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I straighten up, pulling up my leggings. The ache I should be feeling all over my body has burrowed itself deep in my chest.
My breathing hasn’t even returned to normal, when I find myself losing my footing. James has me cradled in his strong arms, his heart so close to my ear, I can hear its pace competing with my own. He carries me upstairs without a word, without a look.
The house, that just minutes ago was alive with our panting, moaning and forbidden confessions, has fallen into an uncomfortable, unnatural silence.
We make a left turn at the top of the stairs, I am mentally preparing for the conversation that must follow. James will bring me into his room, and we will hash it out, like we always do.
If nothing else, we can always count on our willingness to fight each other. I keep my eyes closed, gathering all my reasons and building my defense.
A door opens, and I am met with the familiar scent of my room. The smell of detergent from the fresh sheets James put on my bed hours earlier has me opening my eyes.
“James? What–” I can’t get out a complete sentence. I am feeling an unfamiliar sense of dread at the thought of him leaving me alone here.
Again, nothing. Not a word, not a glance. He gently sets me on the bed, almost too gently, like he is afraid I will break upon impact. I lie down, I thought we’d go to his room, but mine will do just fine. I move to the side, making room for him, extending a silent invitation for him to join me, to stay.
A kiss on the forehead, that’s it. I see his figure disappear into the bathroom, immediately followed by the sound of a closing door.
The sting of rejection coils around my heart, squeezing it, making it physically hard to breathe.
He left me. He laid his heart out on the line, only to leave me right after.
The darkness of my room is the perfect backdrop for the memories of this evening.
After everything that happened, after admitting he needs me, wants me, after owning my body in the most primal way, James left. This makes no sense, he never backs away from a confrontation.
Did we finally cross a line?
I cling to my covers, trying to find the comfort this room usually brings me. It is familiar, safe, my refuge. All I find are images of James. James coaching me, pushing me, filling me with confidence and desire. I hide under the blankets, trying to escape from the truth staring me in the face — James Archer opened a door, and now he has shut it in my face.
I try to find the anger I should be feeling about what I learned tonight, coming up empty. I should be mad at him for being a controlling, sneaky jackass. High school is hard enough without being boycotted. For four years I was looked over, ignored, no matter what I did. It messed with my confidence, with how I saw myself. At some point, I simply told myself it didn’t matter. Maybe it started as a defense mechanism, over time, though, it became who I was. I made my peace with being the one girl in school nobody wanted to touch and threw myself into my passion for art.
What would my life have been like if James weren’t in it?
I don’t like that question. I fucking hate it. I was thinking about what happened thirteen years ago, but the intensity, the life-altering discoveries of the last two days are front and center.
There is a growing feeling of emptiness spreading through my body. Even the deception in my heart is coming to a stop — is this it? Is this all?
Finally, there it is. Anger.
How dare he? He is just going to leave me here alone to deal with his fucked up confessions? Does he really think he can say all of that, awaken my body like this and walk away?
Rage is a much more familiar emotion when it comes to James, one I know what to do with. I kick off the covers and march towards his room. I don’t know what I want to say, I do know I cannot leave things like this. Whatever this is.
I turn the doorknob and yank the door open. I am ready to lay into him, to yell at him, but I can’t. James is sitting up, his broad, naked back resting against his tufted headboard. He looks lost. It disarms me. Dismantles my anger and has me swallowing my recriminations.
His steely blue irises settle on mine for the space of a second, long enough for me to read confusion and hurt in them.
I walk over to the bed, stopping next to James. The rhythm of his breathing acknowledges my proximity. I don’t think, I can’t. My fingers look for the bottom hem of my sweater and I pull slowly upwards, taking it off. The small thud of it landing on the carpet has him looking up. I bend my arms behind my back, unclasping my bra, letting it fall at my feet. My leggings follow.
James meets my gaze now, there is an unspoken question in his features.
What are you doing, Rose?
I don’t have an answer for him, I just know that tonight, the only place for me to be is in his arms. The same unspoken truth dawns on him. He moves to the side, making room for me on his single bed. I take my place next to him, curl into my side, pulling his strong arm over me like a blanket. A gentle kiss on the top of my head quiets my thoughts.
I can feel the oppressing burden of questions and doubts lifting, making way for much-needed rest. We will deal with them tomorrow. Together.
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