by Portia Moore
But my mind isn’t giving in. I see the night he proposed and our wedding day. Then suddenly, our first fight, the first time he left for days without calling. I see him walking out the door and me alone on the floor, and I envision getting a phone call from Dexter telling me he’s dead. At that moment, my body gives in, experiencing a pleasure that momentarily overwhelms these terrible thoughts.
My body recovers, and my legs stop trembling as an overwhelming sadness washes over me. I catch my breath and recover from the eerie visions weighing on me. Now, more than anything, I want him to hold me. I want that slow, sensual kiss he gave me a taste of earlier, but he just undoes the thong on my wrists, goes into the bathroom, and slams the door. I don’t know what to think or how to feel. I rub my wrists, which are now free, and wonder what happens next. Is he just going to walk out? Is he going to say anything? He’s angry, and I don’t know why he has any right to be angry. I put my T-shirt back on and hug my knees to my chest.
When he comes out, he leans in the doorway, his lips held between his teeth, arms folded. “That’s what you wanted, right?” he asks in a sardonic tone. He’s fully dressed again.
“What are you talking about?” I say, rubbing my temples, not wanting to look at him.
“To get off. That’s what you wanted from me. A last good fuck, right?” he snarls, grabbing his keys from the nightstand. I can’t believe he would say that to me.
“What? That wasn’t what I wanted!”
Deep down, I know it’s a lie. I didn’t want to feel him. I wanted to feel his body, and he was trying to take me to a place I couldn’t go. I wanted him to give me something—to not think about him, to get away from all this. I know it’s wrong, but he’s the one fucking leaving.
“Yeah. You wanted me to fuck you, but you couldn’t even look at me.” He laughs cuttingly, his hand resting on the back of his head.
I open my mouth to respond, but I have no valid comeback. “What do you want from me, Cal? What? You’re the one leaving. What do you want me to do? How do you want me to feel!” I demand, getting angrier by the minute.
“I wanted you to let me in.” He sounds so dejected, it makes my heart break.
Why is he doing this? Why is he trying to take me to a place I have to leave in order to move on? But I guess the reality is he didn’t need to take me to that place. I’m already there, living in it. Since the day I met him, I’ve been there, and he’s the only person I want to be there with me.
I swallow my pride and get off the bed. He’s hurt and can easily spurn me, but I still move toward him. When I reach him, he looks down at me, his hands now stuffed into his jeans. I place my hands on his chest and force myself to look at him. I know once I do, the flimsy wall I’ve tried to create around myself today is going to crumble. And when I look into his eyes, it does.
“You’re already in. You always have been, and you always will be,” I say, unable to imagine how he can’t know this already.
In the back of my mind, I wonder if this is a trick. Is this what he wanted to hear all along? Is this a card he can play, to know he can leave and waltz back into my life whenever he wants? Because he can’t not know how much I love him, how much I need him, and how much his leaving tears me apart. I feel as if my heart is being ripped out of my body.
“Promise me,” he says, and for only the second time in my life, I hear his voice sound unsteady and unsure.
I nod furiously and stand on tiptoe. I kiss him as he did me earlier—passionately, with controlled patience—and in return, he makes it so deep, it’s as if he’s pulling my soul from my body to take it with him. His hands slide beneath my shirt, and he removes it. I do the same, tugging at his, and soon our clothes are off and I’m back on the bed, this time with him fully inside me, connected. He doesn’t pin my arms over my head but allows me to dig my fingers deep into his skin as he takes me to places of ecstasy only he ever has. I take in his scent, his breath, his touch. I try to remember each of his kisses; I capture every single movement in my mind. I allow him to go as deep inside me as he wants, taking in the pain and the pleasure as one. I hold him tight. I say his name, and my body gives into him over and over again, as it always does, even knowing the danger in which I’m putting myself.
I tell him how much I love him and that I’d wait if he’d only ask… but he doesn’t. He’s done what I asked—put me to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open, but now I try to fight the sleep that’s coming down on me so heavily, the kind I wished for earlier. I’m exhausted emotionally and physically. I look at Cal. He’s already asleep, and I lie as close to him as I can. My eyes are so heavy, but I don’t want them to close.
“Don’t give up on me.”
His words are quiet, barely over a whisper, and as quickly as they’re said, they’re gone. I wonder if I imagined them. I close my eyes and know that soon this night will only be a memory within a nightmare I want to forget. Now it’s only a dream. Still, I give him my heart and let him take it with him.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I can’t give him something he’s always had.
Chapter 11
April 22nd, 2010
I open my eyes and stretch out my body, noticing there’s more space in the bed than usual. I sit up and look around to see that I’m alone. “Cal?”
He’d better not have left me again. I hate being in his house alone. I especially hate waking up in his bed alone instead of in his arms. Looking out the window, I notice the sun has been replaced by darkness, which is interrupted by the surrounding city lights. I step out of bed and turn on the lamp in order to find my clothes. A piece of paper on the nightstand catches my eye. It’s a note from Cal asking me to come to the roof.
“What are you up to now?” I say to myself, a smile spreading across my face.
Quickly, I open one of his drawers and pull out a shirt to throw on instead of dragging around this stupid sheet. A brief glance in the mirror tells me my hair needs some help. My brush is nowhere to be found, so I shake my fingers through it to try to settle it back down. It’ll have to do.
I hear music playing as I make my way up the stairs. My eyebrows shoot up when I see candles lighting the way up the stairs and pink rose petals trailing the steps. When I finally make it up to the top, my mouth drops open. The entire roof is outlined with candles, and the ground is littered with rose petals.
“Oh my God.” A smile creeps across my face. “Cal, I can’t believe you. Where are you?” I stop when he picks me up from behind. “How did you do all this?” I giggle when he puts me down.
“Well, technically, I didn’t do it—but it was my idea.”
“How did you know I wouldn’t wake up?”
“Well, I made sure you were pretty tired earlier, didn’t I?” He smiles suggestively, pulling me against him.
I push him away playfully. “This is beautiful, really. It’s my graduation present?” He’s been hinting at having a big surprise for me, and it’d be like him to give it to me a month early so I’d be truly surprised.
“Do you remember the first night I danced with you?” he asks, pulling me back in his arms.
“Yeah, I remember what that led to.” I giggle as I wrap my arms around his neck, and we sway to the music.
He looks into my eyes. “I told you I’d give you everything.”
“You were trying to get me into bed,” I remind him with a sly grin.
“That’s beside the point.”
“That night, it was exactly your point.”
His wide smile softens. “I’ve been with a lot of women.”
I arch my brow, a little apprehensive about hearing the rest of this speech—it’s not getting off to a good start. But I say nothing and let him continue.
“I looked straight through them, and they never noticed or didn’t seem to care. When I first saw you, I couldn’t do that; you wouldn’t let me. It caught me by surprise. Everything about you caught me by surprise.”
His hand slips beneath his shirt that I
’m wearing and up my back. We stop dancing as his fingers trace their infamous pattern on my skin. His touch gives me chills, making me bite my lip. His fingers leave their spot, and he takes my hand, gripping one of my fingers, and he brings it to my back again. He then makes the same pattern he’s done so many times. This time I recognize it, and my heart flutters. It isn’t just a random pattern or symbol; it’s his name.
“I want something more permanent than tracing my name on your back.” He steps back, looking into my eyes.
“I’m not getting your name tattooed on me,” I joke, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, ink fades anyway.”
He winks before he licks his lips and shows me his boyish grin. He reaches into his pocket with one hand. The other one glides down my arm, and he takes my hand.
“You know I’ve never lived by a plan. I’ve always decided to do what I wanted, and no one else really mattered. Since I met you, that’s changed. I never thought I’d feel for someone the way I do about you.”
My heart speeds up, and my mouth suddenly becomes dry. I look up at him, tears filling my eyes. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and opens it to reveal a yellow diamond ring. My jaw hits the floor.
“I tried to talk myself out of doing this more times than you’d believe. And that’s just today. I know you’re graduating next month and moving on to a different phase of your life.” He takes the ring and slides it on my finger. The ring is a perfect fit. “I don’t want to be a part of your past. I want to be the only person to touch you in ways that give you chills, to whisper things that make you turn red. I know there are a lot of things that you want to know about me that I haven’t been exactly open with you about. But know that I love you; I’ve been in love with you longer than I’ve admitted to myself.”
My tongue is completely stuck to the roof of my mouth. I can’t even open it to say anything.
“You always tell me I need to work on asking for things.” He gets down on one knee. His eyes are bright and his expression soft. I’m trembling, and he takes my waist and pulls me onto his bended knee. “I want you to—I mean… will you marry me?”
He’s in front of me, the ring is on my finger, and this still doesn’t seem real. I never would have guessed this would happen now. I can’t even say anything. Open your mouth! I want to say yes. I want to jump into his arms and tell him yes a million times, but something’s stopping me. It’s not me; it’s him. Is he ready? There are so many reasons this might not work. I get off of his bended leg, which easily holds my weight, and stand, and he does the same.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, trying to wipe away the tears that keep falling.
He pulls me closer to him, gently cupping my face. “No doubt in my mind.”
I rest my head on his chest. Oh God, help me. When I look into his eyes, I lose all doubts, but they don’t go away quietly.
My mind is telling me one thing, my heart another. I can’t help but hear Helen’s words echoing in my head. Have we really come that far since then? I lift my head and look into his eyes. In a moment, they ease my doubts but increase so many of my fears. I know that he could break my heart in the blink of an eye.
“Yes,” I say softly.
I can’t say no. Why should I? I love him. I’ve been in love with him longer than I want to believe. If I couldn’t touch him, talk to him, feel him, I don’t know what I’d do. I could very easily spend the rest of my life with him. Still…
“Yes,” I say again, mostly to myself.
I throw myself into his arms and softly kiss his lips before he deepens it. He lifts me in his arms, and the world spins around me. The little voice in my head is quiet as tears of joy roll down my cheeks.
But all I can think is… please don’t break my heart.
June 7th 2011
June 7th, 2011
I wish I wasn’t here. Out of all my worries, my assumptions of what Cal was doing while he was gone, wondering who he was with, what was he doing? The jealousy, loneliness, and fear used to choke me like a noose. Now, being here without Cal is worse. So much worse than I could ever have thought, imagined, or prepared myself for. There was no way to prepare myself for this. I think somewhere deep down, I knew this was coming, but I hoped it was unsubstantiated fear. I’d always tell myself that I was paranoid, that my nightmares were my subconscious feelings about him being gone so much. Still, I felt it coming stronger and stronger as I looked into his eyes these past weeks, as he held me but I looked in the other direction.
The connection I’ve forged with him was trying to tell me, and I didn’t understand. I couldn’t figure it out. Or I didn’t want to. Maybe the entire time I was with him was just a countdown until I’d lose him. It’s been hard living with Cal, loving him for all that he is and all that he wouldn’t let me know about him, but it’s going to be harder living without him.
The day after he left me was one of the longest, hardest days of my entire life. It seemed as if it would never end. The hours passed like days, and there was nothing I could do to make it go faster. I knew when I woke he wouldn’t be here, but still I hoped when I opened my eyes, he’d be lying beside me.
He wasn’t; he was gone.
He didn’t take anything with him. The house looks as if he never left.
That’s why I had to leave the house too. Every time the phone rang, my heart beat faster. I thought of it being him, but then I’d hear a message from Dexter, Helen, or Raven—anyone but him. Everything I looked at triggered a memory that I didn’t want to think about. Trying not to think about him led me to only thinking about him more.
After about a week of almost losing it, I went back to Angela’s. She welcomed me with open arms, without asking any questions, even though I was sure she wanted to. I did my best to hide my feelings. Looking like I was okay took all I had, especially when I’d spent an entire week crying endlessly, unable to control it. The only time I wasn’t crying was when I was sleeping, then I’d just wake up and start crying again.
“Lauren.”
I lift my head to see Angela standing in front of me with a slightly worried expression. She’s been so sweet to me, and I’ve barely said three sentences to her other than “I’m fine,” “don’t worry,” and “good night.”
“Yeah?” I say, quickly putting on a fake smile, which I’m sure isn’t convincing.
“Can we talk?” she asks before biting her lip.
The talk. I knew it would come eventually. Even the most patient person in the world would ask me what I’m doing here sooner or later.
“Sure.” I nod, sitting up from the fetal position, my default these past couple of weeks.
“Good.” She smiles then disappears for a moment.
I get up to fold up my sheets. As I finish, she returns with a gallon of ice cream and two spoons. I smile, wishing this was going to be as fun as ice cream and girl talk. She sits on the couch and pats the seat next to her. I sit beside her and take the spoon she’s handing me. I quickly pop a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth to avoid speaking first.
“So you know I’m not nosy or trying to pry, right?” she asks quietly.
I nod, knowing what’s coming next.
“But since you’ve come back, you’ve been like a zombie. You don’t say much, which is fine. I can understand that you may not feel up to talking about how you’re feeling. But whenever I’m home, all you do is sleep. You’re not just napping, Lauren—you’re, like, in REM when I leave and when I get home.” She pauses, giving me a chance to respond.
I really don’t know what to say to her. She’s right.
“You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m here to listen,” she tells me.
I take a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong.” I take another spoonful of ice cream and look at her from the corner of my eye.
“I heard you crying last night,” she reveals quietly. “I’ve heard you crying the past three nights, and I’m worried about you.”
&nb
sp; I open my mouth to tell her again that she doesn’t have to worry, that I’m okay, but suddenly, my stomach churns. I run to the bathroom as fast as I can. Thankfully, the contents in my stomach don’t spill out until I’m over the toilet. When I lift my head, Angela is standing in the doorway silently with her arms crossed. I look away from her skeptical expression and grab my toothbrush.
“Can you guess what I’m about to ask?” she says, handing me the toothpaste.
“It’s not what you think.” I stuff the paste-filled brush in my mouth, taking as long as I can to brush so I won’t have to face her.
“And you know this for sure?” she asks, sitting on the edge of her tub.
I see she’s not going to let up on this. I smile tightly and rinse my mouth.
“I know my body,” I tell her simply and leave the bathroom. There is no way that I can be…
She follows me to the living room. “When is the last time you had your period?”
“Three weeks ago,” I say off the top of my head, hoping the questions will stop.
“Was it a full one or…”
I stop and turn around to face her. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not pregnant.” I should have gone to a hotel.
“Willing yourself not to be pregnant doesn’t work.”
“Well, birth control does.”
“It isn’t a hundred percent.”
“Well, it is for me,” I say, anger creeping into my voice.
“You’re telling me that you never missed using it, and whenever you and Cal had sex, he always wore a condom?” She laughs.
I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t want to talk about this, okay?”
“Lauren, you can’t ignore this!”
