16. Indy
SIXTEEN
INDY
So…
We’re back to not talking.
Or maybe not.
It’s difficult to say seeing as I’m doing my best to avoid him.
Well, okay, I do see him. We still live in the same house. We pass each other in the hallway and run into each other in the morning.
And we do talk.
Lots of in-depth conversations about passing the bread at dinner and setting the table.
But absolutely nothing of substance is being said.
Not: Did you actually want me or was it all just the heat of the moment? or What changed?
I have no idea what he’d say if I actually asked him.
The fucked-up part, though? He keeps looking at me, and when he does, he seems to get stuck enough that he gets caught. I see him looking at me. I watch him watch me. All the time.
And it’s confusing and fucked up because I can’t get rid of him.
Instead, I just want. All the time.
It pisses me off.
We’re on a knife’s edge. There’s this persistent feeling that something has to give. Somebody is going to give in. One of us is going to break, and it will probably be me. He’s going to shut me down. There’ll be another rejection.
I almost want to just get it over with at this point.