mean,” he says, taking a step closer and leaning into me.
I shake my head and step away from him. “Well, how am I supposed to know?” I say quietly to myself as if I’m trying to wake up from a bad dream. “I’m tired of not knowing Cal!” I say louder.
“Have I ever said anything to you and not meant it?” he reiterates. Cal has done some pretty mean shit to me. He’ll ignore me, avoid the questions that I ask, or leave me without a warning, but he’s not a liar. I’m trying to think, but I get distracted as he starts to run his fingers through my damp hair. How am I supposed to think while he’s doing that? I need to think. His lips softly glide across my neck, and he pulls me against his chest. I’m trying to figure out how to respond to this. I’m mad, and I have the right to be. Whatever I want to do, I need to do it fast, before he gets me all the way over to the bed. Say something! Say it now!
“W-we can’t, I won’t do this here,” I tell him breathlessly as the towel drops to the floor. It’s too late. He lowers me down to the bed. His weight covers me, as does his lips. I need to talk with him, not sleep with him. This always happens when he touches me: first the shivers up my spine, the heat between my thighs, and then I get light headed and forget my thoughts. He’s casting some kind of spell over me. What else could this be?
“C-Cal, stop,” I say, so softly that I can barely hear myself as his fingers trail down my body.
“Do you want me to?” He’s beginning to nibble on my ear.
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I say honestly trying to catch my breath. I turn my head to the window. It’s still open, and a soft breeze is blowing in.
“This isn’t what you want?” he says huskily before deepening his kiss. It takes all my strength, but I break it and gently hold his chin in my hands. He looks at me, surprised and somewhat curious.
I stare into the eyes that I usually try to avoid. I look into them for answers to see what he is thinking, what he is feeling. The light from the moon beams down on us through my window. I can’t read them. I can’t see what’s behind them; they are a smoke-covered glass. I can’t see anything more than he wants me to.
“I don’t know any more Cal,” I whisper, trying to hold the hot tears in my eyes and I let go of his face. The wide grin on it softens. He sweeps a piece of stray hair off my forehead and looks into my eyes for what seems like an eternity, but in reality it’s only a minute.
In an instant, he lifts his body off of me and out of the bed. I maneuver myself to one side and rest my head so I can see what he’s doing. It’s cold, so I slip underneath the covers. Resting my head on my hands, I watch him grab his jacket and get something out of it. I sigh and turn my body, so I’m not facing him anymore.
A few minutes later, he’s in bed beside me, his bare skin against mine. Kisses cover my shoulders, and he pulls me toward him. This time, I avoid eye contact. I don’t know what to think or what to feel; I don’t want to get lost in him. I don’t want to keep falling for him, caving in to whatever manipulation this is.
“Lauren,” he beacons quietly, and he takes my hand, bringing it to his face and caressing it. I still don’t answer him. The hot tears sting my face. He hasn’t seen my tears flow like this in a long time; my facade of anger and vindictiveness is usually perfect for camouflaging them. Tonight, I’m too exhausted for any of it. He wipes them from my face and gently kisses my cheek.
“I’m so tired. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this; it-it’s destroying me,” I whimper. My voice is choked up, and I look away from him.
He cups my chin, making me look up at him. “Lauren. I’m here,” he says earnestly.
I look away from him. “But how am I…” I can’t finish; my voice caves in.
“I’m here, gorgeous,” he says, his voice is unrecognizable and almost pleading. I can’t
I shake my head and step away from him. “Well, how am I supposed to know?” I say quietly to myself as if I’m trying to wake up from a bad dream. “I’m tired of not knowing Cal!” I say louder.
“Have I ever said anything to you and not meant it?” he reiterates. Cal has done some pretty mean shit to me. He’ll ignore me, avoid the questions that I ask, or leave me without a warning, but he’s not a liar. I’m trying to think, but I get distracted as he starts to run his fingers through my damp hair. How am I supposed to think while he’s doing that? I need to think. His lips softly glide across my neck, and he pulls me against his chest. I’m trying to figure out how to respond to this. I’m mad, and I have the right to be. Whatever I want to do, I need to do it fast, before he gets me all the way over to the bed. Say something! Say it now!
“W-we can’t, I won’t do this here,” I tell him breathlessly as the towel drops to the floor. It’s too late. He lowers me down to the bed. His weight covers me, as does his lips. I need to talk with him, not sleep with him. This always happens when he touches me: first the shivers up my spine, the heat between my thighs, and then I get light headed and forget my thoughts. He’s casting some kind of spell over me. What else could this be?
“C-Cal, stop,” I say, so softly that I can barely hear myself as his fingers trail down my body.
“Do you want me to?” He’s beginning to nibble on my ear.
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I say honestly trying to catch my breath. I turn my head to the window. It’s still open, and a soft breeze is blowing in.
“This isn’t what you want?” he says huskily before deepening his kiss. It takes all my strength, but I break it and gently hold his chin in my hands. He looks at me, surprised and somewhat curious.
I stare into the eyes that I usually try to avoid. I look into them for answers to see what he is thinking, what he is feeling. The light from the moon beams down on us through my window. I can’t read them. I can’t see what’s behind them; they are a smoke-covered glass. I can’t see anything more than he wants me to.
“I don’t know any more Cal,” I whisper, trying to hold the hot tears in my eyes and I let go of his face. The wide grin on it softens. He sweeps a piece of stray hair off my forehead and looks into my eyes for what seems like an eternity, but in reality it’s only a minute.
In an instant, he lifts his body off of me and out of the bed. I maneuver myself to one side and rest my head so I can see what he’s doing. It’s cold, so I slip underneath the covers. Resting my head on my hands, I watch him grab his jacket and get something out of it. I sigh and turn my body, so I’m not facing him anymore.
A few minutes later, he’s in bed beside me, his bare skin against mine. Kisses cover my shoulders, and he pulls me toward him. This time, I avoid eye contact. I don’t know what to think or what to feel; I don’t want to get lost in him. I don’t want to keep falling for him, caving in to whatever manipulation this is.
“Lauren,” he beacons quietly, and he takes my hand, bringing it to his face and caressing it. I still don’t answer him. The hot tears sting my face. He hasn’t seen my tears flow like this in a long time; my facade of anger and vindictiveness is usually perfect for camouflaging them. Tonight, I’m too exhausted for any of it. He wipes them from my face and gently kisses my cheek.
“I’m so tired. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this; it-it’s destroying me,” I whimper. My voice is choked up, and I look away from him.
He cups my chin, making me look up at him. “Lauren. I’m here,” he says earnestly.
I look away from him. “But how am I…” I can’t finish; my voice caves in.
“I’m here, gorgeous,” he says, his voice is unrecognizable and almost pleading. I can’t
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