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I jerk to attention. It takes me a moment to recognize my surroundings. I’m on the floor of my bedroom with my ear pressed against the wall and my fingers between my legs. The shower has turned on for the second time tonight. And I am alone.
That he’d rather masturbate outside my door and then wash away the traces of his lust does me in. His displeasure sends me spiraling back to that night he woke me up and took me out of my home to abandon me hundreds of miles away in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. I cried myself to sleep every night for six months straight after he left me in Boone. I ignored all his messages, refused all his calls, and returned all his gifts.
I finally got tired of being mad at him. My anger turned to pent-up longing. I read the messages, all of which professed his sorrow at leaving me, along with his assurance that it was all done to keep me safe. I clung to that, believing that when I was an adult and strong enough to fight for myself, I could prove that we would belong together.
I didn’t think it would happen immediately. I wanted it to, but realistically we hadn’t seen each other in four years. There were bound to be adjustment pains. I didn’t expect him to be so resistant, so put off by his own desires.
He’s so far from coming around that I think we might as well be in different countries even as we live in the same apartment. He’s Russia, cold and foreign, while I’m…some small country that is trying to lap up any scrap of attention he’s willing to give me.
Is this where I give up? No. That’s what he wants. He’s driving me away because he’s afraid. His disgust isn’t toward me…I don’t think. It’s self-loathing. He doesn’t believe he has the right to want me.
I run a shaky hand through my hair. The positive is that he doesn’t see me as a child anymore. I can work with that. I just need to tear down the barrier between his heart part that love and want me and his head part that says our coupling is wrong.
Easy, right? I give a sour, silent laugh. It’s going to be very hard, but the prize at the end is worth it.
Commence Operation Seduction.
* * *
“Leka, do you know where my black lace teddy is? I just bought it the other day and now I can’t find it anywhere!” It is, in fact, draped over the back of the living room sofa where I left it last night.
After a few moments of silence, I creep out of my bedroom to see if Leka is even in the kitchen. I thought I heard his footsteps pass by me a moment ago. Sure enough, he’s sitting at the kitchen table bent over coffee.
“Um, Leka, did you hear me?”
“It’s gone,” he says abruptly without looking in my direction.
“What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“I threw it away.”
“You what?” I rush over to the garbage can. That piece of lingerie cost me $80 and I didn’t even wear it once. I cut the tags off and tossed it in the living room. It landed on the sofa back where it could be easily seen by anyone coming in from the entry.
Inside the garage can I find the teddy, crumpled into a ball. I pull it out and hold it up by the straps. It’s torn through the midsection with only a few pieces of lace and thread keeping it in one piece on the left side. “Um, what happened?”
“It got caught on something,” Leka replies, still bent over the coffee.
Something like his fist. Is this a good sign?
“It’s your money anyway,” I reply. “I haven’t received my first pay check yet, so I used the credit card to buy it. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“You don’t need shit like that,” he says. He rises fast. The chair legs scrape loudly against the tiled floor. “Wear regular…stuff that doesn’t get torn easily.”
He can’t even bring himself to use the word “panties” around me. I dip my head to hide a smile. “This is comfortable. Besides, it makes me feel sexy.” I peek under my eyelashes in Leka’s direction.
His hands tighten around the back of his chair. “You’re working in a meat processing shop cleaning up shit. There’s no need to feel…stuff there.”
Ha! He can’t say “sexy” either.
“The morbid surroundings are exactly why I need things like this. I have to remind myself I’m still a woman.” I open the sink cabinet to toss the damaged undergarment away.
“You didn’t even wear it,” he snaps.
I pause, my hand half inside the trash can. “How do you know?” I ask in surprise.
There’s a long, pregnant pause followed by heavy footsteps carrying Leka into his bedroom. The minute that his door slams shut, I let loose the smile that I had been hiding.
