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Kaleb
“You don’t want me.”
I don’t know if those words were actually spoken or a dream, but in Luna’s voice, they play on a loop in my mind before I even open my eyes.
I don’t remember much from last night; just glimpses.
Luna approaching me, looking breathtakingly beautiful in the light of the bonfire.
Street lights flashing in the car window.
But the most vivid memory is holding her close to me while hearing her say those words.
Forcing my eyes open, I blink blearily in the morning light at my surroundings. I’m on the couch in my jeans while my t-shirt hangs on the lampshade. Awesome. I bet I was just a picture of distinguished self-control last night.
Draping an arm over my head, my other hand comes to rest on my stomach where I feel an unsettling feeling. I want to say it’s the stale alcohol swimming in the cesspool that is my hangover, but it feels different than that; colder.
Closing my eyes again, I will more of last night to break through my mental fog.
“Come on, baby…” I’d droned in a low voice while my hands groped along her body.
God, I remember how bad I wanted her last night, and the ache in my balls is telling me I still do. Or could that be…
A flash of myself crouched over and holding my crotch while I try not to black out from pain flickers behind my eyes.
My wife pummeled my balls last night.
I find myself smirking at the thought before my mind goes back to the memory in progress. The kitchen was dark but enough moonlight shone through the window to reveal the glassiness of her eyes. I was too stupid drunk to take note of it then, but my mind is playing a reel for me now, and pointing out the things I missed.
She misses me. She misses us, the same way I do. She’s hurting and lonely and I did that to her.
I hear movement at the end of the hall.
Slowly blinking, I catch a blurry glimpse of Luna crossing the hall from her bedroom to the bathroom. She’s hard to make out, but I swear to God she’s in her cutoff overalls with only a sports bra underneath. She’s clearly intent on a day of painting. When she comes out of the bathroom, my focus sharpens slightly and I see that her hair is in a bun with brown strands falling down. The loose whisps make me just want to kiss her neck, and now I know the ache in my groin is one hundred percent from my want for her.
“Hey,” she says softly, and I appreciate her keeping her voice quiet.
“Hey,” I croak back.
“What are you doing on the couch?” She stops a few feet away, a look of mild concern on her face.
I didn’t want to go to bed without you.
I remember that. I remember her leaving the kitchen with those unshed tears in her eyes. I let her go, before dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and downing the water she had put there. I sat there, trying to see if the throb in my balls or my head would give out first, and when neither did, I hauled myself up and headed down the hallway, only bumping against the wall a couple of times as I went.
The spare bedroom where Luna’s been living was open just a little, and I remember peering into the moonlit room, seeing her alone in that bed with her hair splayed over her pillow and her back turned to me. My disinhibited self wanted to say fuck it and crawl in to bed with her, but she’d made her stance on that idea painfully clear. I had then turned and stood in the doorway of my own room, and the empty bed had never looked less inviting. It looked cold and lonely and I didn’t want to be in it without Luna.
“Bedroom was too far,” I mumble instead, and she dismissively nods before heading in the direction of the kitchen.
Dammit, just once I want to give in to the love I still have for her. It’s an urge I’m too tired, weary, and hungover to fight. I haul myself into a sitting position, despite my head’s roaring protest. Then I stand stiffly, and without even grabbing my shirt, start taking one stride and then another towards the kitchen to where she works at the stove. The rest of my journey is easy as I glide right over to her, and placing one hand on either side of her on the counter, I cage her in. Not in a way that is dominating, but rather protective, like I’m giving her a small, loving space to be wrapped in.
She stills but doesn’t resist as I press my lips to the back of her head.
Please, I inwardly request, let me love you, just for a minute.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the back of her hair, feeling the warmth of my own breath against the strands of her hair while breathing in the sweet musk of its scent.
Luna’s head turns slightly to the side as if she’s looking for something before softly closing her eyes, as if accepting there’s nothing but this moment, and she’s locking it away in her mind. So am I. And then it’s over, with the turn of her head back to the griddle where she’s monitoring what looks like French toast. The buttery smell and that of the coffee confuses my senses, until a whiff of her orange blossom scent joins in and brings me a nostalgic flash of memories from before I deployed.
