Early

This is written solely by me, I would be very hurt if anyone were to take it without asking first.  If you want to use it or link to it from your own page, please ask me first. 

    It was early, too early to be up.  But, I was.  Call it a character flaw, I run in the mornings.  Doesn't matter how much I'd like to sleep, how much I had to drink the night before, or how much sleep I'd missed because of working late, I still run in the morning.  I had houseguest sleeping in the living room, nowhere else to put him and he wouldn't take my room (as a proper host would offer the best accommodations possible to their guest).  He slept on the couch while I stretched on the floor.  I allowed a small sigh to escape and he rolled towards me, opened his eyes and smiled.  I looked at his blue eyes and suddenly I was lost.  I tore myself away from his gaze and continued stretching. 

     "If you want coffee the French press is on the bar and the coffee beans are in the freezer.  Just boil some water in the kettle and pour up to the line, wait about five minutes and then press the plunger down.  There's tea too if you want, tea bags are in the pantry.  The teapot is on the stove, can't miss it."  Stretch and don't look at him, just don't look at him. 

     He mumbled something back to me and I thought he was going back to sleep, I wasn't going to look at him to find out.  'I need to run, a lot.'  There it was, plain, simple and the truth.  I might hate every nano-second I spend running, but that least it leaves me tired. 

      I was finished stretching, but now was the most important part of the whole ordeal, talking myself into it.  I sat in the butterfly position, looking at my feet.  I was looking at my running shoes, dirty and stained running shoes.  I hate these shoes, the shoes I bought for the sole purpose of torturing myself.  'I must be a sadist.  Why else would I do this to myself every single day.' 
From nowhere a hand invaded the space in front of my face, went to my chin and pulled my face up.  I'm not sure when he had moved or how it was the he was kneeing in front of me, but he had done it.  He was smiling again, "oh, I don't know why you would call yourself a sadist, you just never catch on every quick."

     He leaned towards me and his long brown hair fell making a curtain.  His hair brushed my face and I was surprised, how is it that his hair is so silky?  His lips brushed against mine, what did this mad man thinking he was doing?  I pushed myself off the floor, grabbed my keys and went running.  Sexual frustration was more than enough reason for me to move my butt out the door. 
I ran until I was tired and then I had to run back.  I opened my door smelling foul, looking a mess and want very badly to take a long, hot shower.  And there he sat on the couch that he had put back together with a cup of coffee and the newspaper.  "Did you enjoy your run?"  He didn't look up at me.

     "I won't say I enjoyed it, but it serviced its purpose."  I went into my room to get a fresh change of clothing and avoid looking at him, looking so causal and yet so handsome.  I feel like punching something, but I was too tired and I could no longer stand the way I smelled.

     A hand landed on my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin.  I never heard him move from the couch, but he had followed me into my closet and was now standing behind me.  "Too bad you didn't enjoy yourself, you could have."

     I turned around, he wrapped his arms around my waist and started to pull me towards him.  But, I pushed my hands against his chest and stopped him before he was able to press me against him.  What was this guy thinking?  Here I had just run for an hour and a half and he wants to cuddle.  I smell bad, I'm sweaty and I've already said no (sorta) once today.  He must like rejection.  'Or I think he doesn't mean it.  Who in there right mind would be?'

     "What?  I like you, you like me; what more does there need to be?"  He looked at me and I made the mistake of looking at those wonderful blue eyes. 

     "I need a shower."  I pulled his arms away from me and walked towards the shower.

     "Maybe I should go.  I could just drive up today, instead of tomorrow."  He turned away from me, and I felt like the worst villain in the world must when the hero finally doesn't win, sad and strangely hollow.

     "Can't you wait to go until I get out of the shower?  I don't want to send you away smelling like a skunk."  I tried to smile, but I was never very good at that.  I had made more enemies and hurt more friends by not conveying the right emotion with my face. 

      "Okay, I'll just pack up then.  Save some time."  He left my closet and I headed towards the bathroom, head down and feeling badly.

     'Okay, so I'm stupid and completely inept.'  Good, if I understand this then it shouldn't be too hard to convey this to him.  I just needed to tell him that he isn't really interested, it's his imagination.  'Hmmm, the more I talk to myself, the less I feel sure that I can do this.  Perhaps I should just stop.'

     I got out of the shower, and found him on the couch again with the same newspaper and a refreshed cup of coffee.  He didn't look up at me, so there were no blue eyes to look at.  'All for the best, it's all for the best.  Just send him on his way.  No reason to explain a thing.'  As I was trying my damnest to convince myself of these things he put down his newspaper and cup and stood up. 
     "I guess I'll be going now.  Thanks for having me, it was nice to spend some time with you."  He went towards the door.  I stood there in my towel, my arms wrapped tightly around more to comfort myself for this unexplainable feeling of loose than to keep the towel around me and I couldn't stop the sigh that went past my lips. 

     He turned and looked at me.  I must have looked like a drowned rat.  He walked back to me, reached around me and brought me against him.  I didn't move, and I was still hugging myself so tight while he held me close to him.  I looked down at his shirt and noticed that my hair was dripping water on his shirt, making a wet spot.  I started to push off, but he held me there tight.  "Uhmm, I'm making a wet spot on your shirt.  If you don't let go, you'll be soaked through."

     "So?"  He didn't let go, instead he held on even tighter.  It was like a boa constrictor had gotten a hold me; every time I would breathe out he would hold me tighter.  "You know, I don't understand you.  It's been three years since we met, one year since your last boyfriend, who only lasted two months, and you still don't see it.  You never will, I suppose I can stop holding my breath.  It doesn't really matter anyway, does it?"  And he let go and walked out the door.

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