"Wow," I said while looking around. "Trying to get laid?"
He laughed.
"I'm trying to impress the woman I'm falling for."
I looked away and smiled because I had no idea what to do with the way my chest suddenly tightened.
We talked for hours. We ate until there was nothing left and sat in comfortable silence while drinking wine from tin cups.He told me a ridiculous story about his uncle trying to train a squirrel, and I told him about the time I got stuck halfway up a fire tower and had to be rescued by a rookie who nearly pissed himself.
It did not feel like two months.
It felt like he had been in my life for much longer than that.
That night I decided I was ready.
Back at his place I sat on the edge of the bed while my heart felt like it was trying to break through my ribs. He walked toward me slowly, kissed me even more slowly, and undressed me with such care that it felt like I might break apart in his hands.
I kissed him back and tried not to think too much, but the moment his hands touched my skin the thoughts rushed in. I was too masculine. Not soft enough. Not attractive enough. I smiled through it and kissed through it because pretending had always been easier. I acted like everything was fine.
He was kind and patient. His hands felt warm and his eyes stayed careful, almost like he wanted to memorize every breath I took. Everything about him felt gentle and everything about him saidI care.
But I stayed quiet.
I felt stiff and uncertain and I did not know where to place my hands. I kept wondering if my body was even the kind men wanted. I wondered if he wanted me or only the version of me he imagined.
Still, I let myself have that moment and I let him love me. When everything was over, he kissed my temple and pulled me closer.
"I love you," he whispered.
The words settled over me like snowfall. They felt quiet and beautiful, but heavy too. I said them back and he smiled before falling asleep with his arm resting across my waist. I stayed awake and stared into the dark wondering if I had done something wrong. I wondered if he had liked it and if I had been enough.
Part of me wanted to ask him and another part wanted to stay quiet because I was afraid I would ruin everything. He said he loved me, so maybe it had been enough. In the end, that memory became another scene I watched from far away, something I could no longer touch without hurting.
Now I sat on the floor of my bedroom with my back pressed against the wall and cold spreading through my spine. Darkness filled the room, but I never bothered turning on a light. I had not cried in weeks.
My breathing stayed shallow and my skin felt clammy while my chest tightened painfully around every breath, but I stayed where I was. I sat there without moving and without speaking. I had no idea how much time had passed. Maybe hours. My mouth felt dry and my legs had gone numb. I pressed my forehead against my knees and still nothing came.
Only his voice.
"The worst part is that sometimes I have to close my eyes and imagine someone else under me. Brunette. Petite. Fragile."
Those words lived beneath my skin now. They kept digging deeper and spreading through me until I felt like I could not escape them. I could not stay there anymore because I needed air. I shoved my feet into my shoes without bothering with socks and slipped out through the back door into the night. The cold burned inside my lungs, but I welcomed it.
I ran.
I ran fast and without direction into the woods behind my cabin until the trees blurred around me and the ground beneath my feet felt uneven. The sound of my footsteps pounded through the darkness while my breathing came in hard gasps.
At least I could still feel this. Then I heard a branch snapped somewhere behind me and I heard movement. I spun around with adrenaline surging through me and threw myself at the shape. My fists collided with someone's chest while panic and instinct took over.
Then a voice cut through the darkness.
"April, it's me. It's just me."
I froze.
Ellis.
My hands dropped immediately and I stumbled backward while staring at him as though he wasn't real. He looked out of breath, like he had been running after me. His eyes were wide and his hair clung damply to his forehead.
