Private.

[nola_cyclops]

Samuel Scott's Private E-Journal.
Entry 3.

This morning, when I woke up, I thought about Oliver. I woke up feeling empty and alone in my bed and thought of him down the hall, sound asleep, and I missed him.

I missed him.

I thought about the way he sleeps curled on his side, and how vulnerable he seems like that, with his big eyes closed to the world and long lashes at rest. About the way his breathing slows and settles. I thought about how nice it had been to hold him while he slept.

I thought about his smile and the moment I made him laugh. I almost never make people laugh.

I thought about the note under my door, which I can’t throw away, which doesn’t belong in my desk drawer but also will stay there forever, at this rate, because it was from Oliver, and it was so charming.

I am so charmed by him.

The first time, we were angry and annoyed and I suppose attracted to each other in that moment. The second time he was playful and we talked and we touched as though we cared about each other. And more than that. Now I don’t know what they mean together, as a sum, if there is a linear path to trace from one incident to the next.

I do know that it’s getting easier to talk to him. I do know that it’s becoming fun to talk to him. I do know that the night we spent together was one of the best nights I can remember, and for a series of reasons: how incredible our intimacy was, how strong our chemistry was, how he looked at me, for once, like I was a person who mattered.
I know that it was Valentine’s Day and that the date was purely coincidental, but I also know that I felt – feel? – appropriate Valentine feelings for him.

And I know that feeling this thing for him is a fool’s game. We are compatible sexually, he likes that, I know that know and I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t mean he likes me as a person, and why would he? I’m the most boring person alive. I’ve only just figured out how to speak to him in complete sentences. I don’t like anything that he likes; he’s a tattoo artist and I have a body that even he knows would probably repel any attempt at giving me one. I’m nothing like his friends, and he wouldn’t be anything like mine, probably, if I had any.

But still I feel so drawn to him. Still I wonder if he knows me in some way I’ve never been known before. I wonder if that’s just the sex or just my crush. I wonder if this is all because I’m not really prone to crushes and now I have one on my clever, handsome, infuriating, funny, wonderful roommate.

I wonder how this will all end. Not well, is my guess. At some point, I’m going to have to move out and he’ll no longer talk to me, and I think because I know it’s inevitable, I miss him already.

Samuel Scott. You’re one big, hopeless, idiot.