Lust(39)

I made sure the water was cold, needing it to cool my inner temperature.  But all it did was remind me of the cold water that blasted me in Ivy's  shower. It reminded me of how it felt to hold her against me, feeling  her soaked body against mine. It reminded me of what it was like to be  with her, and how I had never experienced anything like it before. The  way she touched me with more than her hands. She had the ability to  creep inside of me and touch the deepest parts that encompassed me. I  had never experienced intimacy like that before. I craved intimacy with  her and knew instantly that no one else would ever be able to take her  place. .         

     



 

I needed to talk to her. She deserved an explanation as to why I ran. I  wanted to tell her the truth, but the truth scared the shit out of me. I  didn't want her to leave, but I had been the one to push her away. If  my only option at getting her back was to tell her the truth, then so be  it. Her words, "you own me," rang out around me. I knew it wasn't real,  she hadn't been there and I had imagined the whole thing, but I needed  to fight for the chance to hear her say it. This was my second chance at  everything-or third chance-and I wasn't going to fuck it up. She had  trusted me enough to allow me to sleep with her; I needed to trust her  just as much.

After at least fifteen minutes under the cold water, I emerged, feeling  slightly better than I had when I went in. My head was still fuzzy and I  felt as if I had been trapped beneath a semi truck for days, but I was  beginning to feel better. Brushing my teeth had done wonders. And then I  smelled it …  bacon.

A small part of me worried that I was hallucinating again, that I was  making it all up, but once I stepped out of the bathroom and the  overpowering scent of breakfast hit me, I knew it was either real or I  was in fact dead and this was my heaven. My already slow pace slowed  even more as I made my way out of my bedroom and crept toward the  kitchen.

It was determined-I was dead and in my own personal heaven. Ivy stood in  front of the stove with a frying pan in her hand. She looked exhausted  and I thought she looked slightly older since the last time I had seen  her. That was impossible, though. I had only seen her less than a week  ago, there's no way she could have aged that quickly. How long was I out  of it? And, more importantly, why was she in my kitchen? Everything  started coming back to me …  the phone call, seeing her, talking to her.  What was real and what wasn't?

"I heard the shower and thought you might be hungry. I'm sure you  haven't eaten anything in a while. At least you don't look like it. You  look like shit." Her eyes never met mine as she carefully placed the  bacon on a plate that was already filled with what looked like delicious  scrambled egg.

"When did you get here?" I asked, having to clear my throat to get the words out.

"Tuesday night. Well …  technically, Wednesday morning. You called. I came."

No. I had called Alyssa. I could distinctively remember finding Alyssa's  number on my phone and calling her. I had called her to help me. But  then her name wasn't there anymore. Whose name was there? Had I really  called Ivy?

"I called you two nights ago?" I asked in confusion. It was Thursday;  what happened the day before? I couldn't even begin to sort everything  through in my head and felt more out of control than I ever remember  feeling before.

She didn't answer, only nodded as she put the plate on the table.

"You've been here ever since?"

Her eyes finally met mine; they were full of pain and concern. "You  were … " She shook her head and tried again. "I wasn't sure what would  happen and I didn't want to leave you alone. So I stayed to make sure  you were okay. You seem better now. I should probably get going."

I stepped in front of her, blocking her exit, and grabbed her upper arm  in my hand. "How did you get here?" I wanted to ask about what I did or  said while she was there and I was passed out, but I couldn't go there.  Part of me didn't want the confirmation that I had confessed my love for  her. I had never told another person that since I was eight years old  and didn't want to find out that I had uttered those words while being  semi-unconscious.

"I called a cab," she said with her eyes downcast.

I lifted her chin by my finger and forced her to look at me. "Have you slept at all?"

"Not really. Maybe a little here and there, but I couldn't really sleep. You had me really worried."

I mentally cursed myself as I took in the dark circles beneath her eyes  and the greyish color of her skin. The only reason she looked older as  she stood in front of me was because I had kept her from sleeping or  taking care of herself for God knows how long.

"God, Ivy …  lay down. Let me take care of you now." My concern for her  crippled me and all I could think to do was help her, comfort her, and  take care of her the way she had so selflessly taken care of me. I had  never wanted to take care of someone like this before, but the need was  overwhelming.

She wrestled out of my grip and I thought I saw a tear form in the  corner of her eye. "I really need to get home. I can sleep once I'm  there. I don't need you to take care of me. I don't need you at all.  It's obvious you can't fix me. No one can. I'm fucking ruined and  there's nothing you can do for me. So please, just move so I can leave."  She sounded so determined and it caused a war within me-my heart versus  my head.         

     



 

"What are you talking about? We had sex. We were together, intimately,  and you didn't freak out. That's not improvement? That's not moving  forward?" The more I spoke, the faster the words came out and the more  the room began to spin. I needed to sit down but there was no way in  hell I would move out of her way and allow her to slip by. No matter how  much I wanted to hide from her after the last time I saw her, I  couldn't let her go.

"Except you saw me and you ran!" The lone tear slipped, followed by a dozen more.

I shook my head slowly, trying to keep my balance. I had no idea what  she was talking about. "Saw you? What does that mean?" I paused, trying  to take it all in. "You think I ran because of you?"

Ivy pulled into herself; her shoulders hunched forward and she wrapped  her tiny arms around her body. "Yes …  you stopped and then looked down at  me. There. And then you took off. I'm not stupid. I know what you saw. I  know why you ran."

"Clearly you don't if you think it's because of you."

"Then why?"

Could I really tell her? Could I really tell her what I had seen and why  I left without an explanation? That was my out …  right there as she  asked me. That was my chance to come clean and tell her everything,  finally tell someone everything. But I couldn't. A burning need  flickered inside of me, setting everything aflame. "Why would you think  it was because of you?" I needed to know her answer more than I needed  air to breathe.

"Because of what I look like … "

We were talking in circles and I couldn't take it anymore. I needed a  real answer from her. My feet moved forward until I was toe-to-toe with  her and tenderly grabbed a hold of her shoulders. I walked, making her  walk backward, until we were at the couch and she was sitting down.  Every signal she was emitting told me she didn't want to be there, she  didn't want to be sitting next to me, but she didn't move as I sat next  to her. With her hand in mine, I pressed for more. "I need you to  explain this to me. What do you mean the way you look? With words,  please …  real words. I need a real answer, and don't assume I know what  you're talking about because I don't."

"The scars," she whispered between silent sobs.

Scars?





"What do you mean by scars?"

I was hearing things …  that's the only thing that would make sense. She  swore to me she hadn't been abused, and I had believed her. There had to  be another explanation, I told myself. Scars …  what the hell was she  talking about?

"I don't want to tell you," she started to cry, hiding her face in her hands.

"Well, you have to give me something because I don't like what's going  through my head right now. You say I looked at your vagina and saw  scars …  I need to know what you meant by that. What kind of scars? And  how did you get them?" My brain immediately went into work-mode and I  leaned into her more, desperately hoping she would take her hands away  from her face. I needed to see her eyes, hoping they would comfort me  some.

All she did was shake her head and attempt to push away from me.

"Ivy, please," I begged. "Tell me." I grabbed her wrists and pulled them  away roughly. It was probably too forceful, but I didn't care. She  couldn't just tell me she had genital scarring and then stay silent. I  had a feeling we were on the edge of a breakthrough and I wasn't about  to let her hide from that.