down there they're rounding a posse to ride
Apparently I have to be careful about writing my fears down here, because they come true. All that agonizing yesterday about whether I should try to see Aiden again or not, all those back and forth comment debates with you guys, and what happens? He found me at work today. I tried to hide in the back, but I have to take care of customers. I don't know how he tracked me down. He's surprisingly persistent, too; I don't think he knows the meaning of the word "no". A few of you have pointed out that's kind of creepy. I don't know if it's creepy or sweet.
Anyway, Rafe found him there. I tried to get Aiden out of there in time, but Rafe saw him, and smelled him, and tried to take away the drawing Aiden brought me. Rafe has his scent, now. If he decides to, he can track Aiden down. I was hoping to avoid it happening, but Aiden was too stubborn, and Rafe was too quick. Is it because Rafe's reading this? Someone who says he's Rafe has been commenting, but I could have sworn Rafe didn't even know what a computer is.
I don't know what to do. There's this part of me that wants to know everything there is to know about Aiden. I want to know what he dreams of, what he sees when he closes his eyes at night. He's got secrets too; I can tell. He's got old hurts like I do. I look in his eyes and I see something I recognize, something sweet and good and decent. I want to curl up with that and wrap it around me and just -- I don't know, just breathe it in. Is that stupid? It sounds stupid.
Love makes you stupid, or so I've heard. Is this what love is? I don't know. My parents loved each other, I think. They weren't just wolf and bitch, they were man and wife as well. They were friends. They stuck together, and they looked out for each other, and they loved each other and they loved us. (Oh, Mother Moon, I miss them. I miss them so much.)
I don't even know him. I've seen him for a total of what, twenty minutes? All I know about him is that he's an artist -- a good one -- that he's American, that he's here to research. I know that he's here to work. I know he doesn't want someone to find him, or else he wouldn't write his comic books anonymously. (Did I forget to mention that? I don't know what he's running from, but he's running from something. Someone. It's part of what makes me think that maybe he might be able to understand. A little bit, at least.)
But I did find one of his books, and I read it. I can tell; he's got an old soul. He respects the old stories. There's something about him, something that draws me in and makes me want to know more, makes me want to tell him more. I keep trying to push him away, but it's not because I'm not attracted to him. Far from it. I keep trying to push him away because I'm starting to care about him -- how crazy is it to care for someone who you've barely exchanged a hundred words with? -- and I don't want him to get hurt.
I told him we could meet, tomorrow night. I told him that to get him out of there before Rafe came in (it didn't work, but I tried). Should I go? Should I stand him up? Should I try to never see him again? He knows where I work, though, and he's already proven how persistent he can be. If I don't show up, will he come back? Will he do something that will put him in even more danger?
What would you do?
Anyway, Rafe found him there. I tried to get Aiden out of there in time, but Rafe saw him, and smelled him, and tried to take away the drawing Aiden brought me. Rafe has his scent, now. If he decides to, he can track Aiden down. I was hoping to avoid it happening, but Aiden was too stubborn, and Rafe was too quick. Is it because Rafe's reading this? Someone who says he's Rafe has been commenting, but I could have sworn Rafe didn't even know what a computer is.
I don't know what to do. There's this part of me that wants to know everything there is to know about Aiden. I want to know what he dreams of, what he sees when he closes his eyes at night. He's got secrets too; I can tell. He's got old hurts like I do. I look in his eyes and I see something I recognize, something sweet and good and decent. I want to curl up with that and wrap it around me and just -- I don't know, just breathe it in. Is that stupid? It sounds stupid.
Love makes you stupid, or so I've heard. Is this what love is? I don't know. My parents loved each other, I think. They weren't just wolf and bitch, they were man and wife as well. They were friends. They stuck together, and they looked out for each other, and they loved each other and they loved us. (Oh, Mother Moon, I miss them. I miss them so much.)
I don't even know him. I've seen him for a total of what, twenty minutes? All I know about him is that he's an artist -- a good one -- that he's American, that he's here to research. I know that he's here to work. I know he doesn't want someone to find him, or else he wouldn't write his comic books anonymously. (Did I forget to mention that? I don't know what he's running from, but he's running from something. Someone. It's part of what makes me think that maybe he might be able to understand. A little bit, at least.)
But I did find one of his books, and I read it. I can tell; he's got an old soul. He respects the old stories. There's something about him, something that draws me in and makes me want to know more, makes me want to tell him more. I keep trying to push him away, but it's not because I'm not attracted to him. Far from it. I keep trying to push him away because I'm starting to care about him -- how crazy is it to care for someone who you've barely exchanged a hundred words with? -- and I don't want him to get hurt.
I told him we could meet, tomorrow night. I told him that to get him out of there before Rafe came in (it didn't work, but I tried). Should I go? Should I stand him up? Should I try to never see him again? He knows where I work, though, and he's already proven how persistent he can be. If I don't show up, will he come back? Will he do something that will put him in even more danger?
What would you do?