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“That was…”
“Amazing.”
Silence fell over us as time passed for a few moments. We both worked on catching our breath before he rolled over onto his side to face me. He had a goofy grin on his face that I loved so much, and he trailed his lips down every inch of my body. “You’re perfect, you’re perfect,” he whispered with every kiss, landing against my lips. “You’re perfect.”
I sighed, feeling whole for the first time in a long time as his mouth rested against mine, and said, “We’re perfect.”
34
Aaliyah
For the next few days,Connor and I woke up making love and we fell asleep doing the same. We switched back and forth with whose bedroom we’d fall into, and sometimes it just ended up happening on the kitchen countertop. Or the living room sofa. Or the rooftop.
That was my favorite, the wind blowing against our warm flesh as he drove deep inside me, the moon shining bright as he made me weak in my knees. My favorite thing about the way our bodies fell together was how he made it both gentle and hard. Soft and rough, kind and dangerous. I loved how he inhaled my entire existence. Even though there were times I thought I’d fade away from overexerting myself, I didn’t even care because it felt so good with him inside me.
He made love to me as if it was both the first and last time. Therefore, that meant every single session quickly became the best sex I’d ever had. He never stopped until I got off multiple times, too. It must’ve been that Southern gentleman in him, because he always made sure I came first. Ladies first.
I always returned the favor.
I didn’t know it was possible—having two humans both end up fulfilled.
It felt as if I were living in a dream world, but sadly every dream had to come to an end.
One morning, Connor had a conference call earlier in the morning, so I woke up in bed alone. I woke up in pain. It wasn’t out of the blue. I knew over the past few weeks my symptoms were building up.
I was more tired than normal. Walking short distances winded me. My ankles were swelling again. Connor even noticed the swelling, but I blamed it on wearing a pair of heels all day at work. He gave me ankle massages, and when he’d fall asleep at night, I’d cry thinking about how seriously wrong I’d been feeling.
I just needed a little bit more time.
I had a doctor’s appointment coming up after my trip to Kentucky, so I was doing my best to push through. To enjoy the current moments of happiness with Connor. To live. To pretend for a while that my life was normal.
Yet, that morning, I couldn’t continue lying to myself.
My body ached and my head was clouded. The chills that found me were the worst part. I could hardly sit up in bed. Every little movement I made felt as if someone was slamming into me.
“No,” I whispered to myself, unable to open my eyes because that brought about another wave of dizzy spells.
Time.
Just give me a little bit more time.
Connor and I were supposed to fly out to Kentucky soon, and I didn’t want to cancel the trip. Not only was it important for the article I was writing, it was important to me. I wanted to see him in his hometown, wanted to meet the people he grew up with, and I wanted to walk the streets that raised him. I couldn’t miss it.
I placed my hands on the edge of my bed and pulled myself up to a sitting position. As my feet hit the wooden floor, I groaned. Everything hurt. I knew most people couldn’t understand that level of pain, but just sitting up felt like the ultimate chore to me. I wanted to crawl back into a ball and sob. The intensity of the pain made it hard to even breathe in a normal pattern.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” I repeated to myself, borrowing the words Connor had given to me time and time again over the past few weeks. Even though I said the words, the aches made them feel unrealistic.
I tried to push myself up from the mattress, but I failed. I felt weak, tired. So very tired. Tears formed in the backs of my eyes as they remained shut, and they slowly began to fall down my cheeks.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” I repeated, feeling as if I were going to vomit from the way my mind spun.
I began coughing into my hand, trying to clear my throat. Trying to make a passage way for more air to inflate within my lungs.
I hated this. I hated my heart and how it was quitting on me. I hated that I’d gone so long feeling good, only to have my life turn upside down in the span of two years. I hated that the good days always made the bad ones feel like complete hell.
I hated knowing that more bad days were on their way.
Time.
