Mixed signals

Outside it was pouring with rain. The grimy window was getting a bit of a clean, but the view of the alley was still obscured and the smell of Chinatown still seeped in.  My crude finger drawing in the condensation was still just visible.

I had finished packing and sat on the only chair, between the telly and the microwave. He was still sleeping. I had to wake him before I left. We’d had a few bad days over the last weeks and things weren’t as solid as usual.

“Hey,” I ruffled his hair and shook his shoulder. He rolled over and stared at me bleary eyed. “Are you…?” He asked sleepily.

“Yes.” I replied. I was close to tears again. Still I had to do it. It was a now or never moment.

“Give me your hand,” I told him as gently as I could.

“Wha?” he mumbled.

“Your hand.” I held mine out.

His hand came out from under the covers.  I took it and held it.

“I know it’s been tricky lately…” I began as a tear escaped from one of my eyes. “But I do love you. I’m sorry if I’ve not been honest or clear.I’m … well…”

“But,” he interupted. I shook my head.

I slipped my 18th birthday signet ring from my parents off my finger and slipped it onto his. He was suddenly awake.

“Does this mean…” he  asked.

“That I love you and want to be with you.” I smiled.

He pulled my hand, dragged me onto the bed and kissed me deeply. I pulled away for air. “I’ve got to go, Ill miss my train.”

“We’ve time, and anyway…” He pulled at my fly. I was ready. “See.” …   …

…   …”I’ll be back Sunday” I said breathlessly as I tucked my clothes back in and picked up my case.

“Don’t say anything.” He warned me. “Promise me. Not this weekend. You know what I mean.”

“I love you.” I repeated as I slipped out the door. He didn’t yet realise telling me I shouldn’t do something was usually taken as a challenge….

18. Mixed signals

 

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