Worth It

She broke my heart at the start of the year.

She told me she loved me, she told me we could be together, just the way we'd wanted to for all those years.

And then she left me for him.

It almost killed me, the pain. I almost didn't come out the other side of the depression that ensued.

And yet here I am, eleven months later, meeting up with her for coffee and a chat, to hear about each other's lives.

I dress for the weather, more than anything. It's freezing here, and winter is in full swing, so I struggle into thick, wooly tights and a long-sleeved dress, topping it all off with a beret and a cape, scarf and gloves keeping out some of the cold. My makeup is flawless, having taken extra time to get my eyeliner even (well, almost) and my favourite lipstick at just the right shade. My hair is loosely curled, my perfume is evident without being overpowering, and my low-heeled brogues are polished.

I wait for her outside the coffee shop, chain-smoking in the hope that it will take the edge off my nerves. It doesn't. Christmas decorations line the walls as far as the eye can see, and I can hear a muted version of Stop the Cavalry through the window.

I see her turn the corner and notice me. Fuck, she looks more nervous than I am. Her cropped hair frames the face I still can't get over, and her casual ensemble of jeans and riding boots with a long coat reminds me so much of how she was when we first met. Despite all the willpower I can muster, my body betrays me and my pulse goes through the roof.

She draws closer to me, and I can see she's unsure of the protocol. Do we hug? Kiss cheeks? What? Deciding on friendly hand-on-arm contact, she greets me, and I can hear her voice tremble. The feeling of her hand on me, after all this time, still releases a rush in my brain. We go in, order our coffees, and try to pretend that we are functioning adults who can get along just fine.

Finding a settee in the crowded Costa, we sip our drinks and talk. Mostly menial stuff, to be honest – our degrees, our jobs, our families... then we run out of things to say and it all goes quiet. I look into my cup, racking my brain for something to say, anything. Everything that comes to mind is ridiculous – she doesn't want to know about the pun you saw on tumblr last night and she definitely doesn't want to know how you prepped for today by listening to Canopies and Grapes on repeat. My thoughts are interrupted by a hand on my arm, and as I look up, her eyes fill up a little.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I made the wrong choice" she mumbles. I must admit, I'm a little shocked. Admitting anything so big was never easy for her. I feel my eyes pricking with tears and I try and force them back with sheer willpower. She covers my hand with hers, like she always did when I needed support, then continued.

"I know I'll never be able to apologise enough for what I did to you, I promised you so many things and then took them away. But I suppose I got what I deserved - I wasn't enough for him, just as he wasn't for me. The problem was that he wasn't you. I just... I hurt you for no reason. I don't even know what you went through, and I haven't been ready to hear it up until now. But I realised, seeing how guarded you are now, that I need to, ready or not. I need to find out what I did to you, because I know I'll never be able to make it up to you, but I need to try. If you'll let me, that is. I mean, if you just want to walk away now, I completely understand, but if you want me to, I will do anything and everything to try and compensate you. But I want to know what you went through – what I did to you."

I shrink back a little. I was not prepared for this. Looking back into the froth of my drink, I clear my throat and begin.

"I don't really know where to start, to be honest. Right after you left, I started having all the problems with my mental health, the problems I thought I'd recovered from. I felt so worthless – I just kept thinking that if I wasn't good enough for you, what was the point?"

From the corner of my eye, I could see her shock. She reached for my hand again, urging me to go on, so I did.

"I started cutting myself again, thinking that maybe exterior pain would numb interior pain, but it never worked for long enough. So I turned to substance abuse. I was smoking about an ounce a week, minimum. I failed some assignments, nearly my whole degree. Did anything I could just to feel wanted, or numb, or anything that wasn't depressed, for a little while. I ended up trying to kill myself, just because I couldn't stand to feel so awful any more."

I could see the hurt on her face, she was never very good at hiding her emotions, so I rushed to try and do some damage control.

"I mean, if I'd been neurotypical, it probably would have been entirely different, you can't blame yourself for all of that, mental illness isn't exactly predictable."

"That doesn't really work, though" she replied, trying her hardest to look me in the eye. "I knew about your illness before I did that. I knew your history with suicide attempts, I knew there was every chance that I was sending you to your death doing what I did. And still I did it. I mean, there's no excuse for what I did. I'm just... I'm so sorry. I can't begin to describe how awful I feel about what I put you through, and I can't imagine how you must feel."

I was lost for words, I really was. I tried to formulate a reply, but words weren't really coming to me. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and now that we'd both warmed up enough to take our gloves off, I realised that I was relishing in the skin contact. I looked up and gave her a watery smile, or as close to one as I could muster, and I could see her crumple behind her eyes. In unspoken agreement, we finished our drinks in a gulp and wrapped up again, ready to leave. This conversation would be better in private.

We caught the bus back to mine, almost missing it, and the twenty minute ride felt like an eternity, with our hands entwined, it really did feel like old times. I unlocked the door to my studio apartment and we both greeted my over-excited dog before making tea and heading to the beanbags – having just moved in, I still don't have real furniture. We drank our tea and talked, this time with deep conversation. We talked about our feelings, as openly as we used to, and it felt good. Her hand found mine again and that same rush came back.

"I still love you, you know" she murmured, avoiding eye contact. "And I know there's no way you're ever going to feel that way about me again, not after what I did. I don't even know why I'm telling you, I mean, it's not okay of me to say that. I should go, I... I don't know what I'm doing , I..."

"Wait" I interrupted. She looked surprised, like she couldn't understand why I wouldn't want her gone.

"I still love you too. I mean, it would have made things a lot easier if I didn't, but I couldn't change it. That's not the issue. I don't know if I can trust you to not do that to me again, is the issue."

The hope in her eyes lit up her whole face.

"Let me show you that I won't. I let you go once, and it was the worst mistake I've ever made" she replied. "I promise you, I will never put you through that again. I just need a chance to show you"

She advanced towards me, stretching out her arms, holding me close. Holy shit, she smelt good. I relaxed into the hug, bursting into tears. I couldn't deal with all these conflicting emotions, and once I started to cry, I couldn't stop. Tears shook her whole body too, and we held each other tightly as we sobbed into one another's shoulders.

Lifting my face up with both her hands, she kissed me gently on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, but so much emotion went into it, it threw me. We kissed again, and again, and again, growing bolder with each press of the lips. Her hands returned to my waist, pulling me closer to kiss me harder, for longer, deepening each kiss. My arms wound around her, holding her, as hers explored my back, as if she was getting to know how I felt again.

There was passion in both our eyes as they met, and we knew exactly where this was going. We kissed again, but this time with more desperation, as her hands found my ass and I moaned into her mouth. Parting a little, I slid my hands between us as began to knead her tits through her blouse, earning one of those adorable gasps she does. Seeking my eyes, she gave me a questioning look whilst tugging at my dress. After my consent, she tugs it above my head and off, admiring the black bra underneath. Her lips find that one spot on my neck that makes me weak at the knees, and I drag her in closer, closing my eyes in bliss. I realised that this moment, right here, where she was pouring her adoration into everything she did, this was what I'd been waiting for. I pulled her up to kiss me again before removing her shirt and feasting my eyes on her. Neither of us were supermodels; we both have our wobbly bits and stretch marks and scars, but none of that mattered to us. We were beautiful together.

Unclasping her bra, I pulled it off her shoulders and bent to suckle on an already erect nipple. I flicked my tongue over it, eliciting a moan, before swapping to the other side, giving a gentle nip. That did it. We were in a frenzy from that moment on, pulling off clothes until we were standing in the middle of my flat, stark naked. Thank the stars for central heating.

We moved to the bed, and led down, kissing each other fast and hard, our hands exploring each other, getting to know the changes our bodies had gone through since we last did this. Her hands found my cunt, stroking my pubic hair before sliding her hands all over my vulva, circling my clitoris with a finger. She always knew just how to please me, and I gasped in pleasure, arching my back. Taking advantage of my position, she latched on to a nipple and sucked hard, nibbling a little as the circling sped up. I felt my orgasm begin to build as she increased the pressure and tempo, bringing me to orgasm in next to no time. As I began to come down from the high, she dipped her fingers inside me to taste my juices.

"Gorgeous" she whispered, before kissing me again. I tried to reach her cunt, to pleasure her, but she swatted my hand away.

"This is all about you" she said, in the most sultry tone possible. Kissing me again, she moved on top of me, and began kissing down my body. Inch by inch, she tracked past my neck, my tits, and down my stomach. Reaching my cunt, she took a tentative lick, maintaining eye contact. When she was sure I was okay, she began to use her tongue with more pressure. I barely noticed her slide her own hand down to touch herself, relieving her own desire. Nibbling my labia gently before soothing the bites with her tongue, she took painfully long to reach my clitoris. When she did, I could have died and gone to heaven, and I don't think I would have known any different. Tentative, gentle licks gave way to flicking the bud with her tongue before she sucked, using her teeth to gently scrape the sensitive skin. In no time, I was reaching the point of no return, the arc of pleasure, and she rode through it with me before collapsing on top of me. We were both panting uncontrollably, trying to catch our breath and failing dismally.

Once she could move again, she crawled up next to me and put her arm around me, pulling the covers that had somehow ended up on the floor over us both.

It may have taken five years of fighting our feelings, and nearly a year of the worst pain I've ever known, but for this moment of bliss? Worth it.