crowded thoughts

wanted

wanted

In a weird way, I knew I was in love with him. The way he painted his nails and then chipped them once they were dry. The way his pale skin was covered in dark lined tattoos, not an ounce of color in them. The way his eyelids hung over his brown eyes from smoking pot all day. I don't know, something about him made me want him. Maybe it was his mysterious vibe or the fact that I knew nothing about him other than his name. It made me want to know him more than any other person in the room.
But I'm too scared to be known to him; too scared to put myself in a situation with him. He knows my name, just like I know his, but we're different— too different. I probably have nothing in common with him except for the fact that I like to smoke, and that's it.

•|•

"And you are...?" He questions, holding out his hand. I look at it for a second, knowing that we both know each other's names, but it'd be weird to act like we do. I put my hand in his.
"Noey," I reply, nodding my head.
"Fitz," he says. We stare at each other for a second before he hands me his blunt. I inhale a slow puff and let out a breath.
       "Is Fitz short for something?" I ask in between breaths. He glances over at me and stretches out his arms. Nothing is said for a second, which begins to make me feel a little silly for asking the question, and then he replies.
      "Uh, it's a weird— I don't know."
        "You don't know?" I ask, becoming confused. I hand him back the blunt.
       "No," he leans back on his arms and looks up at the ceiling. "It's Fitzjackson, but people like to always say something about it so I just go by Fitz," he says, rubbing his lips together. I nod my head.
      "Yeah, I understand," I say, "I'm either Blowey or Chloe," I let out short laugh, only to stop when I realize he doesn't find it funny. He tilts his head to the side and sends me an odd look.
        "Why Blowey?" He questions after a moment of pause. I bite the inside of my cheek before I answer.
        "It kind of sounds like my name, and well," I hesitate, "apparently I'm good at blowjobs," I say, nodding my head. He raises his eyebrows and looks down at his lap. After a second, he looks back up at me.
       "I'm not going to ask you to give me one," he says, "but it does make me wonder," he smiles at me and I see the subtlest hint of a dimple in his right cheek, and I realize that maybe he might be opening up just a little to me.
       "If you were to ask me to give you one," I swallow, "I

•|•

"I don't know," he says, "sometimes you just get tired of looking at the same thing every day." I stare at him for a second, my eyes beginning to water and my bottom lip starting to tremble. I let out a short breath and nod my head.
"So, you're done?" I ask. "With me?"
"I mean, I got what I wanted didn't I?" He replies quickly. I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling almost helpless as he stares at me. In a way, I got what I wanted from him, too. "You can leave," he says, and although part of me wants to ignore me, I oblige and grab my bag from the ground and walk out of his bedroom.

•|•

"I think...I think I'm afraid of love because love has always failed me," I say to him, nodding my head to my words, almost like they actually mean something important.