The ivy-colored plastic covering creaked as I shifted my weight, resting my arm against the back of the booth. My eyes shifted in their sockets, mentally stirring the honey-brown that was coffee, my gaze never lifting from the spotted-creme colored coffee cup at the center of the table. My body was slumped in the seat (the sole position which would grant my aching muscles reprieve), only the upper portion of my chest visible from her view, my long legs stretched out beneath the table.

"So you wanna talk about it?" She asked slowly, pushing her dark tresses out of her eyes. Her eyes ran back and forth over me, as if she were reading me, her pupils dancing as she did so. She licked her lips, her fingertips tracing the lip of the mug, before she took another sip of her herbal tea, her gray eyes closing as she did so.

I took this time to examine her, my eyes tracing over the familiar lines of her face, the smooth fluid curves of her cheek and jaw. To me, she was beautiful. She always had been. There was just something so raw, so natural about her– a welcoming change from the world I had become accustomed to. She stretched her slim arms across the top of the fading diner table before she spoke again. "Do you want to talk about it?" she paused for a moment, her eyes bearing into mine, pleading with me.

I answered with nothing.

She shook her head. "Come on, Justin. You didn’t fly me all the way to Texas to keep you company while you drink your coffee in some diner. You wanted to talk. That’s what we do." She sighed deeply and looked away, clearly frustrated, when I didn’t answer with anything but a lazy eyebrow raise.

"Fine then," she muttered impatiently, gathering her purse and placing her spoon on the saucer of her cup. "I’ll see you back on the bus." She stood up, her tall frame towering over me as I sat, those eyes of hers casting me a chilling glare. I felt a slow shiver dance it’s way up my spine.

Damn it. I grabbed her arm as she started to leave, pulling her back towards the booth. She sat back onto the sticky plastic, a high-pitched creaking noise sounding as she did so. "No. Stay."

She smiled thinly, her cool gray eyes lighting triumphantly. "Are you gonna talk?"

I nodded, looking out the scratched, dingy plexi-glass window for a still moment before turning towards her again. Everything felt gray. Metallic. Cold. "I think it’s over, Ry." I exhaled slowly, my eyes glancing over her features, waiting for her reaction. Nothing. Instead her eyes remained placid, her pupils set on me intently. So I continued. "Over," I said again, reiterating my point, as if hearing it twice would produce the reaction I was hoping for. " I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired, my body aches, I don’t want to sing another note." I sighed again, rubbing my hands over my face, a low groan escaping my lips.

"And I feel like I shouldn’t be complaining, Lee. I mean, I’m so damn lucky to have what I have. It’s just that…I mean, I can’t do it anymore. It’s not physically possible," I rambled, beginning to feel ashamed, my eyes suddenly finding the same old lines of my hands to be unbelievably enigmatic. I pushed my finger into my skin until it turned white, then removed it, the rose flush of life rushing back to color it again. I repeated the action until I felt her stare, urging me to continue, to finish what I had stupidly decided to begin.

"I’m sick of living on a bus," I continued finally, the vibrato of my voice melting into an abashed mumble. I felt like I should explain myself, as if that would make me less ashamed of my admittance. "…Of not having my own bed. Of being alone. I’m alone, Riley. Completely alone. There’s no girlfriend. I live in a lie. She’s not real…we both know it. I have no one. No wait…I have a bus. That’s it. A bus." I exhaled slowly with the end of my words, and almost shuddered, my eyes closing for a moment.

And in that moment I almost hated her. She was the purest form of beauty in my life. Maybe the only form of beauty in my life. That innocent little thing; so unaware of what hell life could be. Of what hell your dreams could be.

"Justin," she whispered, taking my hand into her smaller one. Her touch was warm, soft, comforting... Beautiful. I sighed gratefully. This is why I had called her. Why I adored her. "You knew that this would be a sacrifice. We all knew it. And so…I really, I just don’t know what to say, Just. I don’t. I can only promise you that it will get better. It won’t always be like this. It’ll all die down someday." I had heard it all before. Tell me something new. Please. She bowed her head as if to apologize for her lack of sagacity on the topic, her eyes set uncomfortably on our joined hands.

I shook my head, sighing as I motioned to the waitress for our bill. Riley stood up slowly, pieces of her dark hair falling down into her eyes before she pushed them away, and frowned, turning towards the door without another word. The little bell chimed dully as the door closed behind her, my thoughts echoing their repressed, rhythmic sound. "What if it doesn’t?"

I pushed my hands against his chest, trying valiantly to push him away as he tickled me mercilessly. His previous worries seemed to have diminished, his eyes now bright, the clouds gone without a trace. I let out a final giggle as he stopped, his eyes sparkling as he himself let out a little chuckle. I pushed him away again, a new shower of giggles ensuing as his lips met my stomach, pressing a loud raspberry into my flesh.

He pushed me into the bunk, our laughter finally fading, and I rested my head against his chest. Beads of water still lingered from his shower, dampening the aqua sheets which engulfed us. I brought my fingers to trace over his eyes, pressing them shut, his lengthy lashes resting against his fair cheeks.

We said nothing, both pleased by the telling silence, our minds set on the same wavelength. I pressed my head against his chest, listening intently to his rhythmic breathing, to the slow thud of his heart. There was an indescribable comfort to him, an internal melody which calmed me– soothed me. He was warm. Warm in a way my sheets weren’t; seemingly warmer than the men who usually occupied the other side of my bed. Soft. He reminded me of something soft. Something that brought me an unparalleled sense of peace, something that made me feel warm. His boyish charm, those young blue eyes. That smile of his that lit up the room. All of it a shocking change to the people I had managed to surround myself with. He was always gentle with me; I was his baby, the one he needed to protect. The only one who ever wanted to protect me.

We were purely platonic. No matter what anyone said, it ended there. To us, the relationship we shared was perfect. Affection without the complication of romance. An indescribable deepness, an understanding. It was beautiful. And I loved him more than I had ever loved any of my lovers. I knew I always would.

He held me against his chest, turning on his side as if to shield me from something. I felt his breath against my ear, and chuckled at the way it tickled, prompting him to shake his head. I sighed softly as if not to be heard, closing my eyes for a moment, engraving every aspect into my mind. I loved the way he felt.

"Jus…I can’t stay too long this time," I whispered lowly, glad that I couldn’t see his expression. I patted the side of his thigh to comfort him. As if by comforting him, I’d be comforting myself.

"But Ry-" he pleaded, turning me to face him as his forehead creased and those clear blue eyes of his started to cloud again. I closed my eyes, trying not to see it, trying not to see the agony in his eyes, the pain my words had brought back.

I groaned softly, knowing that I would have to respond. "Justin, no. I can’t. I have a job, too. You know I can’t." I had originally planned something eloquent, something to comfort him. But instead I stuttered and whispered words that couldn’t be further from my previous notion.

He exhaled and looked away from me, his eye spying through the gap in the bunk closure. I ran my fingers through his thick curls as if to apologize but he snorted and backed away from my touch. I sighed. I wanted to stay, but I couldn’t get used to him. Couldn’t get used to way it felt, get used to being loved. Not this time. Not ever.

Nobody wants to be lonely. It just happens. Isolation is one thing. When you’re by yourself, no one can hurt you. There’s no one to tear you down, limb by limb, and stomp on you until you can’t move. Suffocate you until you can’t speak– especially when you have so much to say.

It’s another thing to have everything, to know everyone, and still feel alone. It’s another thing to sift through beautiful men, purposely never becoming attached, and still wake up in a cold sweat after that recurring nightmare. The about waking up alone. Old, alone in my bed after a life where I never truly loved. Never truly felt anything.

The one where I ended up like my parents.

My father was a chronic workaholic. After being raised in almost absolute poverty, he wanted nothing more than for his family to live comfortably. And live "comfortably" we did. But it seemed as if the more "comfortable" we were, the less we lived. The less we were a family.

My mother’s addiction was more fatal. An alcoholic, she spent her days beside the wet bar in my parents’ bedroom, surrounded by the luxury my father’s droning hours of work had provided. Drink after drink, day after day, night after night, she sat– sad and lonely. She was beautiful, and she used that to her advantage, tempting men every chance she could. Men who could pay her some affection, just something to make her feel alive. And so she began to cheat on my father. She cheated on him not because she loved them, but because she loved him. And wanted him to love her. She craved his attention…and died wishing for it.

And I was stuck somewhere in the middle. My childhood was normal for girls at my school. All our families were dysfunctional; money couldn’t buy you normalcy. I grew into my predestined loneliness, grew accustomed to the way it felt to be alone. And soon, I learned how to fake it. How to make it all look real.

And maybe that’s why Justin and I got along so famously. From the day we met at the tender age of fourteen, I knew that there was something that linked us. Something that made us the same. His lonely eyes matched mine and that comforted me. Made me feel real. And when I was with him, for the first time, I felt alive.

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