Cheeky

№ 27. Let Me In

He's perched on the front steps to my apartment building,  on my darkened street, waiting for what? For me? Can't exactly be a coincidence now. But it's a coincidence I want nothing to do with. I can't hear him, can't look at him; it'll just make it real. The fact that he's not just a figment of collected memories and regrets anymore, it scares me deeply.

He's sitting, in flesh and blood, no more than twenty feet away. My back is turned and I have a clear view of the bridge, of the milky yellow streetlights blocks away. Of everything except what's over my shoulder, I'm absolutely terrified to take one crucial step. In what direction though, is precisely my problem. If I approach him, this will all begin again, everything will be rehashed. If I head towards the metro, I can pretend as though the one man who has caused me so much hurt, is still hypothetically dead to me.

Second choice sounds pretty attractive,  run like the wind Cassidy. So I do, or at least attempt to until he resurfaces.

"Is this Elten Street?"

His voice is just as rugged and controlled as I remember. It's deep and silky, the very sound that could make my world spin just a little bit faster.

I can't decide what to do, or what to say for that matter, so I don't. I just freeze in response, hoping desperately that I would blend into the chilly night and completely out of existence. He wouldn't notice anyways, I would be just as invisible to him as before.

There's a shuffling of rubber soles against cratered cement,  and the temperature quickly skyrockets as I become aware of his presence directly behind me. He's so close, and my stomach churns uneasily. My palms begin to clam around my bag and I grip its handles with two, shaky fists.

A fingertip reaches out, prods my shoulder, and suddenly I'm finished; I'm weak. My breath hitches and I have the uncomfortable realization that I can't hide anymore. Not from him - not from anyone.

"Hey, I uh, don't mean to bother you, I'm just trying to find Elten Street. It's so damn dark out here,  I can't seem to make out what the signs say -"

I turn quickly and halt,  sucking in a huge lungful of icy air so fast that I nearly choke. My feet are a mess and I nearly fall all over him, but I remain semi-graceful. And there he is, Jeremy. Beautiful,  gorgeous, fucking Jeremy. Funny, he looks different than how I thought he would. All those fantasies of chance encounters over the past year included him with his classic short cut and Vans. But here he is, his hair swept up and combed back in a careful, chic style that implies consideration for one's appearance.

His eyes appear indigo and his whole being, lean and masculine, towers above my meager 5'4 frame. He just looks so - together. I can't quite put my finger on it,  but comparing myself side by side with Jeremy at this moment, I feel misplaced. As if he were the shiny new toy on the shelf and I was thrown into storage for defects.

"Cassidy."

He stares at me blankly, his perfect lips parted in an O, and I'm returning the same vacant stare back at him.

"Jeremy."

We breathe calmly, hushed,  and I drink him in again. I'm not reacting the way that I had imagined. That whole overwhelming urge to pummel him repetitively in the groin with both my fists, a frying pan, and then set his varsity jacket on fire - well it's gone. I'm just at a loss for words.

"...I uh,..." he starts, not quite sure how to continue. I don't know either.

"What are you doing here?" I ask dryly.

He hugs his arms around himself to block out the chill, and looks down for a moment before picking his head back up.

"Just passing through. I heard you were staying here. "