I'm Fucked

~ a story ~

Sometimes it's obvious, immediate. As soon as you meet a person, or even just upon first sight, you know.

Oh shit. Here we go again.

Something about them, you're not always sure what, but something grabs you, and in an instant you are done. You know you are destined for at the very least attraction. At the very least warm thoughts in those parts of your body you love to play with. And, of course, at its worst deep abiding drowning love. Those, I think, are the kinder encounters, the kinder intrigues.

Because then there are the ones that sneak up on you. The ones that simmer, slowly, warming up to a boil. Not a flash in a pan, but a smolder that turns to red hot flames.

That's how it was with Jacob. He was sweet, a warning sign I should've noted from the start. But I merely accepted his kindness, not realizing how from the beginning it had an effect on me.

The others were cold. They didn't like the idea of me being around. Didn't like knowing I even existed. Didn't want to acknowledge that one of "them" had some how made it into their midst.

But Jacob saw me. Not what I represented. Not some statement I made just by being there. He saw me. He befriended me. And I fell for him.

The first time I recognized it, the first time it dawned on me, the first time I knew I was fucked was a normal enough Tuesday. The air was cool; fall was fast approaching. I'd gone for a walk, but was back now for lunch. When I sat down and began to even think about food, he reached over my shoulder and laid a wrapped up sandwich on my desk. Roast beef with cheddar, my favorite.

I looked up, saw his smile, and knew.

I love him and hate him. I love who he is, how he is. I love the way he is helpful, so giving. I love how he sees me. I love how he is my friend.

I hate how he is my friend. I hate that I will only ever be a friend to him. I hate that no one here will ever be so good to me as he is. I hate how I have to pretend I'm happy just to be here. I hate that he makes it easier and harder to be here.

I hate how much I love him. Not just his smile. Not just his eyes. Not just his kindness. His teeth, with one just slightly off center at the top. His lips, and the way he licks them. His hands, how strong they are, how gently he uses them.

I hate him. I love him.

Yup, I'm fucked.