Getting Over You

“I’m leaving you,” I said while twisting an auburn curl betwixt my two fingers. I made eye contact with my lover, nearly mesmerized with his golden brown eyes, full of warmth and laughter. As the realization swept over his face, he began to shake his head.

“Why? I thought we had a great weekend together, Lake George was beautiful.” My lover, Shawn, offered still puzzled.

“I’m leaving you, Shawn,” I repeated. “This weekend was filled with you and your buddies, and I was alone. I fell asleep crying, alone. You were a thousand miles away on the other edge of the bed, asleep.” I could only be this painfully honest because I loved him deeply enough, and honestly enough to hold little shame over tears, or heartache. We had been down this road before.

“We played mini-golf, and shopped, and ate together…I nearly always had my arm around you, what more do you want, Esme? I, personally thought the weekend was great, minus the weather… It was good to get away, and spend time with friends.” Shawn said defensively. “I could have spent a little more time with you, sure…If I didn’t sleep, or perhaps you rather we didn’t get Fidel new glasses after he fell into the lake.” I had to frown; even though I resented it, I wouldn’t have made Fidel go without glasses.

“I’m not that selfish, Shawn. But you didn’t have to go to sleep every night as soon as your head hit the pillow. It was so beautiful there...the colors of the leaves, and the reflection on the water,” my voice began to waver and I swallowed thickly as to not begin crying again. “Such a romantic place, and it would have been nice to be alone with you…without distractions. I know, I know: It’s coarse to regard your friends- our friends as distractions, but you are such a different person when you are with them. You may have your arm around me, or bestow upon me a kiss, but I become only an accessory. It’s not me you talk to; it’s not me you look at! And it’s not like we’re a couple… It’s not Esme and Shawn; it’s Esme and Shawn and Fidel and Kim and Jack. That is unless Jack has enough sense to spend time alone with Kim. Then it’s just Esme and Shawn and Fidel.” I used my sleeve to wipe a tear that strayed out of the corner of my eye, and wished I had a tissue to wipe my leaking nose.

“Esme, I know Sunday night wasn’t that good, I really didn’t mean to spend all night out with the guys, but I apologized. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t see why you’re leaving me over this.” Shawn reached to pull me to him, and I allowed him to take me into his arms, though I did little in reaction. He must have felt my cold, wooden body because he pulled back to look into my eyes.

“I know I messed up, but I never said I wouldn’t. Not after the last time we broke up.” I could feel myself flinch. I remembered how about a month back the horrible break-up, and the flowers and just as flowery promises. And then how a few weeks later, with the argument forgotten the visits were shorter, the nights spent over were fewer, like how a light bulb dims after time.

“It doesn’t work, Shawn. Us- we do not work. You have to want to be with a person as much as they want to be with you. It’s a very sensitive balance. You’re happy with a few moments of warmth before drifting to sleep as your alone time with me. You don’t realize that I need more in a relationship then that. What you offer me is an occasional bit of quick-and-over lovemaking, and a friendship with other people. Outside of the bedroom we are only friends, perhaps close friends, but I am only in the same boat as Jack and Fidel, and even Aaron. I am only a little closer to you than Fidel, and perhaps that is only because I shared my body with you.”

I watched him as I spoke, his gaze never wavering, and it hurt me to accuse Shawn. But I was used to this pain, that’s what love does: causes harm to you when harm is caused to whom you love. I always felt this way when I complained about Shawn’s lack of attention. It was the only real problem between us. But I hated the way he would react, or not react is a more precise term. Just once I’d want him to get angry, not accepting all the slights I indict him of. It caused me pain to watch his sepia eyes go sad and soft. But how could I relent when every slight and sacrifice I made seemed to bury me in my own sadness? It made it worse that Shawn didn’t even want to fight this tide of dread.

“I’m sorry, Esme, I really am,” he said gently. Shawn always had a perfect way of being gentle when I needed him to be, and demanding when it would please me. More than I wanted him to soothe me with more promises, I wanted him to take me roughly, kiss away all my breath, and make the reasons for dismissal vanish.

I sighed, knowing that just because you want a man, and feel he is perfect for you, doesn’t mean he’ll retain mutual attraction. I tried not to remember how passionate we once were, how in love, and how involved we were with each other. It’s enough to make me bitter, I thought ruthlessly. So what if I wanted to pick the scabs on my heart? Perhaps I was an emotional masochist. Shawn kissed my forehead, and I could feel his shirt grow damp against my eyes before I pulled away.

“You will never be as sorry as I am,” I whined miserably as I tried to dry my face. “I am the helpless one. You have every reason to change, to want me, and to want to be with me…I would give anything to be your home. But, my love, you have other agendas, and I am forced to respect that.” At that moment I wished I hated him. I wished he wasn’t such a great guy, wanting to help out all his friends. I wished I were breaking up with him because he hit me, or cheated on me, or better yet, because I didn’t love him. It was the opposite. I loved him all too much. I was only breaking up with him because he was such a nice guy, and while helping out his buddies, I was left with the scraps of time and energy he could give me.

And why could I hate him for being a good guy? Who was left to hate? Our friends? I entertained a vivid and comical fantasy of hacking all our friends to pieces, while shrieking maniacally that now Shawn could be only mine. But who could blame them? They were great people too, much better than Shawn’s old friends.

When times get rough, you blame yourself. A carousel, with horses of “what ifs” revolved in my head. What if I was taller? Thinner? Smarter? Prettier? Had less blemished skin? What if I was Swedish? Older? Had brown eyes and a silky laugh? What if I had more in common with Shawn, like cars and computers? What if I was the kind of person who could keep a boyfriend?

“Esme?” I looked up to find Shawn staring at me. I had drifted off into my delusion. Christ. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure. Peachy,” I drawled, could I be any less convincing? Well, I thought, it’s not like he doesn’t know why I’m upset. “I think you should go.” I could feel the sudden urge to wail, and sob mercilessly, and I wanted Shawn out before that dam burst. No need for him to see me carry on, it’d just give him a bad dose of useless guilt.

“Are you going to be all right, Esme?” he asked quietly, somehow guessing how fragile I felt. He wrapped his arms around me, and in that cocoon of warmth I wept tears as large as my heart. I cried because of how lost and alone I was with Shawn as my lover. But I also wept with the realization that I would be much worse off without; that even a teaspoon of love from Shawn was better than gallons from any other supply. I wept with acceptance of a fate I would wish on no one. And I wept with overflowing Love. I watched as my lover, the one real love in a myriad of other men and women I had taken into my intimacy, stand. The bed rose with his weight being lifted off. This bed was our bed, would always be. I could still smell him on the comforter as I pulled it around to my small, and chilled frame.

“I am not okay, Shawn. I don’t think I will be for a while. I love you, adore you, and want you in my life. But you are not ready for a committed relationship. You are too wrapped up in your friends; you cannot possibly treat me like a lover while you’re still entranced with them.” He reached a hand towards my face, and I did not turn away, I let him brush away my tears and console me with his touch upon my cheek, but I knew he was leaving.

“I never promised not to fail you, only to love you Esme. I can see how I hurt you, but I don’t understand why. How can I be any other way than what I am?” I watched him run a hand through dark wavy hair, and fought the sudden urge to grab a handful for myself and pull him into a kiss. I had to grin, noticing that my passion for him had not depleted. To the very gates of Hell I would always want Shawn, always want his heart, his sex and loving embrace. There would always be a fiery passion between us, that’s why it was doubtful we would remain friends. I said nothing. I could think of nothing to say. I only stared after him, tears glazing my eyes into a gauzy portrait of abandonment. I was a good girl, though, and I didn’t break down until I knew he was out of earshot.

* * *

The following weeks passed me in a very uncomfortable way. I counted the days since our intimate break-up; I attended the classes at my university, ate dinner with sympathetic friends, even sought out meaningless sexual trysts to attempt to break myself out this molded funk. I was not okay. I felt cold all the time; my sexual exploits were mechanical and passionless. I waited for it to pass; I waited to feel again, and for the bitter texture of my laugh to fade again into the previous merriness. Whenever I tried not to think of Shawn, I was swallowed in a memory, us getting caught in the back seat of his Honda by the campus cops, us in the movie theatre, us making love in the boys bathroom; a plethora of memories that would stun and tear me up in turn.

I saw him in the class we shared, and as I passed him in my daily treks about the campus, but we never made eye contact. I was desolate; he was guilty. We were both unhappy, and I was getting further, and further from being the live, happy girl I knew once. I wrote bad poetry, I ate rice pudding out of plastic containers, and I built a wall against my feelings. I slowly began to smile again, and could feel myself turning the bend between heartache, and heart healing. I was over the halfway point at getting over Shawn. And then, on returning to my dormitory from class, I saw the note slipped under my door; honestly I nearly tripped over it.

Even as I lifted the neatly folded note I could smell the cologne Shawn always used, and felt the burn of tears start in my eyes. I tore it open with no reverence; none was due. Only my avid curiosity kept me from chucking the letter away. I knew it would be a plea for friendship, and I was going to sacrifice my sanity so Shawn could sleep at night knowing I had forgiven him. Ruthlessly I made my eyes focus and read the correspondence:

“I love you my Esme, and even if I mess up, am bitter or stupid or sarcastic or arrogant or angry or mad or anything else, my feelings for you never change. I will make the change to become the man who deserves all of you; I will find my way back to your heart.”

I could feel my legs coming unglued beneath me. This was exactly not what I needed right now. I collapsed in the doorway, sobbing into the letter itself. How could I be so weak, after building myself up for 3 weeks? I knew, even if I didn’t want to admit it, I had never quashed the hope in my breast. Ruthless Esme, strong Esme, self-determinate Esme? Yeah right. And now this cruel twist of fate! And how dare he! How dare Shawn try to weasel his way into my life! And why did he take so long?! My sense of pride lurched and tightened into a thick ball of indignity.

“Why on earth are you on the floor?” He asked me. I craned my neck up to see Shawn standing over me. He nodded at the letter in my hand, tearstained and crumpled from being clutched to my stricken face, “I assume you read it.” Was it me, or did he seem smug? I stood, smoothing the tangle of curls around my face. I wasn’t at all sure how to react, Shawn was in my room, looking dashing in his casual sweater and wickedly boyish grin, but he wasn’t mine. He had proven that he didn’t want me, what did a letter have against that? I stepped out of reach before he could touch me, and a look of surprise fluttered over his beautiful brown eyes.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I seethed. I could feel the despair, and tendrils of hope slip away, only to be replaced with anger. Good. Anger I could deal with, do something with. Anger would propel me towards some action. I stood straighter with my fury fortifying my spine and my resolve; five foot two is a lot taller when you’re mad.

“You read the letter, that’s why I’m here, Esme. I love you, I want to make it up to you.” He took a step toward me, hands non-threatening and out to his sides. I was at the proverbial fork in the road at this point. I had to push down my feelings of elation. At that moment I wanted to run to him, wrap my arms around him, and weep like a child. And I hated that weakness in me that I would give up my heart so easily once more for its betrayer. I narrowed my eyes and stalked towards Shawn, to his surprise.

“You are nothing to me.” I lied loftily, words flying to my lips before I could think. “I am so over you, and you think you could just waltz into my room, leave me sappy and meaningless letters and I’ll let you use me again?! What nerve! You’re a stupid bastard if you think I am going to allow you to manipulate me in this way!” I ranted, I shouted, I yelled…and inside was a little child that whispered gentle endearments. But nobody had to know about that. “I think you should go now.” I had now stalked close enough that I could hopefully bully him out of the doorway and slam the door closed in a dramatic crash.

And then he kissed me. Yes, his pliant lips were as soft as ever I remembered them, and yes the very closeness of him drew moisture between my thighs, but I would have none of it. I bit his lower lip hard enough to make him shout, and hopefully draw blood. And then I slapped him, full across the face backed by a powerful arm, and a much more powerful rage. “Don’t ever, ever do that! I am not yours!” I hissed vehemently, and raised my hand to slap him again. When he grabbed my arm, I rushed him, and knocked him off kilter. I wasn’t aware I had this much rage in me, I was guessing the break-up had been worse for me then I had thought. We both awkwardly fell to our knees, him trying to block my seeking left fist and holding my right arm, me trying to head butt him in the shoulder, and letting a string of insults no person would want to toy with.

“I’m okay now, Shawn. I’m okay.” I said, taking a deep breath, and even smiling a little. He then released me; the moron, and I tackled him backwards, landing a well-aimed right hook to his eye. Okay, I don’t fight fair; I’m not proud, just justified. Shawn was less than pleased.

“God damnit Esme!” He shouted, “I’m going to have a black eye!” Yeah, I definitely was not okay. I was only hoping it was psychotic behavior yet, there was time for hope later. He might have seen me from his good eye, or felt me as I prepared another attack because he reached out and grabbed me, and not at all gently. I guess he was losing his patience; a black eye from a girl could do that. His hands were strong where the held my wrists, and I felt a little uncomfortable with Shawn so close, and me so vulnerable. Did I expect him to hit me? Or maybe steal another kiss? I honestly didn’t know which one would be worse. Instead he finagled it where he pulled me closer and rested his chin in the crook between my neck and shoulder. I heard him take a deep breath, and shudder gently as he inhaled my scent. His hot breath against my skin made me clench my teeth. It slowly became an uphill battle to hold onto my anger in the sunrise of a hungry lust.

“Esme” He breathed my name, it sounded beautiful and obscene. “God, how good it is to be this close to you, you little hellcat. Your smell has haunted me.” His voice in my ear made my legs turn to jelly, and the slightest of moans escaped my lips. In a fit of anger, with my weakness, as well as his trespassing, I wrenched an elbow and aimed for his stomach. The good news is that I connected, the bad news, is that even though I got a satisfying “oomph!” out of Shawn, he quickly pinned me. Where we were side-by-side before, and kneeling, now he was laying on top of me, holding my arms above my head. No, it did not really rectify the situation.

“Get off me, you stupid bastard!” I yelled, wriggling to try to get free. Sure, like that was going to happen, Shawn had me good. But I didn’t have to admit it! “Get off!”

“If you keep wiggling your hot little body around, Esme, I will get off.” He smirked, and I blushed. And he smirked even more. “God I missed you. I stayed away so long so I could get my shit together and be what you want.”

“I don’t care if you grew a silver dick, I don’t want you, despite your changes!” If I ignored the fact that I could feel him hard and warm through our clothes I could keep up the scathing remarks. Shawn’s hand left one of my arms and gripped by hair near the nape of my neck and pulled my lips towards his.

“You don’t love me?” He asked, his eyes were not readable, if I didn’t know better I would say they were slightly dangerous. Which was all wrong, Shawn would play, and he would joke, he was never serious like this. I was teetering on the precipice of panic when his mouth closed down on mine. It was hard, the pliancy gone, and hunger in its place. He ate at me like a man possessed, and God help me, I kissed back. It wasn’t a happy kiss, there was hunger and sex, but it was a power struggle. If I didn’t kiss him back, he would have won, and I would have been weak. By me kissing Shawn back, and matching his frantic and forceful style, with my anger and passion we fought a wild mind-game, but only with our warring mouths.

Of course it’s only a game, but it is a game I play very well. I adjusted my legs, spread them so his body was between them, and I felt him more then heard him sigh into my mouth. Now, I have always been proud of the strength of my thighs, previous boyfriends had called them “man-crushing thighs” in the past. So it was no problem to grab Shawn with my thighs, and get a leg up, so to speak. In a way not at all dainty, I ground myself against his jean-clad cock and felt the warm wetness between my thighs. The competition and non-consensual aspect had long since aroused me, and I grew wetter with the constant struggle. The fact that I was currently winning turned me on even more. I could feel his body move against me, as our mouths meshed and tangled.

I only began to lose my lead when Shawn roughly nudged my mouth to the side and kissed down to my neck. And when his teeth grazed along the curve of my collarbone I moaned low in my throat nearly a growl, and definitely a concession. And he was hardly getting warmed up yet. That is problem when you play these sorts of games with a long-time lover, they know how to push your buttons, to a fault. The good thing, was that it was a two way street, and I could return the favor. I forced my free hand between our bodies, and hastily untucked his shirt, pulling it up along with my own blouse in able to get some skin contact. His flesh was hot against mine, and made me ache low in my gut. I reached lower between us and grasped his hardness, making Shawn pause mid bite on my neck and jolt his entire body. I was in control of this ride.

“Tell me you want it.” I whispered harshly, my own libido raced as I rubbed my pussy against the back of my hand that held him in a tight grip. To his credit, he tried to pull back, but I had a firm grip. I began a very small rhythm, more for teasing than for relief and heard his breath catch in my ear. “Tell me!” I demanded in a harsh growl.