I was having doubts.

I was doubting myself, my boyfriend, and our ability to stick this out and make it work. I was afraid. I was so afraid of losing yet another person.

And then last night happened. He invited me over late at night to hang out with him and his sister, who was home from college on break. I got a ride over, wondering how tonight was gonna go, if it would end up bad.

He pulled me inside and kissed me, then walked me over to the dining room with his arm around me to say hi to his dad and sister. We all sat down to watch a video about a magician…and truth me told I was a little disappointed because I didn’t want to share my man. Again.

See, I see him every day at school. But there are always administrators around, always kids who have the dirtiest minds and always want to know if we’ve had sex yet or when we’re having sex and they think all we do is have sex.

And seeing him at school just isn’t enough for me.

But here I was again, sharing him. I shouldn’t feel this way, not at all. I shouldn’t be upset that he’s happy to see his sister and talking to her more than me. But I am. And that makes me angry. Angry at myself.

His dad ended up going to bed, and I stayed until 2 AM.

And it was one of the best nights of my life. Every doubt was put to rest. Every single fear I had was driven away. After those first few minutes, he was all mine. We hid in the kitchen for probably half an hour, alternating between him giving me the most gorgeous necklace I have ever owned (a diamond/sterling silver heart), talking about awkward things and kissing and discussing fighting techniques (and yes, he made me mad and I punched him. He didn’t hit back, bless his heart, even though I wish he had). After I punched him, I convinced him to ‘spar’ with me, which really only consisted of me trying to hit him and him blocking me. The longer it went on, the more angry and frustrated I became. But every punch was helping me let off steam from months of frustration and fury that hitting walls and refrigerators wasn’t helping me with. I gave him a few bruises, and my hand swelled up pretty big. I fight with my right hand mostly, the left I use for blocking. I don’t know where I learned that or why I fight like that. I always have. He let me have a few good hits, and every time I felt my heart break. I hated hitting him, but I had to. If I didn’t, I was going to go crazy.

People tell me to pull up trees or hit pillows or something when I’m angry, but that doesn’t work for me. I feel stupid because the damn thing won’t hit back. And then I feel like a coward, and that makes me angry at myself. Its a viscous cycle.

Afterwards we curled up on the couch together and talked about what movies to watch, whether his cat liked me or not, and I can’t remember what else. I do remember getting spoiled rotten by an amazing foot massage.

We headed upstairs (Oh God now I’ve done it) and laid back on a pile of pillows to finish talking. And to cuddle. He doesn’t like cuddling and long hugs like I do…I need them. I feel fixed when I get long hugs from him. But he dislikes them, so he never gives them and I never asked because I didn’t want him to do something that he didn’t enjoy. But once he realized this, things changed. For the better.

“Hey,” I said, “I want some cuddles SillyBoy.”

“You have them,” he said, and wrapped me up in the warmest, longest hug/cuddle I have ever had.

While he massaged my back for 20 minutes, we ended up talking about things we had previously disagreed on. Homeschooling, parenting methods…and found out that things had changed for both of us. We were willing to bend on things for each other. And his viewpoints had changed as well.

We were laying on the pillows on the floor, not saying anything, when an old lullaby came into my head and wouldn’t go away, so I hummed my own rendition of it very quietly, eventually letting it flow into another song I’d learned as a kid. When I finished, I looked over at the handsome man I had unknowingly sung to sleep snoring on my arm (which was losing feeling fast) and I was amazed that I could ever have doubted him. Or us.

He was mine again.

Or maybe, I was just over my extremely emotional time of the month.