Sacred Affection

The room was eerily quiet, almost uncomfortably so. It felt like even the slightest sound could be heard, and I wondered if a pin dropping would break the silence. My gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to lift my eyes. Questions raced through my mind—why was he here, and what did he want?

My nerves were on edge, my heart racing, my head spinning, and my leg bouncing anxiously as I tried to comprehend why the man who had shattered my heart multiple times was now seated in my living room, quietly smoking a cigarette, enveloped in an uneasy stillness.

He had changed, though not drastically. Some familiar traits lingered. His hair was shorter, and his style had undergone a shift. Clad in a white T shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of jean trousers, he presented a different image. His smoking habit seemed less intense, he used to be a chain smoker if I could recall; he still indulged, but the constant craving for one cigarette after another had subsided. I hadn't had the chance to meet his eyes yet, hidden as they were behind the sunglasses he wore.

The smoke danced around the air of the room, silently. His hand was resting on the armrest, tapping the leather with his index finger. His hands used to be much softer, delicate. Especially when they would wrap around my frame. Now they looked rough. More fitting for his career.

He finally removed his ray ban shades but didn't let his eyes glance at me. He let them fall anywhere and everywhere but refused to look anywhere in my direction. His lips weren't curved into a small, memorable smirk, that used to always catch my eye and make my cheeks heat up. Instead, they were straight as a line, hardly giving my cheeks a chance to even tinge pink. And when I finally managed to catch a glimpse of his eyes, they weren't soft or angelic, like I remembered. They didn't look at me with love, or lust, or roam my frame like they used to. They could hardly bring themselves to look at me, let alone, comfort me when they looked into mine. They looked lifeless. Boring. They looked empty. Which broke my heart a little at the mere sight.

"Well... Are we just going to sit here in silence?" he asked, flicking the cigarette ash in the ashtray like I remembered him always doing. His voice was scratchy, rougher and huskier. Not soft and gentle that could lull me to sleep. It sounded worn out and tired.

"I'm not sure what it is you want me to say" My eyes remained glued to the floor, and once again there was a short silence, with nothing but the sound of me, nervously cracking my knuckles.

My mind was racing. Swarming with memories, good and bad. I specifically remember the day he departed. How I cried for weeks on end, thinking I'd never recover. And I don't suppose I fully did. And now he was here. Reminding me that I'll probably never fully get over it.

The silence was deafening. It was unbearable. I honestly think this is the first time we've sat in an uncomfortable silence. It was always uncomplicated when talking with him, even in times when I thought I hated him. But that changed. He's changed.

"What are you doing here, Logan?" my voice was quiet and strained. I refused to look into his lifeless eyes, knowing it would only hurt me, and make my heart pang with sadness.

"I've really missed you, Logan. It's been years, and I've heard not a word from you" Although his words were meaningful, his tone remained nonchalant. Unbothered. Like he didn't really mean what he was saying. I supposed I was used to lies escaping his lips.

"Well... Communication works both ways" I shrugged, rubbing my hands together, looking up to the ceiling, wishing this could end, he could leave, and we could both get on with our separate lives.

"I didn't have your phone number. Didn't know where you were." He replied his tone the exact same, leaning back on the sofa, crossing his right ankle over his left thigh, and fiddling with his car keys.

"Well, you were touring from city to city, I just assumed-"

"You still had my phone number, don't you?" he scoffed, cutting me off, as he sat up straight once again, uncrossing his legs, resting his elbows on his thighs, with his hands clasped, as he leaned forward, finally attempting to look into my eyes.

"I don't know what you were expecting me to do, to constantly call you? Or sit around and mope about our good old days while waiting for your calls?"

"Oh, for God's sake" he rolled his eyes, sitting up, folding his arms, as he chuckled, humourlessly. "Of course, I didn't expect you to sit around and wait for me, Logan. But you could've dropped in. But instead you- you pack up and leave? Real fucking mature. You haven't changed" it was my turn to be pissed off.

"I loved you, Logan. I did everything I could to be with you. I hurt my family. I hurt my friends, your friends. I have done everything just to call you mine and to hold you, and you know what? It still wasn't enough for you" There were tears of mixed emotions pricking up in my eyes, and now he was looking down at the floor with shame and guilt.

"It wasn't enough" I repeated, attempting to dry my eyes, and stop the tears from spilling.

Logan stood up, timidly, and took slow steps towards me, sitting next to me. I could feel his eyes roaming my side profile, as he cautiously put an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me into him, murmuring reassurance into my hair, taking a handkerchief and drying my face with it.

When I looked up into his eyes once again, they had softened and reminded me of all those years ago when we were younger and thought love was the answer to everything. I loved him with every beat of my heart, but there's something I doubt I'll ever admit to him.

I still love him.