“Hasn’t everyone been emotionally mangled by another person to some degree?”
“You don’t seem mangled to me,” he says.
“Because we haven’t gotten to that stage where you start to pull away and I sense it but I’m afraid to bring it up because that’s the death knell and I’m not ready for it to be over.”
He lifts his head up like he’s trying to see my face more clearly. “I’m sorry, what? The death knell?”
“It’s like I’m a magnet for people that come on strong and then disappear.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” he says.
“It’s a pattern.” I try to explain it the way I’d draw it on a page. “Imagine two people holding on to a big bunch of helium balloons together. It’s a windy day, so I’m clenching the strings so tight. And he’s not even paying attention to the wind, so some of the balloons are escaping and it seems so obvious because they’re like…red and orange balloons floating away but I’m the only one in a panic. And it’s so embarrassing that I’m even paying attention that I can’t bring myself to say anything about it so I just quietly take over holding all those goddamn balloons. And he doesn’t even notice.” My voice gets higher and more strained. “He thinks the balloons are just floating there, on their own, and whenever he wants, he can just grab one from the sky because it’s there waiting. And I just feel so much…rage about it, but if I show it, I feel so weak. It’s unbearable.”
I grimace at the fact that I just unleashed my Hal anxieties with Nick, especially in bed.
“Does your dad know you feel this way?” he asks.
“My dad?” I sputter.
“Well you’re talking about someone who takes and doesn’t give and doesn’t acknowledge you, right?”
God.Paging Dr. Freud.That’s not something I’m capable of unpacking right now, so I stay quiet.
“Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable.” He turns onto his side, facing me. I’m still investigating the mysteries of his ceiling. “I feel that way, too.”
“Is now a good time to reveal that I’m into some very specific kinky st—”
“I’ll do it. Look”—he gestures at himself—“I’m not freaked out. And I haven’t even heard what it is yet.”
I laugh. “Why didn’t you even blink?”
“I’m old and I’ve seen many things. It’s very difficult to scare me. Also I used to date a girl who was into pimple popping, and honestly, that was more of a red flag for me than wanting to be peed on or something.”
“You peed on someone?” I situp.
“Now whose judging?”
“I was kidding about the kinks.” IwishI were that interesting. “But now I can’t tell if you are. I mean, I’m sure I could come up with something if you’re into it.”
“Okay then.” He sits up, too. “Who’s tying up who?”
I laugh, but I still can’t tell if there’s some truth in this conversation. “I did that with an ex. It was…fine?”
“Just ‘fine’? Then he was doing something wrong.”
“Are you some kind of shibari expert?”
“No, but let’s review my résumé. I’m very good at tying knots. I can suspend an entire lighting rig from a truss. And I’m feeling pretty confident after moving you to tears.”
He runs his fingers along my collarbone and down the center of my chest, his eyes on my body, even the parts I’m not crazy about showing. But the way he’s taking me in, I don’t feel shy. I’m not wishing I’d kept my bra on so that my breasts will be pushed up. He gives me this feeling that everything I am is enough.
“Your body,” he murmurs, tracing along the sunburned skin between my breasts. It’s still sensitive, but the way he touches me is so delicate that it offsets the sting. “You’re so beautiful.”
My brain still hasn’t recovered from the orgasm, so I actually process this in a way where I can accept it at face value. And I’m not even drunk. Is this growth? Am I healed?
I’m shivering a little from the ceiling fan breeze, but his hands are big and warm—he runs hot, and I love the way he feels against my body. Every part of him. I’m not usually into missionary, but when he climbs on top of me, I have a primal urge for him to cover me like a weighted blanket and fuck me into his mattress.
I like his mouth a lot, too. He’s already learned that I melt when someone kisses my neck and shoulders and that spot behind my ear. And I think he’s applying this insider knowledge to other sensitive parts of me. I get weak. Ticklish, like every sensation registers tenfold. My knees buckle even when I’m not standing. And I’m definitely not standing now.
