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Holy shit. Every time we do that, I swear it gets better, and I have no idea how. Something felt different about this time too. The way he took his time with me, I swear it was like he was making sure no part of my body was left untouched, unappreciated. It felt less lusty than normal and more…I’d say like lovemaking, but that’s a little far fetched. More savory, maybe? It could be my hopefulness, but it did feel as if…he had a little more feeling invested in it than normal. Either way, my mind is mush after that. I shake my head to try and clear it. We never finished our conversation on New Year’s Eve because I wasn’t sure how to bring it up again. He’s been busy every day since then, so this is the first time I’ve seen him.
Getting up to go to the bathroom, I glance back to a satisfied looking Dean on his bed, hands folded behind his head, abs begging for my hands to run over them again. Maybe thingsareabout to change between us. Finally. I wonder if I could get away with bringing up the shift I’m feeling, if he’d be more open this time, especially without anyone else around to cause a distraction. My gut tells me something has changed.
When I come back, he stretches one arm out, waving me back to him. That’s weird. We aren’t really the cuddling type. Even though he’s pretty affectionate, especially lately, we haven’t cuddled after sex at all since the few seconds after our first time.
I slip my underwear on, then grab his t-shirt off the floor and slide it over my head before crawling back onto his bed and sitting cross legged facing him. “Hiiiii.” I say it with a bright smile. I can’t help the way he’s making me feel today.
I watch his eyes scan my face. “You look happy.” He gives me a half smile, but then it fades.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I pause. “I mean, we are pretty good at that.” I laugh, my hand falling to his thigh, but the way he glances at where our skin touches makes me uneasy all of a sudden. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off.
Grabbing a handful of my shirt, he tugs until my mouth is on his. He doesn’t deepen our kiss, but moves his hand from its hold on my shirt so he can slide his fingers into my hair.
He breaks our kiss, and when I pull back slightly, he looks at me like he’s studying my face. After a few moments, he maneuvers slightly to reposition me so I’m lying next to him rather than on top. When I’m where he wants, he pulls me into him until my head rests in the place it fits perfectly on his chest. After a moment of lying there, I wrap my arm around his waist, and he squeezes me closer to him. I can feel his heart beating hard with my ear pressed into him. Something is definitely off because he rarely seems nervous. His name is coming out of my mouth at the same time he starts talking.
“So…there’s something I need to tell you.”
I swear my heart rate jumps by at least 50 beats as I try to sit again so I can look at him. The arm he has wrapped around me keeps me pinned to his chest, as if he can’t say what he needs to if I’m looking at him. Panic rushes through me in the seconds he’s letting pass by without continuing his thought. I search for possibilities in my mind, but it’s filled with nothing but fear.
He scratches my back softly and releases a deep breath. “I’m moving.” He pauses before he adds, “To Costa Rica.”
My stomach immediately knots. I must have heard him wrong. Did he say moving? “Wait, what?”
“I'm graduating early, I’m actually already finished. Now feels like the right time.”
My mind goes blank. “Well, that’s…cool.” Cool? Maci, what the hell is wrong with you? Why did I say that? What is happening? This isn’t cool.
His thought matches mine. “Cool?” He does that little laugh he does before letting out a sigh.
“That was a dumb thing to say. I don’t know what to say. I’m confused.” This time when I move to sit and face him, he lets me.
“I know. No one really knows. I’ve been wanting to tell you but…”
“...But you didn’t want me to stop having sex with you? Or what, Dean?” I don’t recognize my voice with the anger that’s laced through it. I couldn’t stop myself.
“You know this isn’t about that,” he whispers.
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” I say much softer. My eyes fall to my hands folded in my lap. All of a sudden overwhelmed with emotion, I’m fighting back tears harder than I ever have.
When he sits too, I’m reminded about the intimate moment we shared a few minutes ago and how little clothes we have on. This feels weird. I feel naked and vulnerable but not just physically. He moves one of his hands to rest on mine, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth across my skin. “This is harder than I thought it would be.” It’s a whisper, under his breath, as if he was talking to himself.
Pain shoots through my gut as his secret runs through my brain again and an ache starts to consume my entire body. “Hard for who, Dean?” My eyes flash to his, which are focused intently on me. “On New Year’s Eve I basically told you I lov…” My voice breaks on the words I can’t say and his thumb freezes against my hand. I watch his whole body tense. His reaction makes me angry, so I take a breath in an unsuccessful attempt to calm myself. “And you were going to say what? That you want to leave me?”
His lips part slightly, and he starts to say something. Immediately, he closes his mouth, as if he changed his mind. I search his eyes for a hint of what he’s thinking. I could swear they are screaming out against this moment, like his soul doesn’t want this to be happening anymore than I do, but I must be mistaken. I must be projecting what I wish he was feeling because there’s no way he loves me too. If he did, he wouldn’t be doing this.
I pull away from him, my face falling into my hands in defeat. I can’t look at him, at what’s happening.
When his voice finally breaks through my thoughts and the silence, it’s soft. “What I was going to say doesn’t matter because it doesn’t change anything.” He gently tugs my hands away from my face, then cups my cheek, nudging my gaze back to him again before he continues. “I don't want to leave you, or us, but this is something I have to do, and I’m not sure when I’ll be coming back.”
“There’s an us?” My voice cracks again, and I know he can see the tears in my eyes as I look at him. We’ve basically been in a relationship without the title, but this feels like a breakup for a commitment he never officially made. That stands out more to me than the news that he’s moving or whatever else he’s refusing to tell me.
“I’m sorry. I know this screws up what we have,” he whispers without directly answering my question.
His words are a weight, crushing my chest and making it hard to focus on anything else. “When?” It’s the only other thing I can seem to say aloud.
“I leave on Friday.”
“That’s in three days.” I’m surprised I can figure out the math right now.
