Ian
One year earlier
We’re lying side by side on my bed. Our skin is touching, our breathing mixes together, my heart is going nuts and my body is trembling.
I’m not going to make it. I can’t hold out much longer. I can’t go on ignoring what I feel, what has taken residence in my mind and my body for years now.
My obsession. My downfall.
Two years of imagined kisses, caresses and unfulfilled fantasies. Two years of repressed desire and insanity. Two years where I sat witness to my own destruction – and to hers too.
Every glance, every word, every damn breath has been agony. Every night I’ve spent away from her has been enormously and uncontrollably painful to me.
And I don’t plan on doing it again.
I want to touch her. Right now. I want to feel her with my fingers, with my lips, with my eyes and my entire body. I want to feel everything.
I want to feel her.
I know I won’t be able to go back once we cross this line and that our lives will self destruct with no chance of survival, but the desire to have her clouds over all of my logic and disables any efforts I’ve made to keep my distance from her.
I let my hand slide down along her skin.
She shivers. She wants me.
I let myself enjoy that madness.
I taste her, slowly, scared and almost breathless, on the brink of giving in.
I stop.
I’m almost suffocating under my own breath.
I brush one of her nipples gently with my thumb and it goes hard immediately, a rush of excitement flowing through my veins.
She leans in, her mouth on mine. And then, I feel the bitter taste of tears on her lips and I understand that we’re taking too big a step here, that under our feet is a never-ending abyss. Eternal.
“I can’t do this,” I tell her, with my heart in pieces and my soul in desperation.
But I do it all the same.
I tell her that I’m a man who is unable of giving. That I only know how to take. That I want her body but that I don’t want her.
I tell her that this thing between us is a problem, a big, dangerous one and that I don’t like having problems, especially when it involves a woman.
I tell her that she needs everything and that I’m a bastard who wants to get between her legs, for a night or two, but who will never be able to give her more than that.
I tell her she’ll have none of me.
Even if the truth were to be told, she’s already got everything there was to take, she keeps it tight in her hands, imprisoned, and I know that it’ll never be returned to its rightful owner.
I hurt her. I rejected her.
I push her away from me, from what we can never share, because I know that she needs someone and that I’m not that person.
She doesn’t really want me and soon she’s going to realise that for herself. I don’t want to be left here with nothing.
I can’t let her leave me.
I get up from the bed, get dressed and grab my keys. I leave the house letting the door slam behind me, confident that when I come back, I won’t find her waiting for me.
