*Author's Note: After a painful break-up with my long term boyfriend a few months ago, I've been particularly frustrated that there are so many things I can't tell him--that I'll never get to share with him. But "knowing" it's over doesn't change anything. So this is for JWDS
*
We broke up months ago.
It hasn't gotten any easier on me. It should have by now, or so I'm told. But it hasn't.
Every time the phone rings, I hope to hear your voice. Every time I step foot outside my building, I expect to see you standing out there, waiting for me. I leave the curtains open at night, pretending you're out there watching me.
I'm coming home from work late one evening. My roommate isn't home so I'm looking forward to another night alone. Another night missing you.
My key slides into the security lock at the lobby door. It doesn't turn. It's late, I'm tired. I try again, but it won't budge. Just as I'm about to swear in frustration, the young guy from the floor above me opens the door on his way out. With a smile, he lets me inside. I smile back, weakly. I feel ugly. Repulsive. I've lost a couple dress sizes in the months since we split up--I was unable to eat after that time I dropped by, while you were at work, a week after you asked me to leave. That night I saw her nightgown on my side of the bed. So I'm skinnier now. Doesn't make me feel any prettier. Doesn't mean you notice me.
I think my neighbour may want to talk to me. I avoid his eyes and keep walking. I wish, sometimes, that I was more like her. Like your new girlfriend. That I could fuck random men and pursue other people's lovers. Maybe then you'd want me again; apparently everyone likes a skank.
I go through the second set of doors. The hallway beyond it leads to my apartment.
My eyes are focused on the house keys in my hand. It's strange--they don't look like my keys. It's been almost five months, but I can't get used to this new "home." Not when you're my home. I look at the keys and I expect to see my old ones. The ones that opened our front door, before you changed the locks.
Tears burn in my eyes. I take a deep breath and will them back. Nope, still not any easier.
Halfway down the hall, I glance up at last.
You're there. Just...there. Standing at my door. Waiting for me.
I blink a few times; it doesn't seem real. You. There. That's not something you would do--not ever. We spent years together, and it was always me who made the first move. I kissed you first. I touched you first. I wanted to make love first. I wanted to live together. You'd never pursue me--never risk yourself. That isn't you; you wait for things to come to you.
But here you are. At my door. Your eyes lock with mine. So intense. So blue. God, I've missed just looking at you.
I don't know who let you in the security door. I don't know how long you've been there. I don't know why you showed up and I'm scared of what this will turn into. A shouting match? Me crying again and you storming off?
As surprised as I am, my step doesn't slow until I reach you. The house key is clutched so tightly in my hand that the metal digs into my flesh. It almost feels as though I'm bleeding.
I take a deep breath. "Why are you--"
You reach for me. That alone is unexpected--in the final weeks before I moved out, just after our break-up, I had to beg you to touch me. But now your fingers slide around the back of my head, you draw me forward, and kiss me. And this isn't a typical kiss from you. Your lips push mine open, your tongue is in my mouth in moments. It's ravenous. It's rough. Your clipped beard is chaffing my chin, and it occurs to me how much I missed that feeling.
My back hits the door. You're crushing me and I love it. I breathe in deeply; you smell like...you. That mix of soap and men's deodorant. Your hand catches a fistful of my hair and it tugs on my scalp. I love that too and I think my panties are already soaked.
I don't say anything as I break away. You don't say anything either; you just wait while I unlock the door, and then follow me inside.
The door slams shut. Your mouth is on mine in seconds. The keys hit the floor and I don't give them another thought. I wrap my arms around your neck and clasp your t-shirt, digging my nails into the cloth.
You're real. You're actually, physically there.
You shed your jacket. I slip off mine. You return to pushing me against the door, hands roaming over my body. I shiver as your lips trail my throat, licking and sucking the flesh. It's been so long since I've felt anything but my own touch, and now this. The rush, the heat, the dizziness...it's like a welcomed hit after months of sobriety. You. My lover, my addiction.
Your hands run up my sides and around to my breasts, and you lean heavily into me. You're hard--incredibly so. As your hips grind forward, I lift my own to meet them. I groan against your lips. It's been too long.
My shirt is pushed up, over my tits. One hand scoops my breast out of the bra and you squeeze and maul me. My nipples harden under your touch and I shudder as your thumb flicks over the brown bud.
Strong fingers grasp my wrists suddenly and yank them from your neck. I open my eyes as you break our kiss. Fear tightens my throat as you squeeze my arms and I wait, breathless, to see what you'll do next.
You drag my arms upward and pin them to the door above my head. Your grip is forceful. Fierce. I fight you, trying to wrench my arms free, but I hope you won't let go. And you don't--you squeeze them harder until I give up. You grasp both wrists in one hand and hold them there, pressed firmly against the wood, while your other one travels over my body, between us.
It's like you read my mind. All those years, and never this. Always gentle. Always thoughtful. Always nice. Me, too scared to tell you what I wanted--too scared to face what you might think of me. Too scared that you'd reject me for not wanting gentle, not wanting thoughtful. Not wanting nice.
I meet your eyes. You stare at me, into me--through me. You know.
My eyes roll back and I gasp as I feel your fingers move over my bare stomach. They pause only briefly at my jeans to tug loose the button and drag down the zipper. Fuck, I need you to touch me. Your hand slides over my panties and down, pushing the fabric into my damp heat.
Lips part and I breathe out deeply, half sigh, half whimper. Your fingers move over my cunt, drawing faint circles and pressing down every few seconds to massage my clit. Your body is inches from mine now, leaving me exposed to the cool air of the apartment. I arch my back, thrusting my tits outward.
