"Can you just kiss me? One last time? That's all I ask."
All these cliché things are happening to her, and she can't seem to stop it. Leslie continues to ask herself why, why, why, because she's always been different, but clichés are clichés for a reason.
So yeah, the words from their last real interaction ring in her ears like a song she can't get out of her head. But instead of being catchy, or pretty, it's sad and angsty and it should have no place there.
Weirdly enough, the words left unsaid ring louder than the ones that were.
I love you. I need you. Stay. We'll figure it out.
It's why she can't seem to make herself fall asleep at night, and the insomnia these days doesn't always come from the millions of ideas rolling around in her head but now its the millions of ways it could have, should have, gone differently.
This night in particular, she'd sat on the roof of her house with Ann until sunset, and she'd swung her legs unsafely over the edge the same way Ben had always nervously laughed and told her not to do.
Weird, huh? She can't stop thinking about him.
She's so used to wanting to be in love, it seems weird now that she wants the exact opposite.
She can't love him.
Right?
Laying in bed, she twists and turns but can't seem to get her eyes to shut for more than a moment, can't seem to get sleep to take over her body and pull her under.
After more failed attempts at something that feels more impossible by the passing minutes, she sits up in bed, wiping the sweat from her face and throwing the covers off her overheated legs.
Some unstoppable force pulls her out of bed, and before she knows it, she's at her front door pulling on her coat and shoes. She pulls her jacket tighter around her as she steps into the chilly breeze.
Before she knows it, she's at Ben's house, and again, she doesn't know what she's doing there until she finds herself knocking on the window of his bedroom.
The moment she does, she regrets it, and she taps her foot anxiously as she debates on turning around and forgetting this ever happened, but she hears the click of a lock and the creak of a window being lifted before it registers in her vision.
"Leslie?" His sleepy, but oh so familiar voice calls out to her confusedly.
"Can we talk?" She bites down lightly on her bottom lip, and she tries not to analyze the sudden dark look in Ben's eyes as his gaze falls on that movement, then looks back up at her, and not the way he used to. There's distance in his eyes, distance between their bodies, and suddenly he disappears from her line of vision.
She thinks she's gotten her answer until the front door opens and out steps Ben, clad in a dark coat and his hands in his pockets.
"What do you want, Leslie?" He asks, and she can tell he didn't mean for it to come out that way, and in that moment, she realizes that yeah, it is pretty weird how well she knows him. She's not supposed to know him like that.
She doesn't notice how long she's been silent until she's met with an expectant look from Ben.
"Can you just kiss me? One last time? That's all I ask." The words fall out of her mouth unexpectedly, and Leslie hates how desperate she sounds, but then again, when you show up at your secret ex-boyfriend's house at 3 in the morning for no reason, all efforts to hide desperation are already out the window.
He takes in a sharp breath loud enough for her to hear, as if he's seriously debating this, but then he lets out a sigh while subconsciously shaking his head and rubbing his temple with his thumb and index finger.
"You know I can't do that, Leslie." His right foot moves back but doesn't hit the ground as if he's fighting his urge to come closer and his urge to stay away at the same time by remaining in his spot.
Her hands slide into her pockets and then slide back out just as fast. "It's just— I can't remember our last kiss, and it's driving me crazy, and it's all I can think about, which is weird because I don't remember which means there's nothing to think about."
She's waving her hands around in the air at this point, and Ben's giving her a look of bewilderment, and really, how was she expecting this to go?
She lets out a sigh, and her hands drop to her sides in defeat, in regret. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here."
He doesn't say anything but the slight nod of his head and the sympathy in his eyes speak volumes.
Leslie hesitantly turns around and takes a step before she hears his voice from behind her.
"It was the morning before... before the box. You were making breakfast and I came in from behind you, you turned around, and I kissed you."
Leslie nods and whispers, "Thank you."
Ben only looks at her sadly, and she can see the hint of an acknowledging nod and a glance between her and the front door.
Leslie follows his gaze and her own drops to the floor, wrapping her coat tighter around herself when there's a sudden chilling breeze.
She turns around, slowly walking back to her car and fighting every urge to look back, because looking back will make her want to run back, and running back would be a bad idea. Also, the possibility of turning around and seeing him already gone doesn't— she doesn't— she doesn't want to know.
So she gets into her car, starts it, and drives off, because as much desperation as she's probably already expressed, she's going to try to hold on to this last shred of dignity until her confusion over her actions blows over and everything goes back to normal.