Day Dream At Night

Trust (A Memory)

I have a routine for my Sundays. I sleep in while Dawson is in church, and once I wake up I take a shower and get ready for him to pick me up. From there we either go to the pool, to his grandmothers house, or find somewhere to spend time with each other, wasting the day away in perfect happiness. 

This one particular Sunday, I was feeling weird. Not in a sick to my stomach weird, or "I have a headache and I just want to nap" weird, but more like a "I've been thinking too much" weird.

Dawson had picked me up from my house, and neither of us felt like doing anything that day so we went to his grandmother's house where we were able to lay down on the couch, watch Netflix, and be lazy together. His grandmother's house is one of those places where time stands still. Sometime throughout the afternoon, I had experienced a sudden mood drop. I don't know why this happens. Sometimes, I just get to thinking to much. And this time, what I was thinking of was not a safe thought.

There is a secret that I have not told Dawson. It is something that I have not, and probably will not tell anyone. Stuff has happened around me, against me, and to me. Dawson is aware I have this secret, and I have no doubt he is curious and worried, yet he does not press for me to tell him, or even bring it up. 

This particular weekend stands out to me. After Dawson and I finally finish with all our random excursions, we were laying on the couch, watching a move, that I don't even remember. Neither of us were paying much attention.

We were both on our sides facing each other, enjoying being there. Dawson would pepper my face with little butterfly kisses, on the nose, cheek, chin, forehead,  anywhere he could. 

I held his face in my hands trying to memorize every detail. Dawson has these crinkles and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth when he smiles, along with dimples littered across his cheeks. He also has a single freckle on his forehead about the left eye. The sides of his head is shaved and he keeps the top part of his hair long, pulling the curly mess into a bun, pony tail, or braid. 

Dawson is one of the most determined, caring, sensitive, goofiest people I know. He is my best friend, my partner, my counterpart, and soulmate. Even now as I type this I start to tear up. 

"When you kiss me," Dawson speaks up, interrupting my thoughts, "what does it mean for you?" 

I didn't hesitate with my answer.

"It means I trust you."

Just then I could feel tears start to fall down my face as my thoughts and emotions got to me. All I could think was, 'Here is my chance to tell him.'

In order to hide the tears, I buried my face in his chest and tried my best to wipe them away before he notices. Nothing worked. They kept falling down my cheeks and onto his shirt. 

"I love you more than I ever thought I would," I heard Dawson say, which just made the tears fall faster. At this point he was attempting to lift my head so he could look into my eyes and tell me his heart. As soon as he made eye contact, his face dropped.

"Baby, what's the matter? Are you okay?" Dawson instantly sat up and held my head in his arms and cradled me. At this point I couldn't stop the tears. I let the flow freely as silent sobs left my mouth. 

I hate crying. I hate being sad about things, especially in front of others. This is why my episode only lasted about a minute or two before I had calmed my breathing enough to speak without tripping over my words.

"You know there are things I haven't told you and it keeps eating away at me and I keep wanting to tell you and I know you deserve to know and way more," at some point I had started rambling, and Dawson knew this and cut me off.

"Baby, be quiet. You don't have to tell me. I'm sure if I had gone through something, I would wait years to tell anyone. You do not have to feel bad about not wanting to tell me something like this."

Dawson's words had struck me in a way I wasn't familiar with. It was less of what he said, more of how he said it. I didn't have any idea on how to respond. I just stared at him. At his bright, blue eyes with the grey rings around this and the light specks in the color. 

"Listen to me," Dawson whispered. He held my head level with his, and wiped my tears away. "I'n proud of you. I know how you hate crying, so I am proud of you."

I smiled at him and was at a loss for words. I nodded and leaned my forehead against his.

"Now lets go get you cleaned up," Dawson said. He stood up and then continued to help me stand. Walking to the bathroom, I stayed close behind. 

Once I saw my reflection, I could not believe how pathetic I allowed myself to be. My mascara had melted down m cheeks and my eyes were re and puffy. 

After wiping off all the stray makeup, Dawson, who had been previously leaning against the door frame, pulled me into a hug and looked at me through the mirror.

"There's my beautiful girlfriend."