Orange

Fourteen

"Wh-what do you mean?"

I was sitting up now, watching Blaise put his clothes back on. He smiled at me, letting out a small laugh.

"I mean that you don't have to apologize for saying that. Having sex with someone sometimes leads to hyperbolic emotions, after all."

I couldn't believe my ears. Had he really just said that? That what I was feeling was just a result of us having sex?

"So... you don't believe me, then."

"Clem," he knelt down next to me, chest still exposed and so goddamn warm. "What's going on? You're acting kinda weird."

I forced myself to look away from him. I pulled my hair out of its normal puff ball and let my afro lose, hoping it would bring some sensuality to the conversation.

"Blaise, I... I meant it. I really did. I like you so much that I'm always thinking about you. Like every day. And... I really want to be with you and—"

"Clem."

I looked up at him, feeling tears in my eyes. Suddenly, his jovial expression had faded away, leaving a painfully serious-looking man before me. I almost didn't recognize him.

"You... love me, too, don't you?" I whispered, so softly I almost didn't think I said it.

The look Blaise gave me sent the tears rolling down my burning cheeks.

"Clem, it's... complicated. You know that. You've always known that. You told me that you were okay with this kind of relationship when we were younger, right?"

I nodded. Memories that hot summer night came into my mind. Blaise was so passionate, so full of love, while I was a blubbering mess who whimpered at his every touch. I was his sweet little secret. And that reality felt really fucking horrible all of the sudden.

When I remained silent, Blaise just sighed, standing up to put his shirt and hoodie back on. Once he was fully clothed and ready to go, he turned back to face me, that playful smile back on his face despite everything that had been said between us.

"Like always, let's keep this our little secret, alright?"

I just stared at him, unable to truly smile. He sighed, turning away from me and walked out the door.

Thankfully, we still had ten more minutes before time was up. I had time to have a cry. But not the cute, "boo-hoo my crush doesn't like me" kind of cry like in the movies. I mean the kind where you're pulling your hair, feeling the snot trickling down as you're sobbing up to the heavens with curses sloppily falling down your lips. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. Why did it have to hurt so badly? Why did I have to fall in love with my best friend?

Was this all fate's doing? I glared up at the ceiling, catching my own reflection. I looked pretty rough with tears staining my cheeks and naked body rocking back and forth on the mattress. I felt gross, absolutely disgusting. What was it about me that Blaise couldn't love? Was it my hair? My skin? No, it couldn't be—Eartha was the same race as me, probably, and had kinky coils that were just a little looser than mine. Was it because I was too skinny? I glanced down at my body. My hip bones protruded from my skin, covered in marks that Blaise had left behind. I groaned.

Maybe it wasn't my body that was the problem. Maybe it was my personality. That granted me a crude, painful sort of comfort. That had to be it. I'm so bland, tasteless like water—and not even the fancy mineral water. More like the shitty tap water that I use to make even shittier oatmeal with. I push away everything and everyone except for Blaise. But I thought that meant we just had complementary personalities—he had always been the more rambunctious one, while I quietly followed him even if it meant getting lost. Because that's what I do. I follow, I complement, I perform. Leading just wasn't my schtick unless it was with a complete stranger, and even then, I hesitated.