers and make my way into the kitchen.

I flick the switch on the kettle and grab a mug from the cupboard. And when I place it down onto the countertop, I grip the edges and hang my head, letting out a breath that I didn't even realise I was holding in.

The air feels so thick and I hate it. I hate how hot it suddenly feels and how uncomfortable I am. I hate that he came here.

The kettle stops boiling the water after about a minute and I take a few deep breaths before I pour it into the mug, and I stir the teabag around for much longer than I needed to. I'm wasting as much time as possible because Im dreading walking back into the living room. I want so badly for this to be another bad dream, but I know that it's not. I know that this is real and it's happening and I can't do anything to stop it.

I walk back into the living room with both hands around the mug and when I pass it to him, I feel his fingers graze against mime and it sends a shiver down the entire length of my spine. I can't tell whether it's because of how cold his hands are, or because I have felt his touch in so long that just the tiniest bit of contact sends me spiralling.

"Thanks" he fabricates a smile and wraps his hands around the warm brew, interlocking his fingers.

I sit back down in the chair and and rest my chin on
my hand. This has to take the cake for the most awful
experience of my life. I've never wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear more in my life. I wish I got myself a drink, because at least then I'd have something else to focus on, something to fiddle with and distract me from the tension that's growing thicker and thicker in the air.

"So... you and Bond... is that-"

"Sam, don't do this" I cut him off. I knew this was coming, I just didn't expect him to say it right now. I know what it looks like to the outside world, to people watchers and to broken-hearted ex boyfriends. I know that it looks like me and Bondy are a thing, but I've lost count of how many times I've had to tell people that we're not.

"Just askin" he shrugs, acting like this doesn't bother him. Acting like it isn't killing him inside just talking about it.

"Well don't" I say, with a little more aggression than I intended, "you really think I'd do that to you?"

He shrugs again and runs his finger around the rim of the mug. He hasn't even taken a sip of the brew yet, he just keeps looking at it and turning it around in his hands.

"I don't want to sleep alone tonight, Olivia" he says, looking up at me with glassy eyes and furrowed brows, "I can't... I can't sleep on my own anymore"

His voice breaks and it shatters my heart completely. I knew he was having a rough time but I didn't know it was this bad. He's the one who broke up with me, he's the one who told me to leave and ordered me to call Van to pick me up. He's the one that put me through so much agony and misery. But looking at him right now, with tears in his eyes and a trembling lip, I can't help but wonder what he's actually been doing for these past five months. I can't help but think about how he took the whole thing.

I don't know what comes over me, but my legs decide to untuck from under my body and I stand up from the chair, and before I can smack myself to sit back down and stop myself from doing something stupid, I make my way over to where he's sitting and I slowly sink into the cushion beside him, my leg pressing against his as I rest my head on his shoulder. I feel his head drop onto mine and I hear him sniffle, in the corner of my eye I see a tear roll down his cheek.

I bring my hand up to wipe the tear away from his face and I let it linger on his cheek for a minute, letting a little pool of sadness form in the crack between my skin and his.

"I fuckin hate myself, Olivia" he cries, "I can't live like this"

I look up at him and when he turns his head to do the same, our noses brush together and I close my eyes, feeling his soft breath against my lips. I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know that it's wrong. I know that I'll wake up in the morning and scream into my pillow because of my stupid decisions, but it hurts my heart to see him like this. It pains me to see him cry, to hear the cracks in his voice when he talks to me, to listen to his speak about himself the way he is.

Sam rests his forehead against mine and his breathing slows down to a more relaxed pace, and he used his nose to push my head up and when I feel his lips slowly press against mine, I don't pull away. I don't tell him stop and I don't push him back. I lean further into the kiss.

And if this really is a bad dream, I hope it's one I never wake up from.