Why I Love Him

Chapter Seven

"Why are you all the way over there?" I looked over at Wayne when he asked the question, not knowing how to answer him. He had a confused look on his face — one of his brows raised high with his lips drawn in a thin line. He crossed his arms over his chest as he let out a sigh, his look of confusion turning into one of hurt. He was sitting on the long sofa in my living room. I was all the way at the other end of the room, standing by the door like a cornered mouse. I looked away from Wayne, staring at my feet as I nibbled at my bottom lip.

Wayne sighed again, making me look back at him. He ran a hand through his wavy hair before focusing his gaze on me. His eyes burned through me. It was uncomfortable. I had to look away and divert my gaze to anything but him. I stared at the carpet instead, hoping the awkward atmosphere would just go away.

Asking Wayne to come over was indeed a bad idea.

"Johnathan, I'm not going to do anything," Wayne said in a small voice. I looked up, letting my eyes settle on him. He looked frustrated and exhausted like he didn't know what else to do.

"I'm not sure how else I can convince you that I mean well..." he trailed, licking his lips before lifting himself off the sofa. "But I really mean this. I love you, John. I made a series of stupid mistakes in the past that I'm trying to fix now. Please, just give me a chance — I know you have, but, I don't know, open up a bit," he pleaded, walking towards me before stopping right in front of me. He c****d his head to the side, giving me a small smile as he buried his hands in his pockets as if he was afraid he would do something he would regret.

"Can I ask you something, Johnatan?" Wayne asked, making me tear my eyes away from him as I thought about it.

Ask me something? What? I wondered, looking back at him.

"Sure," I muttered in reply, and Wayne nodded, stepping away a bit. It seemed like he noticed he was making me uncomfortable.

"Are you still in love with me John?" My heart sank to my stomach at his question. I opened my mouth, closing it again when I realized I couldn't get my lips to form any words. I did. I did love him but telling him wouldn't be in my own interest. I don't know — I'm panicking.

I licked my lips, pushing back strands of my hair that was sticking to my face. I needed water. I needed a seat.

Why did Wayne ask me that?

"John," Wayne called, reaching out to hold my shoulders. "Please talk to me, I need to know."

No, no you don't. I said in my head. I really wanted to say that out loud, but I didn't. My feelings had been used against me before, I wouldn't let him do that to me again. Though I knew things were different now, I still couldn't. I was afraid. Wayne wasn't the person with crippling anxiety over getting outed or homophobic parents looming over him and his decisions. Wayne was out and proud. Wayne was here to get me, but I still couldn't. Old memories and fears were powerful. They governed my decisions, they overwhelmed me with 'what ifs' and anxieties.

"If you don't love me anymore. If you want nothing to do with me, I'll leave. I promise. I'll take the first bus out of town and find a way to halt my projects here," Wayne added when I didn't give him a reply to his question.

A part of me wanted me to let him go, but another part of me was stuck between my options. I loved him, and he was here for me — he was trying, but I was petrified. I didn't know what to do.

I was so overwhelmed that I started sobbing silently. There were streams of tears on my face, but I remained silent like my throat was clogged. I seemed to shock Wayne because he pulled me into a tight hug almost immediately. I closed my eyes when my face met his chest, taking in the expensive perfume scent that I've coded as Wayne's new one since he got here.

"D-don't g-go," was all I could make out through my throat that felt light a dry narrowing pipe. Wayne let out a breath of what I thought was relief. His muscles relaxed, and his hug became looser.

"Thank you," he murmured into my hair. "I was scared. There are so many times I've felt like I've lost you since I got here," he muttered, and it was then I noticed he was shaking. My sobbing stopped, and I just enjoyed him hugging me. This felt nice, not overwhelming and confusing like s*x — he was just hugging me. It's been a while. He used to hold on to me like this when I cried — mostly because of him — especially because of him.

I was still crying because of him.

"Johnathan?" Wayne's voice as small when he called out to me. I recognized this tone. He would use it when he had something sensitive to ask me.

"Hmm?"

"Have you considered seeing a therapist?" Wayne's question made me freeze in his hold. I relaxed a bit when the shock of the question washed over me. Yes, I've considered seeing a therapist for my depression and anxiety but sitting down with one for just an hour could cost as much as two hundred dollars. I didn't make that much to spend. And I'm ashamed to admit this, but it would be a waste of money considering my financial state. I'd rather save.

After a while of just staying still. I shook my head in Wayne's chest, making him let out a deep sigh.

"How are we supposed to move forward if you're afraid of me?" he asked no one in particular as he ran a hand through my hair. His fingers felt cool against my warm scalp that was throbbing from crying induced headache.

"How?" I guess he took my lack of response as a confirmation that I haven't seen one. I tensed against his hold as he ran his hand down my neck and let it settle on the small of my back. "This is all my fault and I don't know to make this right."

"How do I make this tight?" He kept talking to himself as he hugged me.

My eyes went wide when I heard a low throaty cry.

Wayne was crying.

I've never heard him cry. It was usually frustrated yelling and sighing, but never crying.

My heart was breaking, and I didn't know how to react. I pulled away from him a bit, looking into his teary eyes.

"Sorry," he grunted as he sniffled and tried to catch his tears with the back of his palm. He had that frown on his face that showed he was frustrated and in conflict with himself. I took a hold of his hands, pulling them down before leaning forward to kiss him. It was a short light kiss. From how fast I pulled away you could conclude it didn't happen at all, but it had the effect I hoped it would. His face was flushed, and his eyes were wide, forgetting his worries for the time being.

I'm not sure how it happened but we ended up migrating to the sofa together. I turned on the T.V. so Wayne and I could dwell in the silence without it feeling uncomfortable. The buzz from the television tinted the void, relieving us from any obligation to speak anytime soon.

"About therapy," Wayne started, drowning out the sound of the T.V.I looked over at him. His eyes were still red, and I was only noticing the bags under his eyes. He has probably had them for days. He just seemed tired. Very tired.

"I could set you up with a therapist. I'll pay so don't worry about that—"

"No—"

"Let me do this John. It's all I can do," he said, cutting me off. We stared at each other. My lips parted to say something, but nothing left my lips. I took a deep breath as my shoulders sagged, giving in.

"Okay," I agreed, watching as Wayne's lips broke into a wide smile before he thanked me in a small voice.

"I'll send you details as soon as I can," he said, adjusting on the sofa a bit so that his body was turned towards me. He raised his leg, putting it on the couch. He kept looking at me with a smile on his face. I smiled back, trying to hold myself together. It was weird. We were so close yet so far apart. It hurt me in a unique way. I couldn't explain the muddled mix of dread, regret, and fear that was haunting me at the very moment.

"I want to go back to old times — not go like everything. I'm sure you know what I'm saying," Wayne stuttered, stumbling on his words. I chuckled, making Wayne's eyes go wide before he grinned at me. Yes, I didn't laugh often and certainly not around Wayne.

"Remember when we used to sit in my room and watch basketball games?" Wayne asked, and I nodded, pulling my legs up on the couch so I could rest my head on my knees. It was one of the few good memories I had from back in university. It was one of the few times Wayne wasn't caring about his reputation or stressing about his grades. We had 'dates' in his room. We watched live games most of the time. Wayne made sure he watched at least two of the games in a season with me. He would tell his friends he wasn't feeling well so he could spend time with me.

"Yeah," I answered, looking down at the carpet. "I remember."

"There's a street basketball game this week. Would you like to go with me?" Wayne asked, making me bite inside my cheek as I thought about it.

"I thought you said no dates?" I said, reminding him of his promise before he came over.

"Don't two friends just hang out?" I smiled at his answer, shrugging before I looked over at him. He was smiling too, and it made my face warm.

"Okay, I'll go with you," I agreed.

As I said that Wayne's smile widened, and he went into full planning mood, mentioning where we could stop for dinner and when we would leave so we weren't late for the game. I just listened to him, unable to get the smile I had on off my face. It was nice to see him excited. I reminded me of aspects of him I fell in love with. He was sporadic, somewhat childish in his excitement and determined.