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(show him that you need him)
* * *
The room was completely silent, the awkwardness so potent it was almost tangible.
It was strange that James and I had reached this point; any time we were together, we would find ourselves talking about anything and everything, our topics ranging from the economy to discussing particularly crazy Black Mirror episodes.
There was rarely ever a silent moment between the two of us—while conscious anyway, although James did have the tendency to talk in his sleep from time to time—so this was new territory for us. That made it painfully uncomfortable.
Maybe it would have been easier had we been in separate rooms—or separate beds, for that matter. But, James didn't have a guest room or an air mattress in his house, so I found myself sharing a bed with him, an unpleasant silence hanging over us.
I found myself itching to break the silence, but as soon as that thought came, I dismissed it. After all, he was the one who fucked up. Sure, my words had been harsh, but it wasn't like I attacked him, using one of his biggest vulnerabilities as ammo. I'd only spoken the truth—or at least, my version of the truth—which had nothing on what he said to me.
If anyone deserved to get iced out, it was him.
However, I also had to consider his point of view. He was hurt, and people tended to lash out when they felt hurt. Could I really blame him for that?
It was also important to note that following the whole ordeal, he didn't throw a hissy fit and leave me to fend for myself. He could have, but he chose to stay with me for the rest of the night, putting my needs before his. Despite the anger he must have felt towards me, he suffered through that horrific family dinner with me, providing the support that I desperately needed.
He'd shown me time and time again that I could count on him. How could I just ignore all that, and shut him out completely?
The answer was that I couldn't. Our friendship had always been the most important thing to me, outweighing practically everything, even my pride. So, if I needed to be the person to break the silence, so be it. James needed to know that I didn't view this argument as the end of our friendship; what we had was something good, something worth salvaging.
So, I opened my mouth, ready to speak, to say something—anything—to make the situation better. However, James spoke first, ensuring my words never made it out into the open. Evidently, the awkwardness had been weighing heavily on his mind as well.
"Fuck, please tell me what happened in the car is something I dreamed up and not an actual thing that happened."
I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I sat up slowly, leaning over to the table on my side of the bed to flick on the lamp. This kind of conversation—one that would no doubt stray into emotional territory—wasn't the kind to have while lying down in the darkness.
