Plan Of Seduction

9. Indirect Confession Pt.2

Edit/Rewritten: April 17, 2021

___

Logans POV

_________

Chapter Nine: Indirect Confession Pt. 2

For the first time since I had met him; I hated Tripp.

And the worst part was that there was no solid reason to truthfully hate him, because he hadn't done anything wrong. There was nothing wrong with what he said. So what if he liked, possibly, definitely, loved somebody?

It wasn't like Tripp couldn't see someone, we had both dated plenty throughout high school. I dated a lot more than he did. But somehow, the idea of dating in college, aside from seeming like an upgrade, seemed like a lot more commitment. And the idea of Tripp not only being in a relationship, but being more committed to them sent a punch of pain straight down my throat.

For some reason, knowing that Tripp is bisexual, made that hurt more. Because now there was a possibility of him actually, potentially liking me. Of being with me. That would never happen though, Because it would damage what we had. It would —

We would grow apart.

My back bowed as Tripp started petting me, rubbing his hands in an up-and-down motion against my spine. The tears had stopped, leaving me a sniffling, hyperventilating mess against his chest, a budding headache thumping against my forehead.

Tripp shifted beneath me, his other hand combing itself through my hair. "Why don't you get some rest. . .?"

I whined at the implication of sleep and separate rooms, clinging to him. "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not leaving." It was this again. I knew it was the same thing. Over and over. I knew it, I knew it. He would get tired of it, tired of repeating it, and then it would be on me. Because I'm the one doing this. I just—

"Yes you are."

_________

When I woke up later that day, I was alone. I shifted on my bed, eyes shooting towards the clock on my desk that always seemed to taunt me. 11: 09 pm. Time was something that had been escaping me lately, I was doing good in my classes but whenever I had nothing to do, thoughts would come and drown me, and time would simply fly by, without a care in a world to my pain. To the self-worth that I didn't seem to hold for myself.

I blinked, 11:11 pm.

Want . . . Tripp.

There was a lot more to that. I want Tripp to be my best friend, to continue being my best friend. I want Tripp to like me, as a friend, and maybe as more than a friend. I want to be okay with liking Tripp as more than a friend. I want to be okay with liking what we had done during highschool, the glances and the touches, and the sense of understanding that it all provided. Because, truthfully, it is okay, I just hate myself.

Another shutter of eyelids and Tripp was standing by the door, sending me a small smile as he sat down on the bed next to me, placing a tray of food on my nightstand. He then leaned forward, placing his right, calloused hand on my cheek and running the rough pad of his thumb against my cheekbone. My eyelids fluttered shut as I instinctively leaned into his touch. It was warm, it had never not been warm, Tripp had always been keen on sharing his warmth with me. And I had always been keen on taking it. All of it; all of his warmth, I want it for myself.

"How are you feeling?" Something about his voice screamed 'too close', and as I opened my eyes a gasp tore itself from my throat because there he was,  centimeters away from me.