The Man That Came Back

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I love Rocky Horror nights.

I grew up with Rocky Horror. I’ve gone to shows in five different cities across the country, helped out in a few crews, had a couple very brief appearances as Colombia on one cast when I was skinny enough to pull it off, and know every single damn thing you’re supposed to scream at the screen by heart.

I love Rocky Horror nights even more when they’re James’s Rocky Horror nights. His friends are awesome, the show is entertaining, it gets me to actually talk a little bit to people.. and I get actual alone time with my boyfriend.

I enjoy BaGG with James. I enjoy sitting in the back of the Citadel with him watching him take photos. I enjoy Wicked Grounds with him… But time alone with him is a special treat. It’s what makes my heart race and gets those stupid, silly grins plastered on my face, for no other reason other than we talk.. No filter, no one else butting in, just us. We go off on tangents, and smile, and laugh, and have inside jokes, and it makes Rocky Horror fifty thousand times more enjoyable.

And I LOVE Rocky Horror as is.

And so, at the end of the night of giggles and snuggles and kisses..and a little bit of kinky fuckery (because, let’s face it, it’s us) I said goodnight to my Sir and slipped inside smiling. It was late, but my landlord keeps odd hours, and it was also the first of the month. So I ran upstairs to give him my rent check.

He was stoned off his ass..and I’m not saying that in a mean way. I am very 4/20 friendly. But he..was no longer coherent. He told me when I gave him my check that what he was about to say had nothing to do with the check. He said he grew up in this house, that he had had a hard week, and that things were changing. That, because of a feeling, he was giving me my 60 days notice. He would meet with me tomorrow to discuss with me.

I was stunned. Shell shocked. I briefly begged for my apartment back out of sheer terror before my landlord sent me downstairs.

I vaguely remember fumbling for my phone. I don’t call James. I text him, quite happily, on a regular basis and poke him if he gets lost in Workland too long, but I don’t call. We’re both awkward as hell on the phone, we see each other a couple times a week normally, text a lot… I don’t call. Somehow, in my shell-shocked state I called him.

I was shaking, and crying. I needed him… That is a sickening feeling for me. Needing someone. I take great pride in being able to function perfectly well on my own. I clean up my own messes. I keep my life together. I get by on the skin of my teeth sometimes but dammit I get by. Normally the pride and that little bit of logic that I have keeps me from doing things like dialing my boyfriend’s number and sobbing into the phone until he turns around and drives back to my notapartment. Normally I wouldn’t have let him see me sobbing at all.

I have no memory of that lovely gap of time between after the phone call and before he came back. The next thing I remember after calling him was clinging to him and sobbing. He didn’t shrink, he didn’t drive away. He held me.. he calmed me down. I went from being alone and scared to being surrounded by warmth and safety and a calm voice telling me logical next steps. Post on Fetlife. Go on Craigslist. Post on Facebook. Put up specifics for him to re-post.

He let me ramble. I hiccuped and cried and shook and got his shirt all wet..I kept him up later when he had to go home for breakfast. He snuggled and kissed and nuzzled and talked to me in that voice that turns me into a melted puddle of warm and fuzzy. The voice that only comes out when we’re on our own. It’s the tone that goes along with things like kissing me on top of the head or pulling me to his chest, so that my head rests right under his chin…

When I would have worked myself up again he had me meet his eyes, focus on him. “Hey. It’s going to be alright. You know why? Because I said so.”

That was about where it dawned on me, in my sniffily state as I stood in his arms. He came back. He actually came back. I looked up at him, a little in awe, and ask him why.

He shrugged, his arms still around me. “You called…”

That’s never happened to me before… someone coming back like that.. The closest I came to a crisis with Kane was finding a cockroach in my bed and freaking out. I had called him, just wanting to hear his voice so that I could calm down and he sent me to voicemail, because it was too late and he needed his sleep for work tomorrow. James had to drive over an hour back to his place.. It was nearly dawn as it was. He could have told me just to go to sleep. My mind would have calmed down eventually, just as it did with the cockroach. Ewwww cockroach.

James came back.. He didn’t run when I freaked out. He calmed me down, gave me logical next steps, and made my racing mind slow down enough for me to actually see that it would be okay.

Something like this is… stressful, intimidating, and trying. I fall into routines really easily and like the comfort of routines. It’s easy to become complacent. To get used to a ‘normal’, and I admit that I have. I like my dinky little apartment… but there are some serious pros to moving. Poe no longer constantly getting fleas (and by constantly I mean he’s gotten four flea baths, been professionally groomed, the apartment has been bombed 3 times, he’s had 3 doses of Advantage and wears a flea collar… the struggle is real), my boyfriend not having to pop off a wheel to get in and out of my place.. Actually being able to shower with my boyfriend. Him not getting into a fight with my bathroom every time he comes over…

Dare I hope for a bath tub? Dare I dream? Ohhh bubble baths from time to time would be so nice…

And a non-psycho landlord who isn’t half out of his mind most of the time would be a huge plus.

I hope for positive things. Good changes.

Now to continue packing up my apartment, stalking Craigslist, and searching Fetlife for more kink friendly housing.

And just because Poe and I could really use a new home.. I’m looking for a room in the San Francisco Bay area. About $1000 a month budget. Must be cat friendly because of Poe. Kink friendly and wheelchair accessible both pluses. `If anyone knows of anything… Contacting me is definitely okay.

It’ll all be okay.. I have faith.. And in reality I am a very lucky girl.. I love who I belong to. I actually have a man who cares enough to come back when I need him…

How could things not end up being okay?

Yours, as always,

~Rena

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