History Always Repeats Itself

Chapter 11

Friends.

That's what Ezra and I both agreed on. The truth of it was that we were better with each other in our lives. I knew that having Ezra in my life as a friend was better than not having him at all. I had the ability to fix this. If I could just tell Ezra that I remembered that night and that my feelings remained the same everything would go back to normal, but I was sick and tired of always being the one to fight for our relationship. Every step of the way I was usually the one trying to convince him that what I felt was true, and the few times I had actually walked away he always came barreling after in a matter of minutes. Not this time. It had been a month since that night. I started letting myself believe that maybe he didn't really still love me like he used to. Maybe he moved on in all the time we were apart, using me being drunk when I confessed my feelings as an out for him. A way for him to say that he was trying to do the right thing and stop being selfish when in reality he was thankful for the escape. I pushed the thoughts to the far back corners of my mind, but as the days went on the thoughts slowly creeped their way forward. He knew how I felt, and if he didn't count that night as valid proof then he had nearly three years of our relationship to look back on. Every moment we spent together, even the fights; it was all proof that what we had was once in a lifetime. Still, every time I found myself walking out of his apartment and into Tony's arms I was afraid. Afraid of losing Ezra for good, afraid of actually being able to move on with Tony, afraid of finding out that maybe we weren't as meant to be as I always thought.

"What's up?" Ezra asked, placing a cup of water on the coffee table in front of me before sitting next to me on the couch.

"Just thinking," I replied, reaching for the glass.

"About?"

How much I love him. How much we love each other. Why we are sitting on opposite sides of the couch instead of lying in his bed tangled within the sheets. I shrugged, taking a long sip of water and setting the glass carefully back on the table.

Ezra furrowed his brow, "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head, "No, just a little stressed out. It's nothing."

He raised an eyebrow, seeing through my horrible attempt at reassuring him. I waited for him to speak up; to call my bluff and make me talk. I waited to see his eyes flood with the desperation they always had when he needed to find out what was bothering me. Instead, he shrugged. He sank back into his seat letting out a defeated sigh, and with that my heart sank to the pit of my stomach, because there was a time when he would force me to tell him. There was a time when he cared enough to know, and couldn't sleep until he did.

My arm stretched out to the side unconsciously searching for the warmth of his body, only to be met with sheets that were cold and empty, "Ezra?" I called out softly, sitting up from the bed and squinting as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"I'm in here," his voice came from the kitchen and he stood by the counter holding a mug of what I assumed to be coffee.

I slid my legs off the bed and pulled the covers off of my body, shivering as I stood and my legs met the harsh winter air. I loved wearing his t-shirts but they certainly didn't provide the warmth needed on nights like these, especially for my bare legs, "What are you doing up?" I asked sleepily, glancing at the clock that now read two-thirty.

"Sorry, I couldn't sleep," he said, fiddling with the cup in his palms.

I walked over to him, noticing that he was still wearing nothing but his boxers from last night. The area under his eyes was dark due to lack of sleep, "This isn't helping," I said, taking the coffee from his hands and setting it aside. I bit my lip and swept my eyes over his naked chest wondering how he wasn't shivering like I was, "Is this still about..." I trailed off.