Hillary: The Summer of '92
Part 5
From Benjamin Dornier's Journal
Sunday, July 18, 1992
The weekend on the seacoast with my family turned out to be far less of a problem than I'd expected. Between the fact that my wife was having her period and some contentious issues among some of her family members present, she and I had little time for intimacy. And the fuss going on among family members kept her distracted enough to keep her from noticing whatever discomfiture - and guilt - I may have been showing.
I was thankful I'd been given a reprieve, but knew that sooner or later I'd have to deal with the fact of making love with my wife and having her see me when she wasn't distracted. What would happen then I had no idea. I did spend a lot of time thinking about it during the four-hour drive back from the coast, though.
I was more than a little surprised to see Hillary's little car sitting in the parking space behind my house when I got home. I hadn't expected to see her until class the next morning because I thought her parents would be home. I'd left the coast early because of the family problems there and arrived at my house around five. To find Hillary waiting was a surprise because I had told her I didn't normally get home until nine.
She got out of her car when I got out of mine and I stared at her. She had on a long green sweatshirt with a white collared shirt under it and green plaid shorts. Her hair was pulled up and fastened somehow, in a way that left wisps of it framing her face. She looked incredibly young and incredibly beautiful. I did see that her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.
"You...you came home early," she said. Her voice was soft and broke a little as she spoke.
I grabbed my suitcase out of the back seat and started walking toward the house. Hillary came with me. "Wasn't a very good weekend," I said. "How was your weekend?"
"Not so good," she replied as I unlocked and opened the back door of my house.
Once we were inside, I set down my suitcase and looked at Hillary, who looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any minute. "Hillary, what's the matter?" I asked, although I had an idea.
She walked into my living room, sat down on the sofa, pulled her legs up under her, and sat there, hugging herself, looking incredibly sad. "Ah...I...nothing, I guess," she said softly.
I couldn't stand to see her looking so sad. I walked over and sat down on the sofa next to her. "Hillary, what's wrong?" I asked. "Please tell me."
"I...I ah...broke up with my...um...Dave this weekend," she replied, staring at the floor.
"You did?" I responded, surprised. "Why?"
"Because he's a jerk," she replied softly. "I...I only went out with him because every other girl in school wanted to." She looked up at me. "He...he really is an asshole. He...he..." Her face got red and she hugged herself again.
"Hillary, what happened?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"Look, something happened, didn't it?" I asked. "And it has to do with breaking up with Dave, doesn't it?"
This time she nodded and tears began rolling down her cheeks.
I slid closer to her and put my arm around her. With a soft sigh she leaned into me and her silky hair brushed my face. Up to then I hadn't really been thinking about sex, but that began to change as my body started to respond to contact with hers. "Why don't you tell me what went on?" I said. I reached over, picked up a box of tissues sitting on the end-table, and held it out to Hillary. She pulled out a tissue and used it to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. Then, surprising me, she moved so she was sitting on my lap. That didn't do a thing to calm the turmoil taking place in my body.
"Dave called me when he got back Friday night and wanted me to go to the movies with him," she said, her voice very soft. "I told him I didn't really feel like going to the movies, but I said I'd meet him at Puccinello's."
I nodded.
"He was kinda pissed about that," she continued. "I...I think he figured we'd...ah...you know..." She paused and took a deep breath. "Anyhow," she continued, "he said he'd meet me at Puccinello's. When I got there, he started bugging me to at least go out in his truck with him, but I wouldn't. I knew what he wanted. Finally I told him I didn't want to go out with him any more."
"What did he do?" I asked. I started sliding my hand up and down her back. I couldn't have her in my arms without doing something.
She took another deep breath and sniffled a little. "I figured he'd be pissed," she said, "but I didn't think he'd be as pissed as he was. He...he got all red in the face and..." She buried her face against my neck and began to sob. I kept rubbing her back and holding her while she cried. The teenage boy inside me wanted to go find her ex-boyfriend and beat the crap out of him for hurting her like this.
Finally she took a deep breath. "He...he said it really didn't matter, that he was gonna break up with me anyhow because I'm such a skank. He...he said there are lots prettier girls who want to go out with him and..." She started sobbing again.
I slid my arms around her and hugged her to me. "Hillary, you know that isn't true," I said. "He was angry and he wanted to hurt you. You're a lovely, wonderful young woman. What he said just isn't true."
"I...I know..." she sniffled. "But...but it...it really hurt to hear him say it. And...and I...I didn't have anyone I...I could talk to about. Oh, God! I felt so lonely." Her arms slipped around my waist and she clung to me.