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Alhaitham cooked for us last night. He made this really nice...fuck, what did he call it again? Whatever. I love it when they cook things, it really makes me feel like they care, even just through the little things. God knows I need reassurance sometimes.
I love him. He loves me.
We’re good for each other.
I love waking up next to him in the mornings, and he kisses the top of my head and greets me as we just lay there for a while, the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the blinds as neither of us have the energy or the desire to get out of bed. They tell me I look beautiful, even with my hair a mess and my breath disgusting. I know they’re looking at me through the rose-coloured glasses of the love they have for me, and I couldn’t be more thankful that they never see me for what I actually am. I hold his hand as I rest my head on his chest, his free hand stroking through my hair as I stare at the ceiling and he stares at me. It’s mornings like these that make me feel like it could really get better, and everything will be okay as long as nothing changes from here. But of course, we can’t stay in bed all day.
They shift slightly, and with a sinking feeling in my chest I know that the moment of peace is shattered, and we have to get up and face the world. But it’s okay, because I have him. I love him. He loves me.
I lift my head to allow them to slowly rise from the bed, laying there for just a few moments more before I get up and join them. I must have gotten up too quickly, because my vision blacks out for just a second and there I am, in Haitham’s arms. He holds me up, concern written all over his face. I don’t feel fine, but I assure him I am. I joke that I fell for them, and they just laugh and help me to stand. He never pries, and for that I’m so grateful. They care, and I know that, and they love me, and I know that. But I’m always happy for the little moments of privacy he gives me when he refuses to question further. When they question me, it’s scary. Alhaitham can be terrifying when he needs to be, but he doesn’t need to be in this moment. Once I’m safely on my feet and stable, they kiss my forehead and walk downstairs, probably to make breakfast.
I don’t feel hungry. I feel disgusting, like my mouth can’t take anything right now. Anything but him coming near my mouth would be wrong. I can’t say that, though. It’s disgusting of me. That’s what I mean, when I’m glad he doesn’t see me for what I am. I’m repulsive, and I’ve never been more glad that they’re too stupid to realise it. It’s a lovesickness, I think. My personal, professional diagnosis. All I want is them. Forcing one foot in front of the other, I groan as my head spins and my stomach lurches. Disgusting.
I’m going to be sick, I realise as I descend the stairs. But nothing really comes, and it seems to dissipate somewhat as I see Haitham across the kitchen, giving him a smile. I love him. They turn around, smiling in return as they close the cupboard door. I’ve always loved his smile. The way everything else seems to dull in comparison. I think it was when I first realised I loved them to the extent I do, when I saw them smile for the first time. It was years after I met him, and it completely caught me off-guard. I really do love him. Their smile, their presence, everything about them is just…for me.
He’s mine. And he loves me. They love me.
His smile drops quite suddenly. Did I do something? Are they mad? He found them, he found it all.
They know. They know. They–
He turns back to whatever he’s making. I don’t care what they’re making, I feel even worse than I did before.
Haitham.
Alhaitham.
Please, Haitham–
Look at me.
Look at me.
Turn around.
It’s as if they understood my thoughts, because they turned around almost immediately. He understands. They get me, they’re perfect for me, I love them, they love me, they…
They…
He’s shouting at me. Did they move further away? It feels all muffled, like he’s in another room. Where are they? He’s not in front of me. The kitchen is skewed on its side.
My hair feels wet. The floor is cold against my face. The other side of my face is being tapped repeatedly, and I flit my eyes around to try and find what it is. I can’t tell, but Alhaitham’s still calling my name. The noise really hurts, I wish he’d stop.
But I hope they never stop. It’s so romantic, calling my name…worrying about me. Panicking, shaking, pressing his hands to my head to stop it getting worse.
Am I bleeding? I still feel disgusting, just as sick as I did. It's all disgusting. He deserves better than me, and he should know that. But I can't bring myself to push them away...isn't it so romantic?
My head has turned against me, ripping itself in two, but even their presence isn’t making it go away.
Maybe I’m not lovesick after all.