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“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Are you going to fuck someone else?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
He chuckles. “And what if I don’t want to fuck someone else? What if I’d rather hang out with you?”
“You rather hang out with me than fuck someone?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” He says playfully.
“I’m just trying to make this easier on you.” I say softly.
“And you think if I have sex with someone else and do all the other relationship stuff with you, it will be easier?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
“So, we’ll be friends, good friends. We will talk, cuddle, hang out all the time, but I’ll have sex with random strangers?”
I swallow. I didn’t really like the idea of him having sex with others, but I know he has needs, and I don’t think I could fulfill those needs without getting more attached. The idea of getting more attached terrifies me.
“Yeah. I guess.” I look away from him and fight back tears.
“That’s absolutely insane.” He says. “You are just setting yourself up to be hurt and miserable. You realize that, right?”
“But your needs will be met.”
“All my needs will be met, sure, but what about your needs?”
“I don’t need much.” I shrug, looking back at him. “Just a friend.”
“I can be your friend. I can do that.” He says, touching my arm. “I could also be more.”
I shake my head. “No. If we fuck, I’ll get too attached.”
“Darling, I hate to break it to you, but I think we are already a bit too attached.”
He had a point. It’s only been like two days, and I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I couldn’t tell him the real reasons I was so scared of having sex. I’m worried about being bad in bed. I’m worried I’m no good at sex, and he wouldn’t enjoy himself.
Or that it would be good, and I’d get hooked on him. More so than I already am.
“I don’t know.” I say, getting up. “This is all just like a lot. I think I should go.”
“Please don’t.” He pleads, standing up. “Let’s talk this through.” He grabs my hand, pulling me back against him. I look up into his eyes, and he stares back into mine. “Fuck.” He lets out a breath and releases me.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends.” I say softly. This is turning into a big, complicated mess. I just want a friend, someone to talk to, to hang out with, someone who cares about me.
“Maybe we shouldn’t.” He says back, and I blink back tears. “Why can’t we be more?” He sits back down. “Why did we decide to be just friends?”
“Because…” I pause. It all seems so stupid now. Why did I think I could be just friends with a guy? “We both need a good friend.”
“Abbey.” He says, looking at me. “I really like you.”
“I really like you too.”
“I don’t want to be just your friend. I’d like to be your boyfriend.”
“I’m scared to be more.” I confess.
