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Like my dad did to me.
I wasn't going to make the same mistakes as my mom. I wasn’t going to hold him back, even if I wanted to and ask him to stay…
Would he?
I was afraid to find out the answer. He may not leave today, or tomorrow, but someday he would and the vicious cycle would repeat itself.
I know you’re asking yourself why I couldn’t just tell him that. Why I couldn’t just open my mouth and be honest with him. Tell him what I felt, every last insecurity that was buried deep within my bones, harboring to the point of pain, what was really going on.
See, love is a beautiful thing.
It builds you up so high until you reach the end and there’s nowhere else to go, but down. I was only seventeen, but felt much older. Mature beyond my years. It had always been that way for me, having to grow up fast and mostly alone. You don’t realize how much of your childhood affects the person you become, the person you are. How memories shape your life, your feelings, and most importantly your love.
The struggle between the things we could change but didn’t want too, versus the things we could change but didn’t know how too.
I was terrified if I told him what I needed, he would leave me anyways. Except the inevitable would take much longer, like a ticking time bomb located in the center of my heart just waiting to go off and leave me broken. Days, months, years of getting closer and closer to him, building a life with him, for what? Eventually that love he had for me, for us, would turn into resentment for holding him back, not letting him accomplish his dreams and goals. Our love would die like a plant that I spent years and years showering with tender love and care.
I couldn’t do it.
I’d rather him leave me now.
Then hate me later.
I would become my mother.
There was no way in hell I could go through that again. Once was enough. Twice would be unbearable. I also couldn’t just walk away from him. I would love him until he left me because either way.
I would lose.
"What are you doing?" he asked, laughing as I straddled his lap on my bed with my phone in my hand.
We had just finished making love. We were doing that a lot more now. It was the only time my mind stopped spinning and I allowed myself to just feel.
To be with him.
I was wearing my bra and panties and he was only in his boxer briefs.
"Taking a picture of you," I said, looking adoringly in his eyes.
The eyes I wanted to remember.
"Why?" he asked, gripping my waist, rubbing his thumbs back and forth along my lower stomach.
"Just in case," I simply stated with a tone I barely recognized.
He noticed it immediately. There was very little that Dylan didn’t notice and he often called me out on it, which led to us fighting. I squealed when he unexpectedly flipped me over instead, caging me in with his body and locking my arms above my head like he knew I loved.
He hovered above me and looked deep into my eyes and rasped, "Try to leave."
DYLAN
Everything fucking changed.
The irony was not lost on me.
I went from having meaningless sex with every girl, to making love to the one girl that meant everything to me and it still went to shit. I couldn't catch a break. If I knew sex would have changed things between us I would have never been intimate with her. I was eighteen and about to graduate from high school. All I wanted to hear her say was that four letter word.
Stay.
