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Something feels off inside of me. The fog of the sexual tension has lifted, and it’s unfortunately all too clear to me now.
“Was that...are you…” he stutters before stalling to run a hand down his face. He’s still clearly in post-orgasmic bliss. Attempting to rationalize my sudden change in behavior. “What's wrong, D?”
He settles beside me on the bed, where I can't seem to ignore my racing thoughts.
“Is this a distraction for you?” I ask.
“A what?”
“A distraction.” I run my hand through my drying hair and sigh, turning my head to face him. “Am I a distraction?”
He drags a hand down his face, not wanting to look at me.
“You can't express yourself simply through sex, Lake. I need...more.”
“Express myself through sex,” he repeats with a scoff. “I was expressing how blue my balls have become from endless nights of rubbing against this perfect little body,” he finishes with a laugh, trailing his hand down my back and circling his arm around to my hip.
I pull away slightly to add some space between us and shift my body to face his. His brows lower at the separation.
This is important, and he needs to know how I operate because if I don't put my foot down now, this type of dismissive behavior might continue when things get too emotional.
“I thought you understood,” I begin softly. “I've opened up to you, but as soon as I get even the slightest glimpse of the deeper parts of you, you close up on me.”
He sighs, raking his fingers through his hair as his eyes find the floor.
“I need more from you, Lake. More than just this.” I look at the bed behind us. “Or it won't work.”
Licking his lips, he turns his head to look at me. “I'm sorry, D.”
I stare back at him as he stares at me. Seconds pass and nothing happens. He can't seriously be telling me there isn't more. Is he? I will walk.
He just continues looking at me with his mouth ajar, so I stand.
“No, no...sit. Sit down,” he says, grabbing for me. “Please.”
I lift my hands, but he grabs my wrists and pulls me into his lap.
“I'm sorry,” he says immediately, then kisses my shoulder.
But he can't simply apologize and continue to do nothing about it. I let it slide last time, the whole not confronting the situation thing, but I won’t leave it alone now. Peering at him, I arch a brow, waiting for him to continue. I need something. Anything.
“I was closed off earlier. You talked about my mother and asked about tomorrow, and I completely brushed you off. Shut down the conversation. I don't...I don't mean to do that to you. I-it's more me than anything,” he admits, shaking his head.
I take a breath, realizing he's trying right now, and wanting to nurture that, I lift my hand to his cheek. It's his mother. Something he, himself, hasn't addressed. He gazes at me as I stroke my thumb along his light stubble.
“I brush off the hard shit because I don't want to deal with it. I don't want to deal with it because then it's real. It's not right. It's not healthy what I'm doing. I just…” He stalls looking around the room, trying to find the words to convey his torture. “I just don't know how to deal with it yet. I can’t process it because I’m not ready to, alright?”
There's pain here. A real heart-breaking pain in his tone that wasn't there before. He hasn’t told me whatitis, but I’m not pushing him to the point of breaking, only bending.
“I'm sorry I made it about sex. Well, I'm not sorry about the sex. That was amazing, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Jesus, that was…fucking awesome,” he says bluntly, blinking his eyes wildly, and I chuckle lightly. “But I'm sorry for making you feel disregarded or used as a distraction in any way. You know you mean more to me than that.”
My heart pinches in my chest as his eyes emit that truth. His arms circle me tightly.
“That wasn’t my intention, Dylan.”
“I know, Lake,” I reply, rubbing my thumb along his cheek. “I know. I just wish you'd let me in. Let me be here.” I drop my hand from his face and press my palm against his bare chest, feeling his raging heart beneath. “Not just because I need it, necessarily...but because it seems you do, too.”
His eyes focus on my hand before his gaze shifts to me. He needs to learn how to lean on someone just as I need to. We all do. We need someone to share our struggles, our pains, and our stories with before they swallow us whole. We’re all cowards, as Colin so elegantly put it.
