"Do you ever find yourself missing people you know you shouldn't?"
The question catches me off guard. I hadn't expected a deep conversation. Not that it's not welcome. Just... unexpected. I push the pause button on the controller as I contemplate the question.
I'm not sure how to answer and so the words take a while to find. The stretched silence between us isn't awkward though to outsiders it might seem that way. I slouch a bit deeper into the corner of the L-shaped couch as I ponder, chewing on the inside of my cheek absently.
"I don't like thinking that I should regret the people I've been with. Even the people who I know were negative relationships. They helped make me who I am. And I went into the relationship because I thought they were good people. There were positives mixed into everything. It's not black and white. It's a lot of gray. I don't like thinking that I shouldn't miss them." I'm not sure if my overly deep, soul-bearing answer is the answer you were looking for, but it's how I truly feel.
"Zane is a good example. Even with everything he did while mom was in the hospital I still care about him. I mean. I would totally let him burn just a bit longer than I should if he were on fire, but eventually I would break down and spit on him."
"Freya!"
I smile, not only because I love hearing the pet name you gave to me so long ago coming from your lips, but for the tone of exasperation that I am able to pull from you as well. My smile falters a bit at an unexpected twinge of pain, though. This answer, too, is truthful and pulls fresh memories to the surface like razor blades against my shoulders.
Here I am, sitting in my "slut" shorts and a black wife-beater shirt, playing Witcher III, the new matriarch of my family tree. Today was a "hard" day. Yesterday was a "hard" day, too. I haven't had a lot of them since mom's death, but they're there, and I never know when I'll have one. The sadness just sort of creeps in and it makes me not really give a fuck about anything, current state of dress included.
Well, that's not entirely true. I care about the things that cause me to hurt me more than I already am, like thoughts of Zane.
Could someone be any more of a douche? I mean, seriously? You're going to call me while I'm spending every night in the hospital with my mom, holding her hand and simply being grateful for the fact that she's breathing and tell me that you feel like I'm abandoning you? Pardon me while I give zero fucks about hand-holding you through your insecurity issues.
And as if that wasn't shitty enough, there's the afterward... after mom's death, after the cremation and flying her ashes back home with me, her urn packed into my backpack and scanned by security as I stand in line trying not to break down into tears as my bag is handed back to me with a solemn, "I'm sorry for your loss." After all of the bullshit of the memorial service for everyone else and having to hug and shake hands with people I've never met. Mom's coworkers most of them, but also what seemed like a never-ending stream of people from my uncle's church. After finally being able to come back to what should have been my home, only to find out another girl had been over. Not once. But three times. In "our" room. In "our" bed.
Even after all of that I still care and find myself missing the times of cuddling on the couch while watching Ergo Proxy or BoJack Horsemen.
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, ideally noticing that I need to dye my bangs again because noticing trivial things like that keeps the pain at bay. The purple is fading, and I know the roots are back to being blond again, my typically dark hair bleached so the color shows better. Lame. I guess this is what apathy gets me. The self-deprecating thought of seeing my picture next to the term "white trash" in the dictionary floats at the edges of my thoughts before I pull away from it.
I have enough going on in my life without you adding to the emotional bullshit, Brain.
Tears, those annoying, uncontrollable things which never seem to go away and always show up at the most inopportune times, burn my eyes as I fight against the emotions. Anger. Pain. Loneliness. Always this feeling of loneliness.
I sigh again in exasperation. At myself. At the situation. Fucking emotions and grieving. All I want is to not be an emotional basket case. Apparently that's too much to ask for at the moment, though.
I sigh again, my hand dropping from playing with my hair to rest on the back of the couch. I stare at the ring on my right hand, the gold band circling my ring finger. I doubt I'll every take it off unless I'm forced to. It's the Mother's ring I had gotten for mom all those years ago for Christmas. The ring my younger brother placed in my palm when I had gotten to the hospital that day...
I look away from the ring. Why does everything have to have so many confusing emotions attached to it? Even this, being here, sitting in the living room alone with you is confusing and I don't know what to do with the emotions. Ignore them? Stuff them back down into the abyss for a later time? Or... Or maybe...
"I miss you a lot," I eek out, the words slightly rushed for fear of not saying them at all. I know I probably shouldn't say things like that. We broke up. Almost two years ago now. You're in a monogamous relationship. The only reason I'm even crashing with you is because you're an amazing person and kind, which I totally feel like I don't deserve. So I really shouldn't say things that could fuck stuff up.
I would be sleeping in my car or crashing on someone's couch if it weren't for you. I couldn't stay with Zane. I couldn't be in the apartment after finding out about Sara. But instead, you were beyond gracious and offered me your spare room while I finish up projects at work. You gave me a place to stay for the last two months of this chapter in my life when I thought I would be homeless.
I know I shouldn't poke at things like our past relationship, I shouldn't be dragging us, you, through this emotional garbage with me, but I can't keep these words, these feelings, inside anymore. I don't want to fight against them. I'm so tired of having to fight everything. The past month has been rough, and not just because of this "grieving" thing I'm having to figure out.
I see you with her. With Em. I see you guys fighting and it breaks my heart because I feel like you should be treated better. I see you smile and laugh with her and it hurts like a lance through my chest because I remember when it was me making you laugh. It reminds me of the companionship I no longer have and it makes me feel cold and alone. More so than just because mom isn't here for me to call and complain to.
I miss the nights we would read to each other. I miss falling asleep next to another person and feeling their warmth. And on the days I'm not a crazy pile of emo depression I miss the thrill of having someone touch me, excite me. I miss kissing, and gasping, and moaning into the crook of someone's neck as we lose ourselves in each other.
It's been so long since I've had any sort of D/s interaction I almost wonder if I'm still submissive. Sure I have fantasies, sometimes. But am I still the masochist I was when we were together?
I don't know. And that in itself is sort of sad.
So much sad. And there they are. The tears. Silently running down my face as I look at the paused screen trying to pretend that I'm ok even though I know I'm not. It's a "hard" day. I'm allowed to have them. That's what everyone keeps telling me anyway. I'm allowed to cry.
I bite my lip, looking away. Looking out of the window which shows the darkness of night. It offers me no comfort or answers. No road map for how I'm supposed to be navigating my life right now.
The window's silence sparks anger in me. I can feel the snap within myself and right now, in this moment, I don't care. Fuck it.
Fuck resistance. Fuck denial. And fuck this loneliness.
I sit up, extracting myself from the corner of the couch that had been my nest for the past hour. I move the TV tray closer to the table so there is more space for me to move, carefully ensuring that my neglected water bottle doesn't tip over due to inertia.
"I'm moving things," I declare as you watch me questioningly, the determination in my voice making my words non-negotiable.
I sit back down on the couch, angling myself so that my feet are curled up on one end while my forehead rests against your kneecaps. I need this, and I don't care if it's right or wrong. For five minutes out of my fucking crap-tastic day I need to feel close to someone. Someone who cares. Someone who knows all of the bullshit I have had to fight through for the past month since I've been back. For the past two months since mom died.
Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if this is wrong. I'm sorry if this messes things up. I just need to feel like I'm not alone.
"Aww, little one."
I feel your hand petting my hair as the tears continue to run down my face. I focus on my breathing, trying to hide the fact that I'm crying, but your touch is so comforting. So real. It's just like it was before. It's familiar. It's safe.
We stay like that for I don't know how long. Minutes. Hours. Eternity would be too short a time. The tightness in my chest eases gradually, the pain slips away as I give into the sensation of being pet. I let go of something within myself as the repetition of the strokes allows me sink into a calmness, a peace, that I haven't felt in so long. My breathing becomes easier, and soon there is nothing but your warmth, your scent, your palm as it runs over my hair, soothing away all of the bad.
I scoot up a bit, inching my body along yours, making it easier for you to pet me. I breathe in deep and sigh contentedly as the rhythm continues, lulling me deeper into peace. My eyes shut as I let myself drift, float. So calm. So quiet.
The ticking of the wall clock. The sound of music from your room. Our breathing. So calm. So quiet.
My eyes snap open, my muscles tense as I feel your nails gently graze over my scalp. It's like electricity against my skin and I feel myself involuntarily tightening in response. I can't stop the short, shallow gasp as the new and unexpected sensations flood my body, igniting my nervous system.
Your hand returns to petting, stroking, soothing. It's as if nothing happened, but I know it did. I know what I felt and how I still feel, alive, on fire, and I'm so sorry for these feelings. I bit my lower lip in worry. I hadn't meant to react that way. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't feel things like this for you. Longing. Desire. I didn't mean to.
