I'm watching you walk away from me.

About fifteen minutes ago, everything was normal. Both of us were sitting on that agonizingly long couch, watching some idiotic television program. You would make a lewd comment regarding the jerky, continuous hand movements of the actress. I laugh and say that it reminds me of when I walked in on you late at night. Repeat and continue.

Let's be honest, the tension in the room could have been cut with a toothpick. I was new to this, this whole relationship starting phase. I was comfortable, and perfectly content, with the 'touch and go' thing I had going on before we were made official. Official meaning us together could be "liked". But then you came along and said you were a strict dating guy.

In an act of stupidity, I came to the realization I had to have you and agreed to your terms. The handholding, planned movie dates, meeting the friends, the whole disgusting bit. Hell, you probably expected us to start dressing color coordinated.

I took matters into my hands, so to speak. We were only at it for the first ten minutes so nothing could make that thought literal. I moved myself to a better proximity to you, resting my thigh against yours. You were stiff as an ironing board and if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a prude. During a Ford commercial I tugged your left hand out of your side and placed it in my lap.

You'd think that when you know someone for so long you could relax and not have to worry about the person criticizing or anything negative really. Your hand was cold in mine but the gracefulness of the fingers attached just about made up for it. I marveled at the ivory skin and smoothness. So unlike any others I had met, maybe that was where the attraction came from.

I turned my head and kissed you. You kissed so softly, barely pressing. It was heavenly and a foreign feeling. The kiss was a nice change of pace. I was used to the heated skin, the firm grim on various body parts, and the deep strokes of a tongue on my own. You kept your lips closed and your hands stayed in between mine. They were still cold but those fingers were still there.

You sighed just as I was about to open my mouth under yours. I ached to taste you; even a tiny tease that would hopefully quench the uniquely strong emotions that I felt towards you. Those beautiful hands detangled themselves from mine and pushed on my shoulders. I gave you a look.

My displeasure should have been evident.

My first (official) boyfriend shrugged and tuned into what must have been the most fascinating commercial on tampons. I couldn't speak because my mind couldn't wrap around the idea that a guy would pass up a chance to get inside a girl's pants. Said guy would apparently rather watch the demonstrations of how blood was absorbed into the cotton cylinder. And here I thought even the word "period" disgusted a living male over the stage of puberty.

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry.

I sat back and stared at the wall next to the TV with the strange feeling of being rejected. My arms felt chilled and a sense of dread filled my veins. I was at a loss at what to do.

I couldn't relish in the tingling sensation of a bruised mouth, nor the fast heartbeat because there just wasn't one. I yearned for some contact, anything would do; an arm on my shoulder, hands interlocked. What the fuck, I'd take a punch to the arm.

It was odd to feel like someone didn't want me. Trust me, I know I'm not the prettiest pink in the crayon box but I like to think I'm attractive. In turn I only liked guy's who liked me…ergo, the whole making out part. I never had to deal with the not touching ordeal because it was a given when I was in the same vicinity of someone of the opposite sex that I enjoyed being around. And I would have figured this rule would be doubled in intensity considering he was my first (official) boyfriend. It left a bitter taste in mouth.

I intended to go back to my original spot on the couch, but when I shifted he clammed up again.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's your deal?" I asked. Muting the TV, I turned to him and watched as he repeatedly snapped a rubber bracelet on his wrist.

He looked up at me and gave a small smile. "Nothing's wrong."

His lips dipped down at the last word. I sighed heavily. Six hours into the relationship and it looked like we might have to have a serious talk already. Let's just skip this and go straight to the make up.

"Look," I said. "If it's the kissing, I'm cool with it. It's not like I'm a whore or anything, I just thought it was normal to touch a guy you like."

A hesitant laugh gave away but there wasn't a grin this time. He toyed with the edge of his shirt and replied, "I get that, I really do." He paused and looked at my forehead. "This sounds weird but I don't want to rush into anything."

I exhaled. This was loads better than what I had initially expected. I nodded. "Fine, no problem. I like kissing you, and I don't want to have to ask for permission before I do so. Does that make sense?"

He breathed out and I caught the sight of his teeth gritting. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

I jerked back and watched him warily. "What's wrong now? You don't want to kiss me or something?"

Eyes pierced me. "I'm not calling you a slut because I know you, but it felt like you were just going to say that you like kissing guys. Not necessarily me."

"Oh, come on," I rolled my eyes. "What the hell gave you that idea? I'm sitting here right now." To make my point more clear, I smacked my hand against the cushion. "You're my first boyfriend and for me, that's a pretty big commitment. I wouldn't have said yes if I liked another guy."

He didn't say anything. My skin itched to smooth out the frown marring his face. It didn't fit to see him not laughing and joking. That one frown made him look like such a different person than what I was used to.

He was something I wasn't used to.

"I think," he spoke quietly, "I'm just going to head out now." His voice carried loudly in the silent room.

I didn't know what to do. Was I supposed to call out to him? To confess that I didn't want him to leave me alone? That I couldn't bear another second without him in my presence? We both know that I wouldn't have done such a thing. I didn't know what this newfound relationship entailed and my inexperience showed as he walked through the living room.

His keys echoed.

I didn't flinch at the slam of the door. I also didn't feel the need to jump off the couch and run into his arms. I simply didn't know what to do because I didn't know how to act around this person and it left me with that same bitter feeling. He is −maybe− my first (official) boyfriend. And that meant I was to act like a good girlfriend.

Un-muting the TV, I continued watching the rest of House.


(Officially) Yours 7/23/11

A/N: Once again, I chose not use names because I wanted it to feel as if you didn't know the two people. I'm trying this technique on thoughts and dialogue so I might go back and switch it up later. Right now, I'll leave it as is.

© 2011 by knownkonvict

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