What it Feels Like

I blinked twice. Realized I'd passed out on my lover's couch. I remembered the conversation. Why am I even with you? His words cut like a knife, each sentence passed so angrily. Words were slurred, on both sides, two empty wine bottles on the ground. I blinked again in the darkness of his Bohemian apartment. The ashes of tonight's mistakes lay in circles on the table-we'd smoked without limits, with reckless abandon, and we'd certainly pay for it.

I strained my eyes to read the clock on the VCR. It was only 2am. The bars had just closed. It was early. I sat up, my head felt heavy. My lover must have been asleep in his bedroom. I think it had only been about half an hour since we fought. It was all a bit hazy.

"Oh, hey," his roommate said as he opened the door. I snapped back into the present, suddenly aware that I was wearing a very sheer nightgown. My hair was tossed wildly around my face, and I realized Nate probably knew at once that I was reasonably altered.

"Hi," I said softly. I watched his keys hit the table, watched as he pulled his messenger bag up and around his chest, tossed it on the chair to his right. He walked toward me, a look of genuine concern crossed his brow.

"Are you okay? Have you been crying?" he asked gently. I wondered what he must have been thinking. I wondered if he played out what might have happened in his mind in those few seconds before I answered.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," I said at last.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'm going to go to bed... do you want a blanket?"

"Wait," I said quickly. I stepped back a moment, too eager, I thought.

"What is it?" he said just as eagerly. It was as if he'd been hoping I'd have a reason to keep him there. We both struggled for a moment to find an excuse-we'd been struggling like this for the past six months.

"I just..." I couldn't think of a reasonable excuse. "I'm not ready to be alone yet."

He smiled uncomfortably; he knew his roommate-his friend-was just a room away. He sat down on the couch next to me. Stretches of silence passed, but it comforted me. I smiled, staring straight ahead but seeing him perfectly. I thought about reaching up, touching his face, running my fingers through his hair. But I did not. How many times I'd thought of doing those things-how many times they'd never been done.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked finally.

"We just... we had a fight is all."

"Well... are you okay?"

I turned to face him. His eyes were so kind, they seemed to invite me in, welcome me, shelter me. I felt so warm inside, such softness and healing in his gaze. I shifted a bit so that my body would face him. Our legs touched. It felt like a lightning bolt running through from the point of impact all the way throughout my body. I began to shiver a little.

"I'm okay."

I heard my voice falter. It felt, at that point, as if I were outside my body, just looking down and watching the words fly between us. His mouth to my ears, my mouth to his ears, my mouth to his mouth... I caught myself leaning in, stuck in a still-frame of unthinkable choices. I opened my eyes. His eyes were closed. His mouth was open... he, too, was caught in the still-frame.

I leaned back suddenly, reached for the remote and turned on the television.

"Oh, yeah," he said quickly, "what's, uh, what's on TV?"

"I, I, I don't know," I said just as quickly, fumbling with the remote, trying to get a firm grasp, but dropping it at our feet. We both reached down, nearly bumped heads.

"I'm, I'm sorry," he said moving back, hand flying off the remote as if it were poison.

"Oh no, I'm..."

"I..."

We both stopped short. Laughed a little. Awkwardly. Uncomfortably. I'd somehow hit the mute button by accident. We stayed there for a moment, in that scene, two hopelessly hopeless people, wanting so much to say something, to do something, knowing it's so wrong. I felt us get lost in one another's gaze.

Another moment passed, no words spoken. I suddenly realized our legs were touching again. I looked down at that magical place where we came together. My hand softly slid over to his knee, stopped for a moment above, just wavering in the air, and finally slowly came down to touch him.

I could see the shock of exhilaration run through his body. I lifted my eyes to meet his, and leaned forward. I raised my hand to his face, touched his cheek softly, and began to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. He closed his eyes, seemingly mystified and enthralled-I felt it, too.

I leaned closer, to his ear, and began to whisper.

"You've always been there for me. Always. It's always..."

I paused a moment, moved back, to look into his eyes.

"It's always been you."

His breath quickened, and I could see him holding back a smile. He opened his eyes, leaned in, and I finally felt the warm lips I'd longed for all this time. Smooth, wet, beautiful kisses that sent me to a place I'd only imagined. Our mouths seemed to move together in rhythm, as if we were dancing together to some far off music. But there was only silence in the room.

I felt his hand touch my hip, slide up the side of my stomach-I felt chills running up and down my spine. I kept thinking, Steve's in the other room, what if he comes out? What if he sees? But I did not stop. I felt so alive, so free, so exhilarated. Our kisses became stronger, wilder, as if all that pent-up sexual tension between us was just being released at once, bursting through, like it couldn't be tamed, it just broke everything, broke free, broke through, and I felt it more than I'd ever felt anything in my whole life.

He pushed me backwards onto the couch, and moved his body over me. I felt the weight of our decision press down on my thin frame, felt his hands run through my long, red hair. I opened my eyes to see his face in the moonlight. I could tell he'd been wanting this all this time, too.