Friday, July 1, 2016

That time when I threw a book at the Irish...

Everyone who knows me well would know that I'm quite the temperamental guy in every way possible.

While most times, I'm more of a verbal person (which means I yell, scream and shout to vent out my angst), there are times where physical actions are involved.

Again, if you know me well enough, you'd know that when I get physical (hah! I always do *wink*), it gets ugly.

For over two decades of my life, I've hardly shown that side of me with the exception of my parents and siblings because I find it quite ugly (post-angst ventilation).

But you (The Irish) are one of the other few outside of my family who'd seen it.

I still remember it as clear as day. It was a mere two days before our first holiday together and we were headed out to Mornington Peninsula for a three-day getaway.

It was supposed to be amazing and we were counting down the days and crossing our calendars with plenty of excitement.

Just think about it. Hot springs, wine tasting (that was mainly you. I don't drink), the sunny beaches and comfy bed and breakfast. In one word: BLISS.

Then it happened. Two days before we hop into your red Holden Cruze and drive off on sunrise, you blurted it out.

It was one of those nights, where we just sat at the couch mindlessly watching TV with me lying on your lap.

"Erm... sweetie, I think we have to postpone the trip. I have a last minute project to complete by the week. So, I have to stay back," you said, quite nervously I might add.

Perhaps you had a premonition that I would go ballistic? I don't know.

All I remember was jolting up and backed up from you with eyes wide opened. "WHAT!?" I snapped.

Okay, before I continue this, I have to admit one thing. On hindsight, I might have been a tad too dramatic, but anyway... back to the story.

Right, so I snapped out and you just looked at me painfully and try to comfort me.

I didn't know what went in my head (still don't, by the way), but I yapped on and complained. You tried to explain and I was having none of it.

Even if you said, we could go again another time. My argument was our schedule hardly match up. See, I was a barista, freelance writer and part-time photographer, while you were on the white collar, finance side.

It went on for a good half hour and finally, you gave up. You probably thought I was hysterical and such a drama queen (I agree too, but hey, you signed up for this).

You said with a sigh, "You're probably not going to like what I'm saying now but I'm gonna leave you alone for a while to cool down and then we'll talk. You can take the living room and I'll take the bedroom."

You started walking off. See, you were always the one who fumes quietly. You hardly ever yelled. Always with that calm, soothing voice that tries to reason with me and obviously, I was the spoilt little brat who wants things going my way.

I knew you were actually angry but you kept it in. You know that it wouldn't do us any good if the fight goes on.

But again, I was not having any of it. I stared with disbelief at the fact you want to walk out of this. I grabbed whatever that came to my hand. A hardcover novel.

I threw it and it slammed to your back. A loud smack and it fell to the floor. A small patch on your back turned red (Yes, he wasn't wearing a top. We're at home and yes, I packed quite a throw when I'm mad).

You turned with your eyes widening, nose flaring and mouthing a "F...". I was prepared for a throw down and then you did the unexpected.

You stopped mid-word. The "F" never continued. You clenched and released your fist a few times and sighed again. You said, "Talk to me when you're calmed down."

And then you walked into your room.

I sat there shocked at my actions. Even in my state of frenzy, I know the book was a tad too much. Okay, fine. It was way too much.

I continued sitting down and staring at the ceiling, while voices in my head argued. Yes, I talk to myself occasionally to rationalise things.

I realised I was wrong. I was an ass who got too unreasonable just because you always let me have my way. If it was a reversed situation, you'd give me a sad look and say "It's okay. Next time."

I calmed down and timidly walked into your room. Your eyes were at the door even though you had an opened book at hand.

I was about to apologise and somehow, you knew and motioned me forward before I could mouth out the words.

I crawled into bed, snuggled in your arms and whispered "Sorry".

You laughed and gave me a kiss. You said, "Mate, that was quite the fit you threw. My back is still tingling and burning."

I snaked my hands to your back to feel it and true enough, your skin was slightly tough and a small bump (probably swollen) was there.

I was flushing red with embarrassment and said meekly"I wasn't thinking."

And you just said, "Yeah. You really weren't. You owe me a swollen back and I owe you a trip. Don't worry, it'll come sooner than you think."

Then I rushed my lips over and kissed him again...

So... yeah. That's it. Sorry if it bored you to death. Anyhow, weekend is here and Raya is following up. Have a great festive week ahead!

Love you fags and hags out there. Have a good weekend.
Yours Queerly 

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