If it weren’t for her I would have made the biggest mistake of my life—I would have let Lauren go. I’ll never make that mistake again. No matter how hard I have to fight. If I have to die trying. I lay Caylen back down and put her little pink blanket over her. I grab the teddy bear that fell on the floor and put it underneath her arm, and run my hand across the bracelet I bought her for her first birthday. It seems like it was only yesterday. I head back to our bedroom and close the door behind me when I go in. I lean back against it and let out my world of troubles in a breath. She’s still asleep, but the blanket is off of her and she looks like an angel draped in sin. All I could think of earlier was getting her alone, making her remember that she might have given them a small place in her heart, but that I owned her body. But seeing her now, I don’t want to disturb her. I take off my clothes and lay beside her and pull her body against mine. I know I don’t have much longer. Keeping them both at bay at once is getting easier but still monumentally difficult. It’s worth it to have this time with just us and no them. She stirs next to me and a smile designed by God himself makes me lose my train of thought.
Her eyes are still closed but she brings her lips to mine, her fingers trail over the prickly hairs on my scalp, and she presses her body against me. I drink her in, her lips make way for my tongue, and soon her body is pressed under mine. I feel her melt into me.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, and I pull back examining her face, her eyes only half-open and a seductive grin on her face.
“You missed who?" She doesn’t answer but pulls me into a kiss that almost makes me forget the question. I pull away from her again and pin her arms above her head, our bodies pressed against each other.
“Who do you miss,” I ask her, my voice almost desperate.
“You…” she says but her voice is wobbly and I know she’s tired and sleepy. It’s moments like these when you get the truth, the honesty without any secrets, and that’s what I need to hear from her—what she really feels, who she really wants—even if it kills me.
“Say my name,” I try to keep my voice gentle, but the urgency is there and if she was sober enough she’d hear it. Her hazel eyes flirt with mine and she leans up to kiss my lips but stops right before our lips meet.
“Cal,” and when she says that, the idea of just holding her tonight is ripped to shreds faster than I can rip off her dress. She doesn’t know the power she has over me, that I’d do anything she asks. I can’t get our clothes off fast enough. She wraps her body around me as if she’ll never let me go and I never want her to. Our kisses start manic, almost panicked before they morph into something else entirely—slow and deliberate—she’s kissing me like she misses me and my pace changes completely. I want to savor every moment—but I don’t want to be sweet and timid like Chris or clinical and strategic like Collin. I want her to know it was me she was with, and that I can give her whatever she wants. Her eyes are closed as I slide into her, but the whimper she gives me is a sound I’ll never forget. Inch by inch her sighs get longer, and it’s hard to concentrate as I get lost in her. She’s an ocean that a man can get lost in, make him lose sight of things he thought were important, Collin showed that, she made him lose his fuckin’ mind.
“Cal,” she says again, and I lose myself in her, my hands dig into her skin, and she clenches around me. I pin her hands down, and look into her eyes—they were once so full of innocence and wonder and it’s still there, but clouded by lust and desire—I can’t help but smirk and I know I did that.
“Don’t stop,” she begs me, and I don’t. I take her in every way I can think of, and dare her to forget me. I know she won’t, and when we’re done and she’s recovering, she turns on her side towards me and I trace my name on her back marking her.
I thought it was a dream. I swore it was. Last night was hazy and confusing, yet wonderfully amazing like tasting a bite of your old favorite food and remembering how good it was. How could I have been so stupid? I knew Chris was acting strange last night, but with the alcohol and my emotions, it was hard to see clearly. Why didn’t he say anything? Cal has never pretended to be Chris, but Cal has always been a mystery—my very own enigma. Seeing the look on Chris’s face now, I feel terrible. Guilt bleeds through my soul as I look at him, his expression a mixture of anger and confusion.
“I-I’m not sure but… I think Cal was here last night…”
“What happened?” Chris asks, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice steady and his expression free from what he’s feeling. I save him the effort by gluing my eyes to my lap as the guilt consumes me. I sift through my thoughts of what happened last night—dancing, kissing, talking and making love. My face flushes.
“I had too much to drink. I can’t recall everything, but I remember you being different—not bad different—just different.” He lets out a frustrated breath and runs his hands over his head. I’m not making this situation any better. “He never said it was him, so I thought the whole time he was you.” He didn’t say it with his words, but as I focus on the little moments I shared with him, I believe now he was telling me in other ways.
“Well, this is just great. It seems as if both he and the other guy are parading around pretending to be me.” Frustration and anger radiate off of him.
“How could no one realize that it wasn’t me? Weren’t Aidan and Hillary there too? Have we started to all just blur together to everyone that we seem as if we’re the same person?” His voice raises, but I know it comes more from hurt than anger.
“We were all drinking, Chris. Aidan was entertaining Hillary…” I try to plead with him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.” I’m on the verge of tears spilling, my hangover colliding with shock. He tilts his head up slightly and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Why would he pretend to be me? Since when does he do that?” he mumbles, and that’s the question that makes my heart speed up. This is not normal Cal behavior— it seems beneath him—at least I thought that’s what he would think. I am surprised that I didn’t realize it and for me, it changes everything. Did I know it? That question is even scarier to answer. I was not exactly myself last night but, I should have realized something was off about him.
“I need to talk to Helen.” He mumbles and stands from the bed. The air of easiness that he had less than twenty-four hours ago is long gone, and the weight of the world back on his shoulders.
“Chris,” I call to him before he heads to the bathroom. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He asks with defiance in his tone that reminds me of Collin. I swallow hard, unsure of how to answer. “That’s what I thought,” and with that, he shuts the door and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
“I can’t believe he tricked us like that!” Hillary laughs, as if the seriousness of the situation hasn’t exactly sank in yet—as if she hasn’t been on the same roller coaster with me. I’m going over my to do list for the gallery opening which is in less than two weeks and my thoughts are cluttered. Memories are making their way to the forefront of my mind that have been dormant, or so I’ve tried to keep them that way.