A Collection of Imagines

Shawn

Don't Hide

I hate this commute. The distance takes a tole on me. And I believe for him as well. But I hope he's there today. Sitting on my front porch, guitar on his back and a smile on his face. It's always been a fantasy of mine. I would love to know what he's going to do next. I wish it was easy to read someone's mind like that.

Her door was unlocked for some reason. Maybe she's home already. I ring the door bell anyway. Just to make sure ... Well I really don't know why I decided to do it. Maybe to make sure I'm not intruding on ... something. To make sure she's not with anyone. Any guy. God, that makes my skin crawl. That picture gets stuck in my head. Her with another guy. That would be the end of me.

I'm getting off the VTA, trying to figure out whether or not I should call him. What if I do and he says he's busy ... with someone ... some girl? That doesn't sit well in my stomach. It makes me want to throw up on the street that I walk home on.

I decide to go on in after a minute. I've never been inside her place. So far, I like it already. The first thing you see is an enormous brick wall with record albums scattered across it.  A lot of cool artists of different kinds: Rex Orange County, Coltrane, P!nk, the Beatles, Harry Styles, Elvis Costello, Tyler the Creator, etc. The old and the new.

I pull out my phone and go straight to my photos. There's way too many of him in my favorites. Some hilarious videos of him singing when he doesn't know I'm there makes me smile so widely. Why can't I stop being such a coward and call him up? He obviously likes to spend time with me, just like I do with him. How long can I hide myself from him?

Her apartment represents the essences of her personality. There's the humorous side of her when I go into her kitchen and see the word fridge magnets spelling out "no drunk sex" and "fuck all the deceits". I see the caring sides of herself when I go into her living room. She has her walls covered in emotional paintings that I believe she has created. One in particular catches my eye. The painted roses, one red and one pink, with jasmines look oddly familiar. I look closer to the bottom right corner which says "In My Blood" and her signature. She painted one of the covers of my single. She is so ... I don't have words. Just a stomach full of butterflies.

I don't really understand why I'm so secretive when I'm with him. But it's because of all of my other relationships. They all bursted into flames because I revealed too much of myself. I like him. I mean — I really like him. I don't want to scare him off.

I go into the hallway and find an open door. The only bedroom is like the same as all of the other rooms. But this time, it's pictures. When I go up to a cluster of black and white, I notice that it's only of one person and herself. I try to find the ones of me and her. Once I do, I'm baffled. It's the biggest cluster. On the wall where her queen sized bed leans against. The closest cluster to where she sleeps. The pictures are of us at various occasions. There's one of us at the movies (our first undercover date),  at a friends party (where we first met), and one where it looks like I'm asleep bare chested in the hotel bed in San Francisco (when I asked her stay the night with me). I laugh when I see some photos from my photo shoots. And there was also the photo booth strip when I first kissed her. She was so surprised and you can see it all over her face in the photos. I smile at the memory when I hear the front door click open.

As I set my keys on the front table, I spot the familiar guitar case by the door. He's here. In my apartment. Shit. I walk into my living room and call out his name. He comes out of my bedroom and my stomach drops. I knew I shouldn't have put up those pictures. He's leans on the door frame and smirks at me. I know he has seen the photos of himself on my wall. I want to die right now.

Her face flushes bright red when I come out of her room. She probably thinks that I disapprove of the pictures. Oh God, No. I'm glad that I'm the only half naked guy on her wall.

He starts walking towards me and I have this strange urge to hide myself. I bring my hands up to my face to hide my embarrassment. He stops right in front of me. He doesn't do anything for a second and then dips his head to where his lips are resting on the top of my head. I feel my forehead press into his chest. Suddenly, this has become overwhelming to me.

I place my hands on her shoulder blades and slightly massage the space in between them. She still hasn't looked at me. I need her eyes. I place my fingers under her chin to make her look up. Her face in full flush still. "You shouldn't have to hide yourself anymore."

"I'm sorry." I bring my hands to his waist and give a small squeeze. I don't know any other words that would sound appropriate.

"Don't be sorry. Just don't do it anymore."