I haven't had a lot of writing time lately.  Jack comes and goes (literally), and I keep letting it happen.  I'm an idiot.  Sometimes I think he is convinced that no one but him would put up with me.  Maybe he is right.  Is he?  Am I so difficult?  I can't see how so, especially lately, when all I can seem to do is meet his needs. 

He scares me sometimes with his brooding.  I really don't think he would hurt me, but his tone on the phone the other day...he calmed it when he saw I'd entered the room, but not before I heard him ground out a few expletives between clinched teeth.  Strange, but it almost sounded like he was talking to a woman.  It was just...well, I shouldn't speculate too soon.  Besides, I will probably never know.

Tosha called me again last night.  I'm beginning to get the strangest feelings when we talk, but I can't go into that right now.  Someone's at the door, and it's probably Jack.  Hopefully minus his best friend, Bacardi.

Things have been strange lately.  I'm not sure exactly how to describe it, other than to say it's just been odd.  He's been brooding a lot and I never know what to do with that.  I really don't fear violence from him (although I've yet to see him truly angry, and I'm not sure how he would react in a serious anger situation), but I do fear the hold he seems to have over me.  For some reason I can't keep myself from being controlled by his mood and whatever is going on with him at any given moment.  I especially don't know what is going on with him at this moment.

He stopped by yesterday but was pretty quiet most of the time he was here.  Seemed preoccupied or something, like he was deep in thought the whole time.  At times he'd notice me studying his face and he'd soften his expression to a smile.  Then, as if the act of softening was in his thinking some heinous act, he'd reach for his drink or flip the TV channel or something just to escape the moment.  He drank a lot yesterday.  I didn't, but I made up for it today.

He is beautiful.  I hate that.  I wish I could tell him to take his moody self and go find another vulnerable female to consume.  Funny, I never thought of myself as consumed by (with?) him until just now.  From his dark hair to his rock-hard chest to his deep chestnut eyes, I adore him.  When he looks into my eyes, it's like he sees right into my soul.  That both thrills and terrifies me.  His touch...oh, God, his touch...

I keep telling myself to pull away, to break this hold he has on me before it's too late.  I can't let him know how much I've come to admire him...want him.  Damn, when did I start wanting him?

Despite the elation I felt at certain points last night I can't shake the fear that I'm putting my heart out there to be trampled.  He's a looker, all right, and he knows just what to say...and do.  He pulls me outside myself, but I'm afraid it won't be in the way that makes me feel stronger...only weaker.  I fear him.  I hadn't realized that until now.  I fear not only his physical strength but also (and perhaps moreso) his power to persuade me that reason has no purpose when he and I are together.  I feel like I am there for him.  No, that isn't exactly true.  Last night was different.

He stopped after he had kissed me deeply.  It surprised me that we weren't rushing straight into the act like before.  He asked me the strangest thing.  "What do you want, Chloe?"  I was confused and didn't know how to answer.  I couldn't figure out whether he was making sure I didn't want more than casual sex out of our relationship, or if he was wanting me to beg him to enter me. 

I shuddered at the memory of his past brashness, and awkwardly stammered, "To do what you want me to...?" I winced as the question mark hung in the air after my words, and hurriedly kissed him to mask my discomfort.  He looked into my eyes for a moment and I could swear I saw something...something there...I just don't exactly know what it was. 

I can still see him looking at me and my skin goes cold with the memory of it.  I was completely lost in the uncertainty of his meaning.  I don't know if he kept thinking about what I'd said, but I do know he was gentler this time than he's ever been before.

He brought candy today.  If he thinks bringing me my favorite chocolate and flashing his huge brown eyes at me and barely concealing the enormity of his desire will get me to melt into whatever fantasy he may have dreamed up, he can just think again.  Aw, hell, who am I kidding.  He's probably right.

Damn him for making me want him.  I should have better control.  The question is, do I want control?  I keep giving it over to him without even much of a fight.  I suppose I get what I deserve.  And now he's making me wait.  Freaking torturing me!  Makes me so mad that I can't just tell him to leave and be done with him.  If he'd rather put off our time together until it's more convenient...why do I allow him to do this to me?

And yet I do.

Please tell me I can be real here.  I need to be me.