The scent of men’s cologne and shampoo filled my nostrils as I opened my eyes. My face was on a white pillow, and I started to feel dizzy as I tried to remember where I was because I’m pretty sure this isn’t my pillow, my bed, or my room. Then, pain and discomfort settled in my head.
Damn, it feels like they’re drilling a hole in the center of my skull… and just now when the images from last night came to my mind, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if they did. The nausea that gripped me next signaled the proximity of vomit rising up my throat.
I got out of bed as if the sheets were burning my skin. I ran toward the first bedroom door I saw and opened it. When my eyes found the toilet, I ran toward it, knelt down, and deposited the contents of my stomach in it.
I spent nearly thirty minutes trying to get up, but every time I attempted it, I felt like vomiting. I can’t remember the last time I felt this bad. Not even during my pregnancy did I vomit so much in one day. How much did I drink last night? And, more importantly, why did I drink so much?
I had isolated memories from last night. Not many, but I had them. Me dancing with some guys, drinking, laughing, having fun… and then Henry, kissing me, touching me, pressing himself against my body… Damn.
If he hadn’t stopped, I’m sure we would have gone all the way, and I would have been just fine with that damn idea. I would have been perfectly fine, and even though I’m grateful, a part of me still would have wanted to go through with it.
The worst part of this situation is that I remember every word that came out of my mouth, or at least the most crucial ones.
I’ve been damn numb for so long, and you come back, and the feelings within me flow faster than my blood.
I just want to call you all the time until you return; I want to touch you and kiss you until my lips are swollen, and my skin dissolves under your hands.
So what? Drunk or not, I desire you in the same way.
You’ve always been the only thing I’ve wanted, and now, for God’s sake, I need you to take me and make love to me like only you know how, because if you don’t, I’ll leave, and you’ll never have this opportunity again.
And the award for the stupidest goes to…
Maybe, if I deny that I love you enough, I can forget you.
The latter ruins every attempt I made to get him away from me and, worse, it ruins any attempt to convince myself that I had forgotten him.
Note to self: Never drink when you have your ex’s number in your phone. I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth. I don’t even remember thinking them. All I had in mind since he arrived is that I wanted him to leave.
“Ann…?” His voice came from the room.
Hearing him only made my skin tingle, and I tensed up. That voice, last night, it sounded so close to me… His warm breath as he released each word, brushing against my skin. Every whisper… His voice alone kills me.
“Don’t come in,” I managed to say while I continued to vomit.
Everything above my neck began to burn with embarrassment as I saw him enter through the bathroom door. I wanted to bury my head in the toilet, but that would be a little difficult since it’s right there. Henry quickly walked over to me and gathered all the hair that was on either side of my face.
He stood by my side for twenty minutes, gently stroking my back to help me get everything out. Once I had nothing left to expel, I got up and, without looking at him, went to the sink. I splashed my face with water and rinsed my mouth.
“Do you have a toothbrush?” I asked, barely managing to breathe.
I was holding onto the bathroom sink countertop tightly to keep from falling; my legs seemed unable to support me. Henry seemed to notice because he turned me around and grabbed me by the hips. I let out a yelp as he lifted me and sat me on the countertop.
“I have an unused one in the bedroom closet. I’ll go get it and bring you a headache pill. Don’t move; it looks like you’re about to faint at any moment,” his gaze bore into mine. This guy wins the prize for intense looks.
His hands were still on my hips, and my legs were open – quite deliberately – waiting for him to approach. The effects of alcohol must still be here, or I lost my mind in the toilet along with all the beer.
I ran my tongue over my lips, and instantly, he looked at mine. He shook his head and left through the door.
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until he was gone. I ran my hands over my face and tried to clear my thoughts…
“He’s the same guy who left you with a child in your womb, alone, without help. He left you lying in bed like a cheap whore. He took away your ability to feel something for someone else. Moreover, he made you fear love. He simply marked you for life, with a broken heart that is still healing. He… completely ruined you. Remember it.”
It’s hard to remember it now, and even more so when he’s leaning against the door frame, devouring me with his eyes. As if time hadn’t passed. As if he had never left. As if I were the same.
“Are you… Are you going to give me that or what?” I stumbled, looking at my feet.
“Embarrassed?” The hint of a smile played on his lips.
I shake my head and try not to look him in the face. He approached until his stomach bumped against my knees. He handed me the things, and I took them reluctantly. As I stepped down from the countertop, my body obviously brushed against his. Both of us are tempting each other, I know that very well. We’re testing who takes the first step, but it’s impossible to take another step now – everything above our waists is touching. I can almost feel his heart beating against mine, and I could swear our movements are synchronized.
“When you leave, we’ll talk about last night, and don’t even try to throw a tantrum to leave the house because I won’t let you. I’ll tie you up if necessary, and you know damn well that I’m capable of doing it,” his hoarse voice and rapid breath are evident. My forehead is touching his neck, and I close my eyes. Feeling at least some of his bare skin against mine.
I’m weak. Very weak.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, it’s just a warning,” and just like that, he turns and leaves the bathroom.
I sigh and look at myself in the mirror. I’m a pale, ugly mess. My makeup is all smudged, my complexion whiter than snow – okay, not that much – and dark circles that are scary.
I brush my teeth, pull up my hair and tie it. I’m not ready to talk about how I feel. I’m not ready after last night. I’m still very sensitive to his touch, I can still feel him, and that doesn’t make it any easier for me to lie to his face, to tell him that I want nothing to do with him because I know perfectly well that it’s a lie. I don’t know if I love him. That’s still in doubt, but I want him to be with me all the time, yes, I do.