Dating a Tortured Artist│18+ ⚠️

7. it's all so different now, emotions burn me out.

When I wake a few hours later, it takes me a good minute to try and recall why this feeling of dread was gradually overcoming my tired body.

And then it hits.

I sit up in bed and turn towards the bedroom door, carefully listening for any sounds. When I hear a bit of noise, as if someone's tapping away at the hardwood floor with their fingers, I lick my lips, looking at the time.

5:32 AM.

He's now been here 5 or 6 hours.

I swing my legs to the floor, my toes submerging themselves into the shaggy mat near my bed as I stand up.

I picture myself opening the door, wondering what I would say to him, imagining what would happen if I let him in. But then I'm picturing what would happen if I simply continued to ignore this. Ignore him.

Was I really going to try and run from my problems now, especially when this problem was right outside of my bedroom door? 

Even if I shouldn't have let him into my house, I knew it wouldn't have stopped him from lingering outside of it, or even dropping by frequently at random times. I cursed whoever, or whatever it was, that had informed him of where I lived. I couldn't even speculate who it could possibly be off the top of my head, but he'd clearly spent enough time tracking me down.

Because if he'd known exactly where to find me, he would have been here that very night.

I force myself to walk over to the door, and I'm confused when I get there as to what it is I plan on doing or saying, but I quickly realize I just wanted to get this over with. I needed to let him explain, and I needed to swim through this, and I needed to move on— None of that would happen if I didn't give this obstinate man a chance to talk to me.

I also come to the realization that I'm ready to hear whatever he has to say.

Because after we part ways, I wanted there to be no reason left for us to ever see or speak to each other ever again.

I unlock the door and stay still for a second, before turning the doorknob and pulling it open to reveal him sitting right in the entryway, his back leaning up against the wall near the hinges, his long legs in front of him, the tips of his toes reaching the opposite wall. He looks uncomfortable. Cramped.

Good.

Dan's head snaps up, gazing at me, and his usually bright blue eyes are a dull color, various emotions stirring within them; his hands are in front of him, fingertips touching between his bent knees. The solemn expression upon his face just about makes me crumble, but instead I manage to return his fraught demeanor as calmly as I could manage.

And then I do the opposite of what he's likely expecting: instead of inviting him into my room, I walk out, slightly closing my bedroom door as I step over his legs, and take a seat right next to him, barely touching at the arms. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, before turning to look at him.

"Talk," I manage to croak out, my own voice faintly audible.

"That's it?" He whispers back, sounding even scratchier than before. "No hello?"

"What have you done to deserve it?"

He nods, licking his lips, "Right." He leans back against the wall, our knees brushing as he turns his head to keep his eyes on me.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and lick my lips, looking at my arm and then up at him. The way he's staring at me makes me feel as though he's burrowing a hole into me while simultaneously undressing me with his eyes; his stare is so intense that my eyes can't help but dart in and out of their path.