love on the rocks

Please don't hold my hand.

Your breath reeks of alcohol. Sweat is beading on your forehead, dripping from your ever so carefully sculpted hair. Your pants, too tight. Your smile, taunting. Lips, tempting.

Please don't look at me that way...

Don't. Don't walk after me like you intend on truly chasing me. Don't.

The entire night you had ignored me. The entire night you held her, tiny as can be, pocket size and full of life, and her hand rested on yours as mine swung at my side, restless, unaccompanied, alone.

But now? Now the walls come down and your actions and words are flowing out like a great flood. Noah you are not. So don't... Don't...

Please...

Don't wrap your arms around me like I'm yours.

You look at me and whisper, "Just one kiss. C'mon. Please? Just one..."

I take a breath of air, inhale my frustration, expel your hopelessness.

I'm standing here and it's cold. I cross my arms and cup my heart. Squeeze.

You look at me with that same look; the same one that's hurt me three too many times.

If I were sober, if I had a backbone, if I had my walls up as I usually do, putting Fort Knox to shame, I'd turn and walk away.

"Oh, that's right. Doesn't matter how hard I try, everything I do you'll just blow off like it doesn't mean anything because you don't care."

--Feet! Dammit!
PLEASE!!? Walk away!

Something begins to take hold and I don't see it coming. Is it cowardice or courage?

"You don't understand! That's the thing!!"

It doesn't matter now. I'm speaking from my heart.

You were walking away and now you're stopping again. Stop, again.

My arms flail in frustration and my voice cracks.

"No matter how hard I try, I'll never stop caring about you-- and that's what fucking pisses me off!"

You look at me and the happiest smile has found its way onto your face. You close the space between us and embrace me, hold me, squeeze me.

"Well, I care about you. A lot. You don't think I do, but I do. Please... let me show you how much I care."

Your head is resting against mine. Your breath grazing my face.

"I wish I could believe you, but you don't mean it."

You push off in frustration and curse the skies and whatever God or gods you adhere to. You look at me in disbelief and the anger begins to creep up on you. I open my mouth to speak and the look on your face challenges me.

"You're drunk. Way too drunk. And tomorrow, you won't remember a thing."

Your face falls and my heart drops; you concede and begin to walk back to me.

The cab is waiting, they say. They throw us in along with our friend, and your body is engulfing mine, your head nuzzled into my neck. I can't sit still, can't think straight.

Your hand snakes through our tangled arms and hopes to entangle your fingers with mine. I see where this is going.

"Stop. You're too drunk," I say.

"So?"

I sigh. "It doesn't matter. You won't remember anything about tonight tomorrow."

The lights whir by and collide in a blur, a collision of stops and starts and empty promises.

"...I know."

Defeat.

Come morning, I am hanging off the bed and you and our friend are taking up the space you didn't pay for.

I could leave you alone and let you sleep, holding me in a position you somehow took at some point in the night as I slept peacefully and well, but I can't. I need to be a good friend. I need to do this.

Home is calling and you all must go. I turn and shake your arm; your belly; your chest. I reach up to shake your face. Only a moan and a grunt in reply. The arm which I'm using as a pillow scoops me in closer. I rest my head on your chest and keep time with the rhythm of the rise and falls with every breath that you take.

Don't...

I detach myself from you and turn the other way. Immediately, I feel like something's missing and I shiver.

Suddenly, your head that often nuzzles into the safety of my neck encases me, protectively, and your arms swing over my waist as you swiftly pull me in up against you. I recede into the comforts of you as you wiggle your way into settlement.

Your warmth blankets me and is no match for the pseudo-safety the sheets attempt to offer. No words are said and we're not fighting. You're no longer drunk and I'm no longer on the defensive. I'm nervously waiting for you to realize what's going on and to abruptly let go and cease all touch.

I close my eyes. Take a breath. Exhale so softly and finally give in. Still, I wonder...

How can something so wrong feel so right?

Goodmorning. Goodnight.