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You Can't Change the Way You Feel

I looked over at him. He was dozing in his chair, his hands resting lightly in his lap. His mouth was slightly agape, and occasionally he'd mumble something in his sleep. I couldn't help but think he was beautiful. No one could be that perfect, except for him. He shifted now in his sleep, moaning softly. I could spend the rest of my life like this, just watching him sleep. But I knew that couldn't happen. Not now. "Paul, wake up. The plane will be boarding soon."
He stirred, and blinked slowly. I love his hair. In this odd fluorescent lightly, it almost looked like half of it was in shadow, half of it in direct sunlight. His eyes were like two gorgeous pools of the most perfect shade of brown. I could stare into them for eternity. "Where's my bass?" he yawned. He makes the cutest face when he yawns.
"With the rest of the luggage, remember?" He nods sleepily, and I can't help from smiling. He still looks like the five-year-old my mother used to baby-sit. Yes, the features were a bit more mature, but you could see it in his eyes. He'd never change, at least, he wouldn't change too much. When we have a free moment we love to go to a toy store and just play around. If only you could see him on the little pink Barbie bikes, cruising down the aisles. It's an amazing sight. He stands now, stretching his long arms out to the side. "Have a nice nap?" I ask, a little wistfully. I haven't had a good night's sleep in about three years. In part because of him. If we're staying in the same room together, I can't help but just lie there and watch him sleep. Watch the gentle rise and fall of his wide chest. Watch his eyes dart back and forth beneath the eyelids as he dreams. I wonder what he dreams about.
I wonder if he dreams about me.
Why would he dream about me? Dreams are supposed to be about nice things, happy things. I don't dream too much these days. He does though. I can tell. I can tell by the way he wakes up smiling, the way he rolls over slowly in his bed, the way he breathes deeply, remembering what it was he had dreamt about and savoring it before another hectic day begins. I wish I could have that. That's just not meant for me though; I can never be happy. Apparently that's how the world planned it and you simply cannot change fate. He smiles at me and I can feel my heartbeat quicken. How does he manage to do that, with only a smile? How does he manage to turn me on with every little thing he does? Bastard.
"Yeah, I had a nice nap. You ever notice we could sleep anywhere? If I was tired enough, I probably would've fallen asleep on the deck of the Titanic as it went down." He picked up his small carry-on bag off the floor. It had a row of pins on its strap. One with a picture of the whole band; an old picture; an adorable picture of him. I got up out of my chair and followed him toward our gate, where we met up with the rest of the guys. How can he not see when they do? Each of them have asked me why I haven't made a move. He has a fucking girlfriend, that's why. And he seems so fucking happy with her. He must see it. Maybe he just ignores it. Even I know how obvious I am when I'm staring at him, when I "accidentally" brush up against him, when I ask for hugs. Oh, god, his hugs are the best. Those hugs can fix anything. One of the many reasons I love him so much.
His girlfriend isn't with us now. She's rarely if ever with us. She's away at college. Why can't he see that I'd be here all the time for him? When he puts his hands on my cheeks he must feel how hot I get when I blush. I always blush, I always give it away. He knows. I know he knows. He knows and he does nothing. Bastard! He flirts--oh, how he flirts--but that's all it will ever be, and I know this for a fact. He doesn't want me. But I want him, god, how I want him. It makes me furious, just knowing I can't have what I want.
"Are you okay?" he asks, putting his hand on my shoulder. I wish he wouldn't touch me like that. It just makes me want him more. That large warm hand, gripping me softly; his soft, deep voice directed at me; those amazing eyes trying to lock onto mine, but I won't look at him. The rest of them behind him, staring at us, watching us, watching to see if I'll finally break and tell him. I won't. I never will. I don't even take my eyes off the floor.
"I'm all right. Just a little tired." Not completely a lie. I am tired. I only got about four hours of sleep last night; I was too busy sitting on the edge of my bed gazing at him. This couldn't continue for much longer. One of us was bound to crack, and it was most likely me. He removes his hand from my shoulder and I suddenly feel empty. Why is everything always so difficult for me? I feel that familiar stinging behind my eyes; I won't let the tears come. Not now, not while he's standing right there. He turns around to talk to Billy. My eyes immediately focus on his back. Does he not feel that burning sensation there, that eerie feeling that someone is watching him? He must.
Finally, we board the plane, and of course my seat is right next to his. I have trouble finding my breath. Do I tell him now, after all this time? I can't keep my emotions a secret for very much longer. We take off, and heart pumps faster than ever as he grips my hand during a bit of turbulence. Why does it hurt to love someone so much? I start to say something about a thousand times, but I only open my mouth and silence comes out. I can't imagine what he's thinking. He's been looking out the window for about an hour now. Finally, it comes to me, how to express how I feel. I start singing softly. "I am lost in the see-through, I think you lost yourself too. Throughout all of this confusion, I hope I somehow get to you. I practiced all the things I'd say, to tell you how I feel…And when I finally get my chance, it all seems so surreal, 'cuz from the first time I saw you, I only thought about you. I didn't know you, I wanted to hold onto the things you'd never say to me…'cuz you said..." He heard me and turned to look at me. Had he figured out I wasn't just singing the song, that I was singing it just for him? He joined me on the chorus. "You can't change the way you feel…"
"I could never do that, I could never do that," he sang softly, his voice sending chills down my spine. He had to known what kind of control he had over me. He must know that I'd willingly become his slave.
"But you can't tell me this ain't real, 'cuz this is real," I continued. I could feel the tears spilling over now, but I didn't care.
"And you would see right through that." His hand was clasping mine now, his fingers entwined with mine. Could he feel how much I was shaking?
"In the end it's all I've got, so I'm gonna hold onto that, so I'm gonna hold on and on and on and on," we finish together. He looks into my eyes. He knows the next line of the oh-so-familiar song. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"
God, maybe he was completely oblivious this whole time. Now I feel bad for calling him a bastard. "Paul," I somehow find the breath to gasp. "Paul…I love you." My whole body is tensed, waiting for his reply. I'm tingling all over. My breath is coming in shallow gasps now. Benji and Joel are in the seat in front of us and I see them get up and turn around to look at us out of the corner of my eye. My vision is blurred; the tears are flowing freely now.
He doesn't say anything for a long time. I'm not sure I'm even breathing anymore. I think time has stopped and I'll be trapped here waiting for an answer that will never come. Why won't he say anything? He puts his hand on my leg. His touch burns me, but I don't want him to pull away, ever. "I didn't know…" he says quietly. He raises his hand and places it on my chin, turning my gaze toward him. "I love you, too, but I could never love you in that way. I love Tricia." Hear that? That's my heart breaking, crumbling, ripping in half and burning up in the flames of my desire. That's the sound of my soul withering up and dying. So this is what it feels like to be dead, I think to myself. "Are you okay?"
I nod, then get up and run to the bathroom. I lock myself in and cry violently, pounding on the walls and hating life. Why did I do that? Why did I have to tell him? Now we won't be as close because there will always be that awkward gap between us. Now he really knows how I feel. I am so fucking stupid. Eventually someone knocks on the door. I have to get out; the plane will be landing soon. I slowly exit the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the tiny mirror. I look like hell, my hair all disheveled and my eyes puffy and red. And now I have to go back to sitting next to him. Perfect. As if my life weren't already shit.
I fall into my seat; he's staring out the window again. I can't bring myself to talk to him. He probably wants to avoid me at all costs. I don't care. I'm still dead inside, I'll always feel dead now. "Why can't you love me like that?" I whisper.
"What?" he asks, turning to me. Shit. He heard me.
There's no going back now. "Why can't you love me like that?" I repeat, gripping the arm rest. "Don't you see it? It's so obvious, even to me, the person who's been trying to hide it. I would do anything for you, and you just brush me aside as if…as if I were nothing. Paul, I love you." I'm torturing myself. He already told me how he feels. Yet I keep going.
"I love you too. I really do. But Tricia…"
"Fuck Tricia!" I scream. Every head in the cabin turns to look at us. I don't care. "Who's been there for you for as long as you can remember? Who drives to your house in blinding snowstorms because you want someone to watch movies with? Who tunes your bass before you go onstage? Who washes your goddamn underwear? Me! It's always been me. Not Tricia. She doesn't care about you. Not like I do." A stewardess comes down the aisle, her face a mask of serenity. I've worn my mask too long, I know one when I see it. I glare at her; she backs off. I look back to Paul. There are tears in his eyes. Oh, god, what have I done?
"You're right. Oh, my god, you're right. She doesn't love me." I just broke his heart, through my own selfish actions. Why aren't I dead yet? Why do I continue to murder the feelings of myself and others? I gently wipe away a tear that has fallen down his cheek. His eyes meet mine and I can see the pain in them, the same way he must see the pain in mine.





Click here for the alternate ending.





"Damn it, kiss her already," Benji says. He's been spying on us again. Benji and Joel and Billy and Chris. Paul smiles through his tears, as do I.
"Can we make this work?" he asks, placing his palms on my cheeks. My face is on fire; I'm blushing again.
"Do I have to say it again?" I ask quietly, placing my hands over his. I love the feel of his callused fingers on my skin. "I will love you forever." He leans in, hesitates for a moment, then I feel his lips brush mine. He can never know how long I've been waiting for this, wanting this. Now I know I must be dead. I think I'm in heaven. His lips are so soft. My world is shaking…No, wait, that's the plane. We've landed. Who knew one flight could be so eventful?
We exit the plane and we are greeted by the bright sunlight of California. The blonde in his hair is highlighted and almost blinds me. I feel like I'm walking on air. There is no way anyone else in the world is as happy as I am right now. He grabs my hand. My heart skips a beat. "You can't change the way you feel," he whispers into my ear. His warm breath on my neck turns me on more than he should know. I stand up on my tiptoes and kiss him lightly on the cheek.
Why does being in love make you want fall asleep and never wake up? Because this all feels like some dream, some wonderful hallucination that can't be real? He kisses me back. I know it's not a dream. It's real.

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