I HAVE NO IDEAwhat time we finally fell asleep last night. There was sex—outstanding, beautiful hot sex that I need much more of—and then there was heating up risotto on the stove and feeding each other and being schmaltzy and gooey and completely awesome. It was like we were in some hideous Nicholas Sparks movie. It was more than I could have dreamed of.
When the power went out, we moved to the living room and cuddled in front of the fireplace, watching flames dance into the early morning. I fell asleep easily, safely, without worry. God, to be able to drift into slumber without any weight breaking apart my night? It was the best feeling ever.
The storm hit the electrical lines among so many things that hit last night. Who needs electricity? I couldn’t care less if it ever came back on.
And goddamn, if choosing that huge chaise wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. Right now, I am stretched out on it, next to Sam, our warmth defying the chill in the air. I’ve never thought of myself as sexy, but Sam makes it impossible to deny that I feel attractive and desirable. Even when we had a rather practical conversation about me being on the pill and both of us making sure we were clean and whatnot and deciding to ditch the condoms, he managed to remain adorable and keep me feeling hot and sensual.
He’s got a gift, this boy—or more accurately, many gifts.
He has on only light sweatpants, and I’m in a silky tank top and underwear. I’ve found that while the days are warm here in Maine, the nights are still quite cold, but the heat from his chest flows into mine, and I snuggle more tightly into his hold.
While he sleeps, I study his face and the peace that radiates from his slumber. I suspect that while I slept, I looked as settled and fulfilled as he does now. I doubt that I’ve ever felt this way—perhaps as a child before chaos invaded my life and before I understood the destructive nature of a mentally ill parent.
One of the things that I find most comforting this morning is that while Sam provided a safe harbor,Iam the one who has been making choices that are helping me find myself. I am healing because of me, andthatis letting me trust and risk and love.
I am proud of myself. It’s a beautiful feeling and one that I plan to hang on to.
Finding reality and clarity is no small feat when one has been subjected to emotional warfare for so many years. It’s embarrassing, whether rightful or not, to have fallen prey to the cruelty of my family’s disintegration. I probably idealized life before my father left, but it was certainly his departure and Amy’s delving into narcotics after the car accident that together sparked my rapid descent into turmoil. My mother has always been nuts, always manipulated me, but without my father and sister to buffer her behavior, I was left defenseless. It’s hard not to feel as though I should have done better, been stronger and smart enough to circumvent their dysfunction.
Now, however, I can reclaim myself.
Sam stirs a bit, and I roll in closer, breathing in his smell. His wide shoulders and muscular arms provide what feels like an unbreakable and protective armor from harm, and I press in a bit more to kiss his chest, reveling in this moment of freedom and levity. Lightly, he lets out a small murmur. When my hand runs over his bare skin, then travels to his waist, and then over the front of his sweatpants, that murmur grows a bit deeper.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
Sam smiles and opens his eyes a hint. “I missed you while I was sleeping.”
He grinds into me, and my every nerve ignites. The weight of his body moves over mine, and in a flash, I am on my back, laughing, with Sam above me, growling and making me giggle as he kisses my neck.
Mere seconds later, I raise my waist and run my hands through his hair, desperately intent on getting what I crave on such a basic level. Our mood becomes more serious, more real. While last night was incredibly gentle and romantic, it’s clear that what we both want this morning is raw and intense. It’s so easy to let myself move against him, to find a rhythm and flow between us. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable at all. It’s as though we were made for this, for each other.
The rain beginsagainjust as we begin again.
As I start to push down his sweatpants, both of us stop short at the sound of another male’s voice in the room.
“Did I come at a bad time?”
Sam pulls himself up from me. His entire body freezes, and I see terrible fear in his eyes when he looks into mine. He knows the voice. That’s clear.
Slowly, he turns and moves to the end of the chaise, sitting as if to shield me. His voice trembles. “Costa.”
Now, I am the one frozen with fear, but I don’t fully understand why.
“It’s been a long time,” Costa says in a voice so kind that it unnerves me.
Costa’s hair is black, neatly cut, and pushed off his face. He has penetrating navy eyes, framed by sharply arched eyebrows. Tall as Sam but thinner, he’s clearly well built. Even under his black leather jacket, he looks to be solid and strong. Leaning against the kitchen counter, smirking and staring at Sam, he waves jovially, and under the circumstances, it strikes me hard as ludicrous.
“Why…why are you here?” Sam pushes into me even more.
I see his chest rise and fall quickly. I hear his breathing escalate. The heat he radiated before is gone, replaced now by a cold tremor.
Sam’s voice is ice cold. “What do you want?”
Costa stops about ten feet from us and gives Sam half a smile. I study him, fascinated by the person before me. He’s…cocky, flirtatious even, I think. When he finally tips his head in my direction, I am both chilled and entranced.
“You must be Stella,” he says calmly. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”
Sam leaps off the chaise and positions himself to my left, directing Costa’s attention his way. “How do you know her name?” His voice is stronger now.
