A/N: So, it's been a while since I've posted anything...Been kinda busy doing nothing so...Anyways, unlike some of my other stories/poems this one wasn't inspired by true events. I don't know if I'll continue this or not. But tell me what you think and I might just feel like it.

1.

My toes are ices cubes against your leg. I slip them under your bare thigh, in an attempt to warm them. You wake up and take one of my feet in your hands, rubbing it. I smile in the dark, my cheek against your shoulder. You take my other foot and hold it, you thumb tickling.

"Better?" you ask.

"Yes."

You roll over and cover my body with yours. I wrap my legs and arms around you. You make a sound between a groan and a sigh. I chuckle and bite your shoulder. You reach for the covers. I tighten my hold on you, so you let go of the sheet.

"I'm not cold anymore."

"Good."

You fall asleep again, your breath warm against my neck. I feel trapped. I move carefully from under you. This time you don't wake up. I'm glad you don't. I stare at the ceiling, looking for something. I don't find anything.

I get up, I can't sleep. The hardwood floor is cold against my newly warm feet. I wince when I step on your belt buckle. I call it your cocky belt. You don't think it's funny. I glance at the clock as I put on your worn out slippers but it's too dark to see the time. What's the point of having an alarm clock if it can't tell you the time once it's dark? I remember I'm the one who bought it for you, because it's red. I feel stupid. I go into the kitchen and I make myself a tea in the dark. I'm amazed at how I don't have to see to find my way around the room. I burn my tongue. The tea doesn't help. I wish it wasn't snowing so I could go outside in your slippers. I don't like snow. You love it. You say you feel like a kid again when it snows. I don't want to feel like a kid. It reminds me that I might still be one, that we shouldn't be doing this. I press my nose against the sliding door and I cry.

You wake up again when I slip under the covers. I pretend not to notice. I can feel your eyes on me. You reach for me, but I move away. I pull the covers up to my chin, they smell like you.

"I wish you didn't love me."

"It's too late for that." you say.

"I love you."

"I know."

I've never told you before, I've never told anyone. And I know you wish I didn't love you either. I can't stay here. I get up again and slowly put my clothes on. I'm putting on my socks, sitting on the edge of your bed when you put your hand on my foot.

"Next time, keep them on."

I know I'll be back. I know I can't stay away for long. You know it too. I get up and kick your belt under the bed. I grab my coat from your chair. Everything in this room is yours, everything feels like you. Except for the clock. I pick it up on my way out and stuff it in my bag.

"It's stupid anyway." I say.

"I'll see you in class, Anna."

2.

It's freezing outside as I walk back to my place, thinking about the assignment you gave us. I think about not doing it, just to see what you would do. To see if you would do anything. I shouldn't have taken the clock. I turn around. You open the door before I can knock. You move to the side and let me in. I take off my clothes on my way to your room. You slip under the cover as I'm putting the clock on your nightstand.

"I didn't want you to be late tomorrow."

"Good, I like it there."

This time I fall asleep. I don't wake up until the sun lights up the room and I can see the time. You're gone and I'm late for your class. I smile at the irony. I decide not to go and wait for you instead. I know you'll be annoyed. I get dressed and walk around your apartment. It's the first time you leave me alone at your place. I don't like it. I feel like I shouldn't be here, like I'm going to get caught. I hope you come home soon.

I'm looking through your CD collection, not really paying attention to the titles. Your class has been over for 30 minutes, you should be home by now. I hear the front door open. I shouldn't have stayed. You seem surprised to see me. You're smiling.

"I'm glad you stayed."

I'm not. I feel trapped again. I grab my coat and put it on.

"Let's go out for lunch."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

I forgot, no one is supposed to know. I feel stupid with my coat on, so I wrap my scarf around my neck. I want to leave. I'm fidgeting and I hate it.

"I'm sorry." you say.

I don't say anything. I nod and move towards the front door. My hand brushes against yours as I walk by you. You grab it, stopping me.

"You don't have to go."

"I know."

But I still leave. On the side walk I wish I had taken the clock again. I don't go back. I need air after being trapped in your smell all morning. I buy a sandwich at a coffee shop on my way home. My mouth is full when I see her. That girl from class. The one who smiles at you all the time. I want to run to her and push her in front of a car. I don't think you'd appreciate the gesture. She's walking towards me, waving. She looks sexy even in a winter jacket. I wave back. She starts talking before I can hear her. I catch the end.

"…class today."

I swallow, the bread scraping the back of my throat. Her hand are on her hips, she's chastising me. I hate it.

"What?"

"I said: 'I didn't see you in Professor X's class today.'"

"I woke up late."

"Oh."

She's looking at me like I'm crazy for even thinking about missing one of your classes. I hate how she calls you Professor X. I hate that you like it. You said it was "cute" when I told you she has a crush on you. I hope you never find me cute.

"He lives two blocks from here, you know."

"Ok."

"Every time I'm in this neighborhood I hope I'll run into him."

"Why?"

"You won't tell anyone?"

"I don't care. You don't have to tell me…"

"I think he likes me."

She whispers it looking over her shoulder, like anyone would care what she has to say. I want to shake her. I want to scream: "He loves ME!" But I don't. I just smile and nod. I don't hear what she says next. I want to run back to your apartment and tell you I'm sorry. But I don't. I nod. I say goodbye and keep walking. I hope she never runs into you.

3.

You call me after two days. I gave myself three. I pretend I don't recognize you. You tell me to stop sulking. It feels like a slap in the face. I don't want to talk anymore. You ask me to come over.

"Give me half an hour."

You made me dinner and I forgive you before even realizing I was mad at you. We talk about my paper. I drink too much wine. I make you laugh. I want to cry. I get up to go to the bathroom. You ask me if I want dessert. I can't answer. I cry sitting on the edge of your bathtub. I know you can hear me. You knock on the door before opening it.

"Are you ok?"

"No."

"Come here."

You take me in your arms. I feel better. I forget about the girl. I realize I don't even know her name. I laugh against your shoulder. You take my hand and lead me to the kitchen. You make me sit at the island and hand me a bowl of ice cream. I ask for sprinkles. You laugh and it makes me blush. I forget about the sprinkles, about the ice cream.

"I saw that girl the other day."

"What girl, Anna."

"The one who has a crush on you."

"You're jealous."

You say it like you don't really believe it. Of course I am. She's sexy in her winter jacket and she's blond and she has a very impressive "rack". Of course I'm jealous.

"She thinks you like her."

"Ok."

I hate you for making me act this way, for turning me into a jealous girlfriend. I'm not your girlfriend. This isn't a relationship. I'm sulking. I have to stop myself from crossing my arms over my chest. I feel so stupid. And you're grinning. You're loving this. I hate this. I hate you. I hate her. I hate myself. I get up slowly; I want you to stop me. I cross my arms, daring you to stop me. You don't. I'm leaving.

"Anna, don't be a baby."

I know the look I give you is full of hurt because you apologize. You know I hate it when you patronize me. I'm hurt and angry and jealous. I know I'm being irrational. I can't help it. I wish I had never met you. I wish I was older. I wish you were younger.

"I wish we could be together."

"Anna, we are."

I shake my head. I don't want to cry. I'm choking. I can't breathe. You reach for me as I put on my boots. I push you away. I don't want you to touch me.

"Next time, keep them on. It'll be easier for you to run away."

And I know I am running away. I hear sobbing and I realize it's me. I forget to take the clock again.

4.

This time, you don't call me. I see you in class the next Monday. You're wearing your cocky belt. I didn't kick it far enough. I sit in the back, near the door. I don't take any notes. I just listen to the sound of your voice, my eyes closed. I hear a loud giggle. It's that girl. She's sitting up front, laughing at something you said. You're laughing too. I want to kill myself. I feel betrayed. You look at me. I can't read your expression. Then you smile at her and start talking again. I wish I had taken the clock. I realize the lecture is over when people start moving around me. I close my notebook on the blank page. I put my things in my bag very slowly. I want to see if she'll stay after everyone is gone. She does. I don't want to see anymore. I hear her giggle as I open the door. I don't turn around. I feel like I've ruined everything.

I wait for you by your office. You don't smile when you see me. You don't look at me when you open the door and leave it open. I go in and close the door behind be.

"What do you want, Anna?"

"I didn't…I just…"

"No, Anna. What do you want from me? From this?"

You gesture to the space between us. Your office has never felt so small. I frown. I don't know what to say. You are looking at me with that unreadable expression again. I hate myself for making you look at me like that. I reach for the door, I don't know if I want to lock it or open it.

"Anna, if you leave now…I don't…"

I lock the door. You move around your desk towards me. I know you are waiting for me to come to you. I do and for a second I feel my heart stop. You put your hand against my cheek and my heart starts beating again.

"I didn't take any notes today."

"It's okay."

You're smiling, so I smile. We both know I'll have to ask that girl for her notes. And we both know I'd kill myself before asking her anything.

5.

It takes me a week to convince myself I have no other choice. I catch up with her after your class. She seems surprised that I'm talking to her. I know that for a weird reason she likes me. I don't want her to like me. I ask her for her notes from last week before she starts thinking I want to bond.

"But I saw you, didn't you take any?"

"I got distracted."

She's looking at me like I'm crazy again. I'm starting to feel like I am. I seriously want to strangle her. I make what I suppose is an annoyed face because she reaches in her bag and hands me her notes. I mumble a thank you and walk away from her as fast as I can.

"You're welcome!" she yells at my back.

I can't believe it. I've been staring at it for a whole minute. She color coordinates her notes. With matching pen and highlighter. My notes look like a four year-old wrote them compared to hers. I show them to you from across your living room, expecting you to laugh. Because she's stupid and I hate her. You just shrug, barely looking up from your book.

"Well, she is one of my best students…"

I just stare at you. I'm pretty sure my mouth is slightly open. I'm not jealous. I'm really not. Because I'll wake up soon. Because you did not just say that bimbo actually has a brain of her own. Because I can't possibly have been wrong about her.

"Don't look at me like that. If you took the time to know her, she's very…"

"Don't you dare!"

I pout for the rest of the evening while copying every single word of her stupid perfect notes. And you pretend not to be laughing at me.

6.

I see her again the next day. She's at the coffee shop near the University, reading a book and drinking some kind of frozen coffee with too much whipped cream on top. I must be mad or something because I sit down at her table. She looks up from her book and almost chokes on her fancy coffee when she sees me. I reach in my bag and put her notes on the table. She doesn't take them back, so I push them forward.

"Thank you."

She smiles and puts her notes in the biggest purse I have ever seen. She goes back to her book and sips on her drink. I don't know why I'm not leaving. I don't even like her. And she obviously doesn't want to talk to me. I blame my legs. Stupid legs, not working. I finally get up and put my chair back. I'm about to walk away when she looks up again.

"Anna, do you want to go get a drink?"

"You already have a drink."

"I mean an alcoholic drink."

I look at the clock behind her head. It's almost four. I have a class at the other end of the campus in five minutes. I must be out of my mind.

"Ok."

She's funny and witty and interesting. She talks about her family, her friends, how she loves to travel. She even plays the bass in a band with her high school friends. I can't decide if I hate her even more or if I want to be her best friend. I get why you like her. I don't really want her to stop talking.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What do you like? You know…"

I find myself telling her about me. All about me. And she smiles and nods.

"I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"About being a bitch to you."

"It's ok. I shouldn't have said anything the other day. I know you like him."

"Who?"

"Professor X."

She's whispering again and this time I'm glad she does. I feel the blood rushing to my face. I know the longer I stay silent, the more suspicious I look. I panic.

"What the fuck are you talking about."

I'm whispering too and it has a completely different effect. Her eyes widen. She's surprised.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Whatever."

I need to leave. If I don't leave I'm going to tell her everything. I can't believe I want to tell about us. I can't lie, she knows anyway. I start chugging my untouched beer. She stops me with a hand on my arm.

"I'm sorry, Anna."

"I swear, if you tell anyone."

"I know. I won't. Do you…"

I shake my head. I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to drink this beer and get many others after that.

7.

It's almost ten o'clock when I knock on your door and I'm drunk. I don't think you've ever seen me this drunk. I don't think I've ever been this drunk and I am not a happy drunk. It takes you a while to open the door. You seem surprised to see me. I'm surprised I made it to your place. You're dressed nice, you're wearing a white shirt and dressed shoes. I've never seen them before. You smell like aftershave. I can hear the soft sound of music playing. All the signs are there but I refuse to believe it. I push you aside and stumble inside. You grab my arm, almost too hard.

"Anna, what are you… Are you drunk?"

"Not anymore."

I manage to wrench my arm free and I'm in your living room before you can stop me. I look at her. I've seen her before. She's a teacher too. Now everyone will know and for a second, I feel free. Then you're right behind me.

"Anna, please…"

"I'm sorry."

I'm looking right at her. She simply nods and I feel pathetic. I'm sobering up, I should've drunk more. I walk towards your bedroom, you follow me. The clock isn't on your nightstand. I look around and find it on the floor next to your cocky belt. I grab both and jam them in my bag with the paper I know I'm never going to give you. She's not in the living room anymore. You stop me before I reach your front door.

"Anna…"

"Stop saying my name like that."

"Like what, Anna."

"Like you're sorry."

You let me go.

I find myself calling her before I can stop myself. As I wait for her to answer, I realize she's the closest thing I have to a friend right now. I'm glad I was wrong about her.

"'lo?"

"Hey. It's me, Anna."

"What's wrong, Anna. Are you okay?"

"Can I come over?"

She gives me her address as an answer. It's not far from the University. I hope she lives alone.

8.

She buzzes me in and I start crying on my way up to her apartment. She's waiting for me, holding the door open. I go sit on her couch. She sits next to me. We don't talk. She lets me cry.

I wake up to the smell of fresh coffee. I sit up with a start and regret it immediately. I want to go back to sleep. I don't know where I am and I have the worse hangover ever. When I open my eyes again she's handing me a cup of coffee and I remember. She puts a bottle of painkillers in my hand. I think about taking the whole bottle. As if she reads my mind she takes it from me. She struggles to open it, muttering and gives me two pills. I burn my tongue on the coffee.

We spend the day avoiding talking about what happened last night. She wants to feed me ice cream and do my nails. I don't. We argue and she wins. I'm blowing on my wet nails like she tells me too when my cell phone vibrates on the coffee table. I just stare at it. She grabs it angrily and shuts it off. I'm glad she does, I would've answered. She leans back on the cushions and crosses her arms.

"Ok, I want you to tell me exactly what happened."

"It's complicated."

"I know. But try me."

And I do. I tell her everything, from the beginning. And I feel free again.