Scared

We met through a mutual friend, or rather, our mutual friend forced the situation upon us. He wanted to go out and wanted the both of us to go with him. Since neither of us had hung out with him in a while, we conceded. Not going to lie that there was an instant connection the first time I laid eyes on him. It was if my soul had found what it was looking for all these years. However, me being the ever pessimist in love and romance, I immediately assumed that I was not his type, nor will I ever be, and enjoyed the time with our friend.

This continued for quite a while, with the both of us hanging out whenever our friend wanted, which was quite frequently. I enjoyed this time of pre-friendship and hoped we could form a long-lasting platonic bond. How foolish was I to wish such a thing.

He texted me one day asking if I wanted to hang out. Since I had not given him my number (he never asked and I never gave), my paranoid self asked how he had gotten it. He apologized and said that our friend gave it to him. I immediately texted our friend instead of responding to him, asking said friend if he had given my number to him, as he knew full well that I preferred he ask me first before he gave out my number. Our friend just loled and gave this haphazard apology, letting me know that it'll "never" happen again. He then told me to enjoy my date with the guy, whatever that meant. That also reminded me that I had left the guy hanging, and I went back to him and accepted.

After that, we began to hang out a lot more, both with and without our friend, who would playfully get angry when he found out that he was "left out." It was through that time that we shared alone that we learned a lot about each other. It was also then that I began to fall for him, and hard. I was afraid that it would happen, and I was even more afraid that he would not return this sentiment. So I did what any other scared and paranoid person would do: I just buried it and never let him know. I mean, he didn't feel for me that way, so why destroy a good friendship, right?

Then I got the call. Up to that time, we would only text, which was great, as it was so impersonal and lacking intimacy. So when he called that night, I knew it was something serious, and even though I wanted to just ignore the call, I answered. His voice was anxious and nervous. He wanted to tell me something, and at the same time, he did not. I told him he could tell me later, that it was getting late, and that he should get some rest. So many times I wanted to hang up, and so many times he asked me to stay on the line and not leave him alone. What could a good friend do but comply? He kept breathing heavily, trying to calm down, and I knew he was fighting tears. I kept asking if he was okay, and he kept saying that he was, but he just needed some time to get his thoughts together. After a few minutes of this, I almost gave up and said good night, but that is when he said the words. Those words I longed to hear. Those words I knew he wanted to say. Those words I wanted to tell him since I felt it.

"I'm in love with you!"

I was taken aback. The words I wanted to hear were finally said, and I wanted to say them back. I wanted to let him know that he was not alone in this, and that I wanted him more than anything else in the world. However, that did not happen. Fear took over, then anxiety, and then panic. I immediately told him that it was late, and I needed to get to bed as I had an early day at work tomorrow. I didn't give him the chance to respond. I hung up, turned off my phone, and laid in bed for half the night before going to sleep.

The next weeks were a game of phone and text tag. He would text me, and I would reply, chatting away without issue, and then he would ask when we could hang out, and I would always have an excuse made up. I was working late. I had to take the dogs to the vet and groomers. I had a medical appointment I could not miss. I was going out of town for the weekend. No matter what the occasion, I had something planned. Our friend even asked me if everything was okay, and I lied because I did not want the guy to know how much I felt for him. I knew our friend could sniff the bull I was spewing, but he tried not to argue too much about it. He knew I would not budge from this.

Then one day, I got a call, and without even looking at my caller ID, I answered. It was him. The guy. I was not expecting this, as he usually tells me he will call, and that would give me time to block his number for a couple of days so he would only get voicemail. This time, I was not prepared. I nervously said hi, and he asked if I wanted to hang out. I immediately said I was at the office, and would not get out until it was late. I heard the tone of defeat in his voice, but just as I thought the conversation was over, I heard the knock on my door. I tried to ignore it, because as loud as it was, I knew he heard it, too, and my office consists of cubicles. He asked if I was going to answer the door, and I told him that it was just me knocking on my desk, a lie he very well knew as I never answer my phone there. Another knock followed, and it was louder this time. Again, I ignored it, and once again he asked if I was going to answer the door, and once again, I just said it was me knocking hard on my desk, trying to recollect something I had forgotten. Now the knock became a pound, and he finally said that he was at my door, and wanted to know if I was going to answer, since he knew I was at home as my car was outside.

Damnit!

I once again lied and said I went out for a while, walking, and would not be back until late. He said that was okay, and that he would wait, but also told me to hurry, as my neighbors had stepped out of their places, asking him if everything was okay. They even offered to fetch the manager, as they had not heard or seen me leaving my place all day. Resigned to foolish defeat, I told him I would be right there, hung up, and slowly made my way to the locks and opened the door.

He began to ask me if everything was okay, and if I was well, and if I needed anything. He kept on going how worried he had been these past weeks, and before he could say anything more, I grabbed his arm, and pulled him into my place, as my neighbors were already showing signs of worry and nosiness.

The first thing I ask is how long had he been stalking me. He looked rather perplexed, and so I told him that I never told him where I lived. He laughed and told me that he picked me up one time when he and our friend were out and decided to pick me up and hang out together. He told me he knew the exact place as I had gotten so drunk, that after he dropped off our friend, he took me home, and laid me on the bed, and only did the minimal of undressing, taking off my shirt, shoes, and socks. He left my undershirt on as well as my pants, as he did not know if I do commando or not. I had to assume he was telling the truth, as I only remember the ugly hangover and wondering how I had gotten home as well as undressed. Yet, that was a long time ago, so I was surprised he even remembered.

He then proceeded to ask me what was going on with me, and of course, with us. I deflected the best I could, giving monosyllabic responses, and trying to change the subject as much as I could. He could see through all my smoke and mirrors, and persisted, wanting to know why I had given him the cold shoulder after he told me he was in love with me. If I felt the same way. If there was something wrong that he said.

He then went on a verbal quest of telling me why he loved me, why he cared, and why he wanted me. It was too much to take in, and the only thing I could think of at that moment was to run away, but since we were in my place, that was not an option. So plan b was to kick him out. I kept on repeating that he needed to leave, and that we would talk later, but this time, he held his ground. He would not leave. He would not take no for answer. He would not let me run away. He kept persisting in his questions, and he kept pushing, until finally, I cracked.

"Because I'm afraid, ok! I'm scared! I'm absolutely terrified! I'm in love with you too, and I have been for quite a while! I had felt a connection between us since the first day we met! I have wanted you as any man could want another, and I was so happy when you told me you were in love with me! But I am still scared! I'm scared that it won't work out! I'm scared you won't put up with me! I'm scared that after all is said and done, you'll realize you don't want me, and then you'll leave! I'm scared of losing our friendship! Most importantly, I'M SCARED OF LOSING YOU!"

At this point, I am a crying mess, and I feel his presence, but he says nothing. After a while, I compose myself, and tell him he needs to go. As I make my way to the door, he intercepts me, wipes away my tears, and holds me tightly. His embrace, though strong, is warm and kind. It is full of love and care. It is as if my heart, broken into countless of pieces, was finally finding a way to get back together.

He then lets go, holds my face in between his hands, and firmly, but gently, places his lips upon mine. It was then that the confirmation of what my soul knew all along was given. It was then that I felt the moisture upon my cheeks, but I was not crying. It was his tears falling onto my face. I then felt the trembling in his hands, and heard the quiver in his breath. All this while his lips were upon mine, and all I could do was take it all in. He then broke away from our lovers' prayer, and embraced me again, with his head upon my shoulder, and through the sniffles and deep breaths, just like when he told me he was in love with me, he shuddered a soft whisper in my ear.

"I'm scared, too."