fingers crossed

him.her

*The first song for this story is him.her, we recommend listening for a bit of atmosphere ooh*

Joe's POV

I wake up with a pit in my stomach. I stare at the ceiling for a while, imagining the ground swallowing me up . And I can't keep pretending this has nothing to do with her.

Some amount of time passes and I force myself out of bed and onto my feet. I have to stop feeling so sorry for myself and get on with my Sunday- but it's been getting harder and harder to act like my usual self when I'm alone, it's like her lack of presence is so loud, and I won't be seeing her at all today, which I know sounds stupid but this day is going to feel like a lifetime.

That thought seems to weigh down every part of my body and I sit back down. I'm so frustrated at how shit I feel over this girl, we're just friends and anything more that happened between us is just casual- she made that clear from the start. But the lines start to blur especially with the whole dance partner thing, we've become so comfortable holding hands and cuddling that it's starting to feel like she's my secret girlfriend, you know, without the actual 'relationship' part.

I throw my body in the shower and remind myself to get a bloody grip, letting the hot water surround me and form warm barrier against. . . well, whatever is making me feel like this. Is it healthy to feel this awful without someone? Should I be distancing myself from her?

I'm the kind of guy that likes to belt my heart out whilst having a scrub, but the next song on the playlist is that James Gillespe one and I feel sick again. This is a problem. She's always on my mind whether I acknowledge it or not. It's like the memory of her perfume is trapped in my lungs and her touch is tattooed on my skin- but there's constantly something missing, I need to be with her so I can hold her and breathe her air. It feels like an addiction.

I snap out of my trance and realise I had been clutching myself so tightly that my stubby fingernails had managed to break the surface of my skin. I examined the marks left on my arms and quickly wrapped myself in a towel, forcing other thoughts into my head.

Next thing I know I'm vlogging again, pottering around the hallway rambling about this that and the other. But watching it back it looks like I'm trying too hard to look happy, and I just seem distracted so I just delete the footage. It's weird you know, I used to be so good at hiding what's bothering me when I'm on camera. 

I think I'm in love with Dianne Buswell.