Crave: Part One

by E. K. Blair

  With a subtle nod, his eyes drift away, and he keeps them downcast when he swallows hard and explains, “I used to touch myself a lot when I was little. It’s been something that has always followed me. And when you found out about Katy, I didn’t know how to tell you that I only used her to satisfy this urge I can’t seem to get rid of without you thinking I was a complete asshole.” I listen to him speak, not knowing how to even react to what he’s revealing. “But that’s exactly what I was.”

  And as much as I don’t want to know, I ask anyway. “Is that who you cheated on me with?”

  “No.”

  “Who was she?”

  “Some chick who’s okay with meaningless sex.”

  “So, you and her have . . . I mean . . . you’ve been with her before?”

  He nods. “She never made me feel guilty.”

  I want to be a supportive friend, but we’ve shared too much, and hearing about this side of him rips at the tear he’s already put in my heart. With each word he speaks, the wound grows. And like razors down my cheeks, I cry.

  “How many are there?”

  “For the past couple of years, just her and Katy.”

  “And before them, how many?”

  “Only three.”

  Oh my god.

  I hiccup against a cry that threatens to break free, and he quickly starts to defend himself, saying, “It’s not what you’re thinking. In the moment, it’s like I’m not even inside myself. All I’m after is the release, nothing else.”

  “I don’t understand why you cheated, though, because you had me.”

  “I did, and you have to know how perfect you were—how perfect you are. And I never pushed you to have sex, because you’re so much more to me than that. But everything got really out of control for me, and I started freaking out when we would be together, and I couldn’t . . .” His words drift, and I can tell he’s uncomfortable with what we both know. There were several times that I would touch him, and he’d push me away because he didn’t want me to feel that he wasn’t hard. I never said anything because I didn’t want to embarrass him, but it embarrassed me more that I couldn’t turn him on.

  “Was it because of me? Something I was doing?”

  “No, I promise, babe. You’re more than perfect. You’re everything.” He takes a second, and then goes on. “I don’t know why sometimes I’m fine when we’re together and other times I’m not. It’s definitely not because of you; it’s something with me, I just don’t know what. But it killed me to disappoint you when you wanted more and I couldn’t give that to you.” He turns to me on the couch, takes both my hands in his, and looks me straight on. “I never should’ve stormed out on you like I did, and I am so sorry. I tried so hard to be with you that night, and when I couldn’t . . . I felt worthless. I was embarrassed and angry, and I acted like an ass.”

  My insecurities from that night are still with me, I cried for hours, blaming myself for not being enough for him. But it still doesn’t make sense, so I ask, “Before me, had that ever happened to you?”

  “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

  “Has it?” I press.

  “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

  “Tell me.”

  His jaw flexes and he shakes his head. “You are the only one that I ever truly wanted, though. The only girl I’ve ever loved. And when I say that it has nothing to do with you, I mean it. This is me. This is my problem.”

  “So, is this just sex?”

  “Most of the time it’s me getting myself off.”

  “Is it a lot?”

  “It’s starting to feel like it,” he says as his palms sweat against mine, and I know I shouldn’t pry, but I ask anyway.

  “How much?”

  He avoids my eyes and fidgets his hands out from mine. “Three . . . maybe five times a day. Sometimes more.”

  Oh my god.

  I try my best to hide my shock when he tells me this, but the moment he looks at me, he sees it and breaks. “I’m sorry I’m not what you thought I was.”

  “Don’t say that,” I respond urgently. “I’m not judging you at all. It’s just . . . this isn’t easy for me. And I know it isn’t for you, either. I just . . . I had no idea you were dealing with all of this while we were together.”

  “I know you hate me, and you have every right to, but you need to know that even though I crave this every day, there is nothing I will ever want more than I want you.”

  “Then why did you do it?” I ask, as new tears form.

  “Because I was desperate to save us. I thought that maybe the fact that it had been so long since I’d had sex was the reason I was struggling to get hard. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I thought it would fix the problem, and then we could be together. I never wanted to disappoint you like I did that night ever again.”

  “And what about now? Have you been with anyone since we broke up?”

  After a slow blink, he nods, saying, “I never want to lie to you.”

  I lose composure in the devastation of his truth, drop my head, and weep quietly into my hands.

  I know he wants to be truthful with me, but that doesn’t lessen the brutality of the honesty. Even when he cheated, he could have easily hid it from me, but he didn’t.

  And the thing is, he doesn’t owe me anything right now—we’re broken up. I’ve given him no reason to hang on to any hope that we could get back together, so it shouldn’t matter if he’s had sex. We’re both free to do what we want, but for some reason, I don’t want him to be free. Never has it been more clear than right now.

  I continue to cry for so many things. For everything he just admitted to me, for walking away from him, for being betrayed, but most of all, for loving him and hating him all at the same time. He wraps me in his arms and holds me as my cries grow louder. It’s then that I feel the staggering heaves of his chest against my face, and I pull back to see he’s crying, too.

  The two of us stare into each other’s brokenness, and I swear I can feel him breathing through the holes of my wounds when he begs, “Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to fix this, because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t need you.”

  “I’m so confused.”

  “Do you still love me?”

  And this is what has me so conflicted, because I do still love him. And now, after everything he told me, I’m not even sure how I feel about the cheating. He’s crying and telling me that it was never something he meant to do to hurt me, but only to fix us, and a big part of me believes him.

  After all he opened up about, giving me his deep secret, I feel I owe him the same in return when I admit, “Yes. I still love you.”

  “You will never believe what came in the mail for my parents yesterday,” Molly says. “An invitation from Gwen and your dad for Harlow’s dedication.”

  Flipping mindlessly through a magazine as I lie on my bed, I wonder aloud, “Harlow?”

  “Earth to Ady. Hello? Their new baby.”

  I push the magazine away and sit up, feeling the exclusion return. I haven’t spoken to my father in nearly a year, not even after the baby was born. I count back in my head and resolve that she must be around four months old by now. As much as I don’t want to care, the mere mention of my father’s life—the life I’m no longer a part of—is enough to trigger all the feelings of abandonment I’ve done a good job avoiding.

  “Why would they send you guys an invitation?”

  “Apparently, Gwen is on the Junior League with my mom, and they’ve been working on a couple of charity events together.”

  Hearing Molly say her name makes my skin crawl. “As if she hasn’t taken enough from me, now she’s making friends with your mom. Before I know it, you’ll be babysitting for them or some crap.”

  “Not a chance. Your enemies are my enemies,” she declares, and as silly as it sounds, it makes me feel a little better. “Speaking of enemies, how are you dealing with the breakup? Is Kason still keeping his distance?”


  “I don’t know. Things got a little weird last night.”

  “What happened last night?”

  I go on to tell her about going over to Kason’s to pick up my things and his mother being taken to the hospital.

  “Oh, my god. That’s so scary.”

  “I saw him at the hospital.” I still can’t say his name without feeling it’s effect on my heart, so I avoid it when I can.

  “Did you guys talk?”

  I grow quiet, still overwhelmed by everything he revealed to me. I barely slept at all last night as I tried to make sense out of it all, including my feelings toward him. It’s a hard confliction that still has me wading in the depths of confusion. My head tells me to feel one thing, and my heart screams the opposite.

  “Ady?”

  “I really miss him,” I confess.

  “Are you forgetting that he cheated on you? That guy is an ass.”

  The moment I told Molly that Kason cheated on me, he went to the top of her hate list, and she’s had nothing good to say about him ever since. Her anger helped get me through all the times I wanted to call him. All I had to do was talk to her, and she would be more than happy to remind me of all the reasons why I needed to stay away. But now, knowing what I know, I don’t think there’s anything she could say that would cut through the magnetic pull toward him that I’m starting to feel again.

  “What he did was really bad,” I tell her. “But he isn’t a bad person.”

  “What did he say to you, Ady?”

  “It isn’t something I can really talk about.”

  Her voice pitches in annoyance. “I’m your best friend. You tell me everything.”

  “I know, but . . . He just explained some things that helped me understand him a little better. It was a very private conversation, and I don’t want to betray him by telling anyone about it.”

  “So, he can betray you, but you can’t betray him?”

  “Molly, don’t be mad. I’m not trying to be mean or anything.”

  “You’re not thinking about getting back together with him, are you?”

  If only she could see the side of Kason he allows me to see, maybe she’d be more understanding of him and my feelings toward him. But to her, he’s a jerk who didn’t care about me enough to stay faithful. But I know he cares, and I trust him when he tells me that. And now knowing his issues with sex and how much his urges torment him, it’s hard for me to continue being mad at him.

  “He’s not a bad guy,” I contend.

  “You seriously expect me to agree with you on that? Really?” She releases a frustrated sigh. “What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Ady I know would never put up with a guy treating her the way Kason has. I still can’t believe that you almost slept with him!”

  And I get it. Molly and I grew up conservative, vowing to each other when we were fifteen that we’d save ourselves until marriage. It probably sounds stupid to some since it seems everyone in high school is having sex, but to us, it was a pact we took seriously. Then I fell in love with Kason, and even though I held off for as long as I did, I always knew it was him I wanted to give myself to.

  “I feel like you let this guy change you.”

  “People change all the time, Molly.”

  “I know that. But I can’t even begin to understand why you’d even consider giving him another chance.”

  “Because I love him,” I affirm without any doubt. “And he loves me.”

  “He has a strange way of showing it.”

  “I’m not defending what he did. It was wrong, and he knows it.” I do my best to speak confidently, because I don’t want her disapproval. “There are reasons why he cheated, reasons I can’t tell you, but you have to trust that I’m not some stupid, love-struck girl who can’t be alone so she takes back her loser boyfriend. That’s not what this is.”

  “Well, it’s what it sounds like. And if you can’t tell me whatever it is you’re keeping secret, then you can’t expect me to see it any differently,” she snips before quickly adding, “Look, I have to run. I’ll talk to you later,” and then ends the call before I can say anything else.

  I drop the phone from my ear, feeling as if I’m the one responsible for Molly being so upset with me. There’s no way I could ever tell anyone what Kason fought so hard to tell me. His compulsion is a pain that harbors so much shame and condemnation that he hides so deeply within the fibers of his being just to make it through the day. I’m the only one he’s ever told, and I would never reveal to anyone what he’s trusted me to keep safe.

  The clank of the wrought iron gate closing jerks my attention to the window. Slipping off the bed, I walk over and see Kason down below. I wasn’t expecting him to show up since he didn’t go to school today, but here he is. Just like every other time he’s been at my house since we broke up, I watch his every movement as he works. Loneliness makes its mark on me the way it always does whenever I see him or think about him. After a while, the disconnect becomes too much, and I decide to make my presence known.

  Kason never misses school, but with everything that happened yesterday, it didn’t come as a surprise when he was a no-show. Concerned for him and what he must be going through, I step outside as he’s pulling the skimmer out of the water, and give him a somber, “Hey,” as I stand on the veranda.

  He looks up from across the pool and acknowledges me with an equally somber, “Hi,” before dropping his attention back to his job.

  I hesitate to move any closer to him or to say anything else for fear he’s embarrassed by what I now know about him. Awkwardly, I watch as he moves about his business, and I can tell he’s as uncomfortable as I am. It’s a strange feeling to be out here with him after I’ve been hiding away all this time. I’m tangled in uncertainty about how to act around him when more than anything, I long for the ease to return between us. Then the thought that it may never return with all we’ve been through hammers on my already heavily battered heart.

  When he rounds the pool to my side and kneels down to the water, I slowly walk over to him with a timid, “I didn’t see you at school today.”

  “I was at the hospital.” After checking the chemical balance, he dumps the water from the vials back into the pool and places everything back in the case.

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  Latching the box shut, he stands and finally looks at me with exhaustion in his eyes. “Better. They think she might be able to come home tomorrow.”

  “And how about you? Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m trying.”

  I should reach out and touch him. I should give him a hug. I should be able to show him some sort of affection, knowing that he must be starving for it so badly. It was always something he was hungry for when we were together. It was as if survivorship was dependent on nothing more than touch alone, and I was always happy to give it to him. I have to wonder if it was the fact that he’d been denied physical compassion his whole life that has made him unconsciously needy for it to try to make up for all he’s been deprived of.

  “Will you thank your mom for me for the flowers she sent to the hospital. I doubt she’d want to hear from me, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “I never told her why we broke up,” I say when I cut him off, and his face twists in what looks to be regret.

  “I don’t deserve that.”

  “You do,” I assure him, because even though he hurt me, he doesn’t need to be publically disgraced by everyone knowing. I told Micah and Molly because I had to. As much as I wanted to hide from my own humiliation, the pain was too much for me to deal with on my own. “You’re not a bad person, Kason.”

  He shakes his head, refusing my words. “I should get going.”

  “Okay,” I murmur. He turns to walk away, and I drop my shoulders, wanting nothing more than for him to stay. “Kason?”

  Stopping, he turns back around.

  “You, umm . . . you want to ha
ng out some time?”

  I hold my breath, rankled with the same nerves that used to plague me when we first met, but he grants me relief when he nods, saying, “I’m going back up to the hospital after work, but I should be home around eight.”

  My lips lift in a subtle smile, and so do his. When he leaves, I return to my room, fall back onto my bed, and pick apart the last twenty-four hours. Last night it felt as if I had become an intruder upon his soul, unworthy of the glimpse into the crux of who he is. But what’s at his core is enigmatic beyond my comprehension.

  What exactly was he trying to say?

  Does he even understand it himself?

  In the absence of clarity, I grab my laptop and open the lid. Words rattle around as I stare at the empty search bar. Thinking back to our conversation and the way he described things to me, I type in “uncontrollable need for sex” and hit enter.

  The screen floods with websites, highlighting words like hypersexuality, uncontrolled masturbation, compulsive sexual disorder. Seeing these words so blatantly in black and white edges on alarming, and I grow upset when I think about how much I never knew about Kason.

  How could we be so close and so disconnected all at the same time?

  I click on one of the websites and am taken to an article about sex addiction. My chest tightens as I read some of the same things that mirror what Kason was trying to tell me. I continue to scroll down until I hit a passage that explains:

  Sexual addiction has nothing to do with love, intimacy, or emotional connection with another human being. Rather, it involves an uncontrollable craving for the euphoric high that is associated with the sexual fantasy or actual activity. Many experts believe this intense high is different from the normal pleasure non-addicts experience from sexual activity. The intense craving drives the addict to do whatever it takes to satisfy it.

  I don’t realize I’m crying until a teardrop falls onto my hand, which is trebling above the keyboard.