Amber Storms

Fear

Ambrose

When I think of heaven, I envision a clean expansion of space that envelops me in a circle of warmth. Every fiber on my skin lazily shutting down, relaxing into a featherlike embrace. A location bright and white, but strangely soft to the eyes. It’s inviting, no, lusciously welcoming…

All that poetic, angelic s**t to say, heaven is my bed.

Most people are surprised, just based on how I look like I would steal money from an old lady or push a priest down a pulpit, but I’m a comfort snob. Weird obsession I know, but I own it. My mattress, sheets, blankets and pillows have to be perfect and the ones I have currently are all top rated - the best of the best. The deep sleep I fall into after curling myself in a fetal position on the goose down mattress pad attached to the already billowing pillowtop…should honestly be a sin; nevermind burrito-ing my body with wrinkleless cotton sheets, the silky layers sliding across my body under a ginormous pearl down blanket that looks like they screwed up at the factory and accidentally merged three comforters into one. The moment I lay down, I instantly sink and am transcended to paradise. Money can’t buy this feeling.

Well, I guess technically it can…and my wallet sure knows it too.

I do most of my best work here, I think, grinning at the innuendo. But truthfully, I am actually working right now. Propped up by 4 of my 1000 pillows from my bed, the constant cadence of the rain slapping the gutters outside my window is helping me focus as I type ferociously on my Mac. The clock reads 11:57 in red, and I realize that I haven’t stopped to take a break since dinner tonight as the tightness of my neck and stiffness of my legs suddenly make themselves known. Rolling my shoulders down and stretching my arms out above my head, I try to find some relief.

It doesn’t help that today was back and upper body for my workout session…my personal favorite. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I’m obsessed with that small dull pain in between my shoulder blades when I’ve finished my reps. It only lasts for a day or two, but the hurt feels so good when it’s there.

Returning to the keys, I continue tapping along, and after a few additional minutes, I victoriously complete my newest client's workout and macro plan when I hear a BANG!

I swear that thunderclap was loud enough to wake the dead and the lightning bolt that preceded it immediately lit up every dark corner of my room. My chest squeezes painfully, and not that good workout kind either.

Fuck.

After 13 years, you’d think I would be over storms by now - but no.

I jump up from my normal “heaven”, grasping for the door knob to run to Han, but I halt, refusing to allow my feet to take a step forward.

I need to get my s**t together. I’m 24 for Christ’s sake. Most importantly, I need to stop leaning on him whenever ANYTHING remotely unpleasant happens.

Han has graciously been my beacon, my safe haven, and makes everything that is s**t in my life a million times better. I’ve hung on him for over a decade now, and he has never once complained or pushed me away. I need to cut off this codependency I have with him. It can’t be healthy, or normal to be like this with your male best friend.

Most of all, I hate how this makes me look so weak. I am tough, muscular, tattooed…the majority of people are apprehensive of me from first glance if we’ve never been introduced before. I admit that the energy I can put off can be heavy and my stare is intense…so understandably, it's off label that someone who looks like me should cling to someone, afraid. How many people know a 20-something-year-old male that is scared of storms? My guess is not many.

I let my hand fall to my sides, and decidedly back up till the bend of my knees hit my bed and sit.

That’s it. “You can do this, Rose.” I unconvincingly speak out loud to myself as I run my hands over my face into my hair. The rain clobbering our roof mercilessly is periodically deafened by soft rumbles of thunder. I can deal with those. I fall completely back, letting my legs dangle off the side, covering my eyes with my foreman and forcing an exhale to leave my diaphragm.

Han doesn’t need this. He has his own demons to battle and himself to take care of. I feel like I’m basically a burden to him. After my parents died 13 years ago, he’s always been beside me. I never even asked, but he’s been there since day one…that’s the kind of amazing, wholesome person he is. He was the reason I pushed through the hardest years of my life. He is the reason I got into nutrition and personal training as a profession, because he has always encouraged me to do the things that bring me joy. He is the reason I held on when everything good in my life went away, knowing he was with me and cheering me on. He is the best friend anyone could ever have and the one I certainly didn’t deserve.

It’s kind of funny thinking about our past. We used to be polar opposites. We went to the same schools all of our lives, but we didn’t become best friends until almost middle school. Han was the small, smart one that got bullied really badly. He was so kind and nice and all of the teachers loved him. I’ve always had this hard exterior, a moody little kid, but loveable once people got to know me. I just was never really interested in being liked or sought out having a ton of friends. As I got older, I was fairly popular, not for a lack of wanting to be. I could barely keep a D average, so I think my “bad boy” persona has something to do with my adored reputation; because it definitely wasn’t grades or sports.

When we were in elementary school, we would pass each other in the hallways and Han would always smile at me and say hi. Thinking back, I don’t think that I ever responded to a “Hi” for the first few months of 4th grade. I thought it was strange that a kid would be this polite when he didn’t even know me. It didn’t discourage him though. Every morning and before the afternoon dismissal bell rang, we’d cross paths and he’d smile and greet my confused face.

Eventually, I started to wave back. Just a quick flick of the hand at first. Then the kid started to warm up to me. We sat at the same table a few times for lunch and I found out he was pretty interesting. He liked to talk a lot, but he also sang and played the piano. His mom even put him in dance with his sister, hoping they’d be on “Dancing with the Stars” one day, much to his dismay.

The moment we became inseparable was when I realized I needed to protect him. A few times walking down the hallway, I'd notice he’d have a scrape on his cheek, or his eyes looked a little darker. I didn’t think much of it until I was outside playing kickball during PE, and fouled the ball. It rolled past the dugouts and beyond the walls of our school gym. As I passed the corner, I saw Han getting beat up. From that day on, I tried not to leave his side. I walked him to his classrooms, sat with him every day during lunch and even convinced my teachers to let me walk him to his parents' car for pick up. Bullies still found a way to weasel their way to him, but it was never as bad as before.

Even now, as adults, we do everything together. We graduated college together, bought a house with a mutual friend of ours, train together, grocery shop together…if he’s there, I’m there and vice versa.

God. I just now realized that I’m holding him back from so much. Just wait till he has a girlfriend and you’re pushed to the wayside. I prepare myself. You can’t be by his side forever, I think dejectedly.

The wind pushes at the screen of my window, screeching as it bowes in and out, pulling me out of my self-pity party. I start to sweat. The storm doesn’t seem to be dying down, if anything, it's waking up.

Reaching over, I open my night stand and blindly shift through the random collection of items in my drawer, feeling for some headphones. I locate my matte black AirPods and connect them to my matching phone, desperate to find a good Deftones song and turn up the volume. I need to get out of this weird headspace, flooded with fear…and now guilt. I let the bass pump past my eardrums, humming along with the melody, and start to calm slightly, but even with my music at max volume, this final thunderclap was so incredibly loud and powerful that it shook the bed and rippled through my body.

Fuck this.

I jump up, rip open the door, and try to find a bit of composure in the 8 steps to Hans’ room at the end of the hallway. In front of his room, I gently open the door. I don’t see him, but based on the steam billowing from his bathroom, he just finished his shower. I softly shut his door, throw back my head a little too hard against his door and close my eyes.

Just being closer to him, surrounded by his space makes me feel better, somewhat stilling the full on panic brewing inside as the storm gets worse. I’ve memorized every part of this room. I don’t need to open my eyes to know that his dark bed is perfectly manicured, layered with at least 4 velvety throw blankets sandwiched in between the duvet and linen sheets that sound rough, but are like butter once you’re under the covers. The leather couch and gold bar cart aid to the mid century charm of the overall house, as well as the rich leather and whisky aroma in the air. The humidity flooding the room brings citrusy notes and I’m not sure how long I’m there reviewing his room behind my eyelids before a shuffle makes me open them. My mouth traitorously becomes dry and I lick my lips to try and find any source of moisture once Han’s lean body appears across the room.

I fail at trying to fool the only person in the world who sees and understands the terrified 11-year-old boy still living in me as Han eyes me, searching and finding that fear.

However, I struggle not to drop all my walls in front of him.