Hollow
I'm sorry," I say, and the words taste hollow. Too many repetitions has drained the meaning as I push the awkward syllables from my tongue. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'mso rry I' msorr y I'ms o rry...
You're laying on your bed with your face pressed to the wall, pretending that I'm not even here. The silence that stretches between us is so complete that at times I doubt my own existence. I wish you would look at me.
"Please talk to me," I beg, hating myself for the pathetic note that makes my voice rise half an octave. But I'll do anything to make you acknowledge me. I will swallow my pride and get down on my hands and knees to grovel at your feet, if only you'll look at me. How can you do this to me? Don't you love me at all?
"You know I never meant to hurt you. You have to know that. I love you. I just...Christ, it was all just a fucking mistake."
You don't respond, just lay there with your back to me, hoping I'll go away. Well I'm not fucking going away.
"Jesus Christ, I said it was a mistake! What do you want from me? Aren't I allowed to fuck up? Aren't I allowed to be a fucking human being? You know what, fuck you. Fuck you, you think you're so goddamn perfect. I don't need this shit."
I clench my fists defiantly at my sides. If I was hoping to provoke a reaction from you, however, the effort was wasted. Your stony silence breaks down the last of my resolve, pulling me to my knees to crawl, sobbing, to your side.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry," I murmur, just a whisper against the back of your neck as I wrap my arms clumsily around you. You're tense in my embrace, resistant, arms crossed firmly over your chest. I try to pry them open, but you're too strong for me, so I settle for rolling you onto your back. Trying to force you to acknowledge me. Instead you've got your eyes tightly closed. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.
"I love you," I whimper, smoothing my hands over your face, swinging one leg over both of your to straddle your waist. As I lower myself onto your hips, I can feel you're hard beneath your jeans, despite your efforts to ignore me. It brings a tiny smile to my face, even through the tears that have started to fall onto your chest.
"I love you," I whisper again and again, showering your face with kisses. You don't return my embrace as I press my mouth to yours, but your lips are soft and warm.
Somewhere in the background I can still hear Mark vomiting. He doesn't understand this thing between us. He doesn't know you like I do, Tom. I know you'll forgive me. Any moment now you'll open your eyes; your arms will come around me and you'll return my kiss, and you'll tell me that you love me.
Come on. Open your eyes.