The days that followed were blissfully (and surprisingly) comfortable. One would have thought that a mutual masturbation session between two separately attached individuals would create awkward tension and unease. Ryan and Brittany both secretly expected it. But upon seeing each other at the theater the following day the only sign of any change in their relationship was a tiny, shared, secret smile. Nothing more, aside from the knowledge that something wild and wonderful had taken place.
Neither could explain it. There was no guilt, no remorse. Neither harbored the desire to spill their guts to their respective partner, or to the world. The knowledge and the experience was just for them. It was theirs alone. The memory of what transpired was a bubble existing outside of time and space. They each visited it regularly throughout the day, albeit alone, in their minds. They'd never been closer. But no one around them knew any different. It was... perfect.
Or nearly perfect.
The caveat was the increased desire and longing that filled them both. They knew each other now, in a much more intimate sense. When they were out at a bar with a crowd they were drawn together. From across the room Brittany could sense where Ryan was at all times. She could hear him in his conversation. She knew his laughs now, knew their nuances. She'd hear him laugh and know exactly what kind it was. It made her smile warmly to herself. But deeper down that ache lingered. The same one she was left with when he'd exited her room.
Ryan lived in a constant state of arousal. He'd seen her now. All that sex and desire he sensed in her dancing, he'd seen it on full display in her hotel room. The look in her eyes, the tremble of her body as she pleased herself, her sighs and moans of fulfillment... they would not leave his mind. He built rooms in his mind where more encounters took place. He staged scene after scene of wild lovemaking. Sometimes the script surprised him, and sometimes he took deliberate pleasure in making her do and say exactly what he wanted. He was a different person now. She'd changed him. And he loved it. He wanted more, needed more.
The texting continued, but it wasn't always lascivious and suggestive. They just wanted more contact with one another. Brittany could literally describe a trip to the post office and Ryan would eat it as a seven-course meal, savoring each and every dish.
There was a night when their messages got heated and Brittany suggested something more take place. She admitted to being in her cups, the red wine she was drinking making her smirk at him through her phone. As painfully tempted as he was, Ryan talked her down, telling her that something like that simply could not happen while either of them was compromised by alcohol.
"Brittany," he typed, "We can't. I know you want me right now, but in the morning your head would be clear, and you would hate me for taking advantage of you. I care about you too much. My feelings for you are deeper than my desire to fuck you. And believe me, I really want to fuck you."
His text was met with silence. He went to sleep that night not knowing if he'd offended her, angered her, depressed her, or sobered her. It was a fitful sleep. In the morning he checked his phone and his stomach dropped when her name did not appear on the screen beside the green texting icon. The silence was maddening. But he would not push her. He knew her, and if she wasn't responding to him, it meant she didn't want to hear from him. It was a Herculean effort to keep his fingers off his phone, but he simply did not want to damage the girl any more than it seemed he already had. He moped his way through his morning and afternoon, ignoring food, keeping himself busy with mundane tasks to give his mind the slightest distraction. Finally, about an hour before the show that night, his phone lit up and his heart nearly burst out of his chest.
"Hi."
That was it. A timid hello was all she gave him. He couldn't tell if this was punishment or apology.
"Hello, Cherie." He dared to use the affectionate greeting they sometimes toyed with. It was dangerous, not knowing her mood, but at this point he couldn't help himself. He waited an anxious minute, saw the three-dot ellipsis on the screen, and was finally rewarded with the appearance of a rosy-cheeked smiling emoticon. He closed his eyes and sighed. Everything was all right, it seemed. But she was still so quiet...
"How are you today?" He had to know, had to express his concern for her.
The ellipsis appeared, and then, "Ok. Embarrassed."
He typed furiously. "Don't be embarrassed! Wine makes us do silly things. But you see, I was here to protect you. You got a little carried away, and I refused to let you, or us, do anything that would hurt anybody. I told you I could take care of you. Don't be embarrassed."
An ellipsis appeared, then disappeared. She'd deleted something. He began to type at her, but her ellipsis appeared once more. Then disappeared. It seemed her mind was truly being stretched... He put the phone down and watched the screen without touching it. He'd let her find herself, find her own words. She didn't need prompting or comfort, just time. After the ellipsis appeared for the third time it was finally replaced by words.
"I'm not embarrassed because I got drunkenly carried away and you had to stop me. I'm embarrassed because I wanted you, and you said no. I don't have remorse for what I said last night. I still wanted you in the morning. Completely sober."
Ryan's heart stopped. It was the last thing he'd expected to read. He didn't know how to react. It was like his heart was ready to burst with joy, but someone was holding it tightly in a fist, incapacitating it. He just stared at his phone. No ellipsis appeared, and he knew he had to respond.
"Brittany..."
It was all he could think to type.
"What?" Her respons appeared immediately. It felt aggressive. He sensed anger through the phone and decided he fucking hated texting and the inability to read nuance through words.
"I didn't--" he deleted his words. "I thought you were--" he deleted again. Then finally, "I was protecting you, Brittany. You've made it clear to me in the past what you want and need. You weren't thinking clearly last night, but I was. I did what was best for you."
He waited while she typed and then read, "I was thinking clearly last night. You don't know what I want or what I need. I want you. I need you to want me."
"Brittany, you know I want you. You know I want you more than anything else. But you also know I love you, and I will always protect you. This cannot happen."
There was an extra long pause before she wrote back. But finally he read, "I can't do this right now. I have to get ready for the show."
He waited, hoping his silence would prompt her to write something more. But his screen remained blank. He sighed audibly and finally responded, "All right. I'll see you at the theater then." He spent another five minutes staring hopefully at his phone, but it was for naught.
The show that night was difficult. Ryan could tell Brittany was hurt, and probably embarrassed again. But he didn't know what to do or say. The show ended and Brittany ran. He saw her slip out the stage door and get away too fast for him to do anything about it. He would have preferred to take her somewhere, or just go for a drive. A private talk was what they needed. Texting could get so confusing. Unsure of what to do, Ryan just returned to the hotel. If nothing else he could have a clear head if and when they began texting. But a full hour passed and Ryan's phone was silent and still. Was she really this angry with him? He decided he couldn't wait any longer. He hated always being the one in pursuit, the one always being aggressive, but he couldn't help it. He was in too deep.
"Brittany?" He sent the text and then waited. Faster than expected, she responded.
"What?"
It was only one word, but it was something. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Again she responded quickly. But this response was practically code. Over the past few months they would both often respond with something terse like "fine," or "Yep, I'm okay," when the other had asked how they were doing. He knew she was not fine. This fucking texting game was getting them nowhere. He decided it was time to be bold and to put an end to this discomfort. Their time on tour together was short, and he didn't want to waste any of it in a funk.
"I'm coming up," he texted, "Don't leave me in the hallway."
He paused long enough to see if she would respond. But when she didn't he took a deep breath and headed out his door. Down the hall, up the escalator, then down the hall again. He was fully aware he might knock and never hear an answer. What would he do? He wasn't sure, but he was too concerned for the girl's well being to care at the moment. He had to make the effort, had to put her at ease.
He knocked.
He was taken aback when the door opened immediately. Brittany stepped back, allowing him to slip into her room once more. When he'd crossed the threshold she released the door and it banged closed. She stood near the bathroom door with her arms crossed, a look of defiance on her face. She was dressed for bed again, freshly showered. Tonight she wore a simple black t-shirt and a pair of blue and white striped pajama pants. He smelled shampoo and soap and noticed the dampness of her hair. God she was beautiful.
"Brittany," he tried.
"What?"
