“Maybe… maybe I overreacted a little,” I admit, watching him change out of his gym shoes into his black loafers.
I pout because he’s ignoring me. I stand up and walk in front of him. He doesn’t bother to look up at me.
“And that makes this time any different because?” he asks, unenthused.
“How long are you going to be gone?” I ask, pushing myself between his thighs, purposely ignoring his previous comment.
“You’re going to miss me?” he asks, but it’s a statement more than a question. He loosens the tie on my robe.
I don’t answer but look him in his eyes, knowing mine will give away my answer. He slides the robe down my shoulders and pulls it off me.
“The next time you try to get out of apologizing…” His voice is low and deep in a way that causes my heart to beat faster. His eyes look from my body into my eyes. “This”—he unhooks my bra—“isn’t needed.”
“Who said I was apologizing?” I retort before he pulls me onto him.
His lips crash against mine. I don’t fight his tongue for dominance but allow him to have his way, freely exploring my mouth. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist as he frees me from my robe completely and drops it onto the floor. I unbutton his shirt, looking into his eyes. Sometimes, I swear he can read my mind.
Hopefully he can see in my eyes what I can’t bring myself to say. At the very least, I know the longer he makes love to me, the longer it will be before he leaves, and I try to take solace in it.
Here I am again for the second time today, with nothing but a cool sheet covering my body. The space Cal previously rested in is cool. He’s getting dressed after his shower, and I know in the next hour, I’ll be alone again. This is how it usually goes. Physically, he has no boundaries with me and none of my needs go unmet, but anything beyond that is a no-man’s land that I can’t seem to escape. He goes from attentive, responsive, and connected to withdrawn, distant, and aloof; and I wonder why me?
Any nameless woman could fulfill this need of his. He won’t let me be there for him in any way except sexually. It’s starting to get harder to see the difference between being his wife and a favored high-class escort.
“I’ll be back tomorrow… or more likely Thursday,” he states quietly.
I glance at him and turn in the opposite direction. I can’t believe how upset I still get; this is routine, after all. I fight back my tears. He doesn’t deserve them. He sits down beside me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sincerity intermingled with sarcasm.
I sigh. “I don’t know, Cal. What is wrong?” I ask sarcastically.
“What’s the matter? It’s not like you’re going to miss me.” He’s kissing my shoulders with the same lips that once could make me forgive him for anything. “But I’ll miss you. Just a little.” He adds the last part playfully.
I watch him put his coat on and grab his overnight bag. I could practically narrate this scene from memory.
“Come walk me to the door,” he says, heading out of the bedroom.
I start to pull the sheet around my body.
“Leave the sheet. Please.” He smiles with a twinkle in his eye that I’ve missed.
I feel myself blush, but I comply. I walk through our bedroom door as he holds it open, and I playfully roll my eyes at him. A moment later, I feel his hand slap my backside.
“Cal!” I yell, massaging the tingling on my backside. I should have seen that one coming. When we reach the front door, I cross my arms, starting to feel cold with no clothes on. “Thursday at the latest?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he vaguely promises.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you,” I say, irritated by his lack of an answer.
“Stop pouting. It’s way too sexy when I’m leaving,” he says before stealing a quick kiss from me.
I quickly close the door behind him. There’s only one other apartment on the floor and that’s been vacant, but I wouldn’t want to flash any potential tenants.
I lean my head against the door. I swear our relationship is so back and forth that it’s as if we’re playing tennis, except he makes all the rules. When it’s bad, it’s really bad, but when it’s good, it’s so good. I hate it and love it at the same time. But that’s how Cal is.
Sometimes, even if briefly, he’s funny, fun, and open like he used to be. Other times, he can be a total bitch, which is not fun for anyone but him. When I first met him, I thought he was mysterious. Now I try to remember if he was this moody when I met him, and I was just blinded by his good looks and carefree attitude.
april 30th 2008
April 30th, 2008
“Someone’s getting all dressed up,” my roommate, Hillary, teases as I put my hair in a French braid.
“Well, he says we’re going to do something fun, so I’m dressing casually.” I defend myself, referring to my sweater and blue jeans. Of course she thinks I should be wearing a skirt that barely covers my ass and a tight blouse—what she wears on her dates.
Hillary and I are like night and day. She’s a statuesque blonde. Well, when she’s wearing her natural color. I was blond once in an experiment that went terribly wrong. Normally though, I’m brunette and only reach five foot five with the aid of four-inch heels. I’m content to spend my nights off work wrapped up in a good book or watching a movie. Hillary, on the other hand, loves to drag me down to the club to go party all night.
I can’t blame her. We both grew up in small towns in Michigan, but our childhoods couldn’t have been more different. Hillary’s father is a well-known preacher and kept her and her sister on a pretty tight leash. She says her mother didn’t do much to loosen it.
My parents died in a car crash when I was three, so I don’t have the luxury of complaining about an overbearing dad or sheepish mom. My aunt Raven raised me, and her parenting style was the perfect mix of discipline and freedom, which isn’t bad for a woman who never wanted kids.
I guess being the girl with a dad who wouldn’t even let her go to school dances means she’s just making up for lost time and enjoying her new freedom. Somewhere within me, I admire her free spirit. She never lets anything bring her down, and she does what she wants regardless of what other people say or think about her. She’s dyed her long curly hair different colors more times than I can count and is the only person I’ve ever met who wears purple and green contacts over her gorgeous baby blues. I sometimes wonder if she’s bipolar and on a constant high.
“Maybe when he says fun, he means fun.” She snickers, wiggling her eyebrows.
I look back at her and can’t help but laugh. “First off, I don’t even know this guy. So there’s not going to be any of that kind of fun.”
“Well, of course not that kind of fun. Tight pants Lauren Brooks isn’t revealing Victoria’s Secret to just anyone.” She laughs and flops onto my bed.
“You’re five seconds away from being locked out of my room,” I tell her playfully while putting on my gym shoes.
“It’s not like anything fun goes on in here anyway,” she says mockingly with a wink.