The feeling was off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but my relationship was starting to have that general sense of dread you feel before flying down a steep slope on a rollercoaster. A potent combination of adrenaline and fear, forcing you to fight against your natural preservation instincts whispering in your ear to get the fuck off this steel death trap. Meanwhile the straps dig into your shoulders and thighs, removing any illusion of choice as you cling to the sweaty seat and hope to make it back to the ground unscathed.
We hadn't seen each other in person in two weeks. For many couples this would be a minor inconvenience, a tiny roadblock to be forgotten upon reuniting. However, for Ben, you would have thought the apocalypse had come and we were the last two people on Earth, miraculously finding each other in a hopeless dystopian hellscape. The amount of passive aggressive anger that iced his words on our nightly video calls felt like a stab to the heart with each syllable. He didn't seem to care that this trip was out of my control, or that I still wasn't due back for another week. Every minute spent apart was a brick, building a wall between us while I sat back helplessly watching his anger grow.
By the second Friday of my trip I couldn't take it anymore. I told him I was coming home for the weekend to visit and to have some serious conversations about our future.
--
My hands were shaking as I turned the key in the ignition to shut my car off. Why was I so nervous? It's not like this was anything new. For the last nine months our relationship was the definition of volatile toxicity. We'd had countless "come to Jesus" talks that always resulted in his sheepish admission of guilt, layered in platitudes about passion and sacrifice. Being the all too forgiving girlfriend I am, I always stupidly believed him and we went on our way. At least until the next time. But something about this time felt different.
I tossed my keys in my purse and straightened my short black dress before climbing the 3 flights of stairs leading up to his door. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment before raising my small balled fist. Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door slowly opened to reveal Ben standing there in a dark blue shirt I'd given him for his birthday. It looked fantastic on him, and for a moment I forgot everything I was there to talk about. I smiled at him and he flashed a cocky grin back, noticing me checking him out.
I stepped forward, nudged my shoes off, and heard the door close softly behind me. Ben grabbed my purse from me and set it carefully on the end of his kitchen counter. I moved across the room and leaned against the wall awkwardly, not knowing how to begin the conversation.
Before I could even get a word out, Ben was standing inches from my face. I felt my heart rate jump in spite of myself as his intoxicating scent hit my nose. For how frustrated I was with him, I hated to admit how much his scent turned me on.
"I missed you." Three simple words. Uttered in the sweet, soft, dark tone that always made my heart flutter in anticipation and excitement.
"Ben, we have to talk." I put my hand out against his chest as a buffer, reality crashing back as my brain began to emit "what the fuck are you doing" panic signals. I came here to deal with his crazy possessiveness, not get all doe-eyed over his muscles and...
He laid his own much larger hand over mine, trapping it against his chest. I could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. "Are you sure you want to talk?"
"Ben seriously." I tried my best to hide my desire, but it was difficult to be this close to someone I knew I had an electric sexual connection with and NOT want to fuck them. I mean come on, I'm only human. Despite all our problems, sex had never been one of them. I stared into his dark brown eyes and let my gaze flick down to his soft lips, just for a second, before resuming eye contact.