All That I Need Is That Crazy Feeling

The Past is Complicated.

            

When I walked into The Night Sky that night, I already knew that I would see you lounging in the booth in the corner with your best friend. You were so predictable. I ordered a drink from the bar to try and calm the anxiety, and lingered in the shadows, waiting to see if "the guitarist, who, like her ex, is also Catalonian" showed up, but after fifteen minutes watching you two laughing and drinking I was sure you were alone. So I went for it. You had always told me you thought no-one in a million years could make you feel what I made you feel. And now I needed to make sure that, despite that stupid boyfriend, it was still me who made you rise above the stars. That I kissed you like nobody could. That I took you to the moon and back, 1016 times over. I remember I walked up to you, and how your best friend's eyes widened. I remember how nervous I was as I looked at you, dressed in one of those flowery cropped shirts I loved, your bare middle exposed to the world, your hair up in a tangled half-bun, and I had to swallow. I thought I would hyperventilate before I could even greet you. But then your eyes met mine. And contrary to anything that I could have expected, they smiled at me, ever so lightly. You didn't say anything and neither did I- I knew that if I opened my mouth to say something, anything, I would break. You simply stood up, with your drink in your hand, holding my gaze. Your eyes were too bright, and I realised you were clearly drunk. But at that moment I didn't care. You finished your drink in one long gulp and set down the cocktail glass with a loud clank. I felt more than saw or heard your best friend get up and mutter something about going to the restroom, but I didn't pay attention to her. You were looking at me with such brutal honesty in your eyes that all the longing I'd felt for the past three years came rushing back. I felt the sting of the tears behind my eyes and before they could start rolling down my cheeks, I dove in.

Your lips felt as good as they had always felt. I gripped at your bare waist with my left hand, letting my right arm envelope you, resting the ice cold tumbler I held in my other hand against your back. You shivered at the contact, and when I was about to pull back, I felt your arms go around my neck and your mouth parting, welcoming me in. I could taste the alcohol in your breath and in your tongue. I put every emotion I'd felt over the past years into that kiss, and I could feel you did too. After what felt like ages I broke away, resting our foreheads against each other. You were breathless, and I couldn't help but feel a bit proud of being responsible for that. You touched our noses in a sweet eskimo kiss, reminiscent of so many things, and drew one of your hands to my cheek, wiping away with your thumb the tears that kept on falling, while your other hand intimately caressed the back of my neck, just as you'd always done when I was down and needed your comfort. I tried to say something, but instead I broke and started weeping, my face contorting in such a way I was sure I was probably the least attractive thing you'd ever seen. You smiled sadly, bit your lip, and put your fingers to my lips, shushing me. You grabbed my right hand, which had been resting on the small of your back, and brought the drink it held to your mouth, downing what was left of it. I followed the movement of your tongue as you licked your lips while setting the tumbler on the table, and I could already feel the anxiety subsiding, as you started arousing other feelings inside me. I bit my lip and you smirked, drawing your hand down to grab mine and interlace our fingers. Then you lead me away from the booth and out of the bar.

That day was the beginning of something, a pattern of sorts. I remember waking up in your bed, at first confused, and how the memory of what we had done came rushing back to me as I saw you lying naked across my body. I felt wretched that I had done that to myself. I will never be able to describe how quickly the light I saw in your greenish eyes that morning when you saw me in your bed was overcome by darkness when I told you it had been a mistake. I had had a crisis, I had been broken, and like so many times when we were together, I had needed you to piece me back together. But the night before didn't change anything between us. You had called me selfish, you had pushed me, hit me, and made me leave your apartment. And, as I left, I realised that perhaps you were right. Maybe what I needed was to have these moments of selfishness, to get back at you for breaking me three years before, to make myself feel whole again, even if just for a little while.