Lust(43)

"Don't go," I begged as I ran my nose along her cheek. I was still  hovering over her, needing to feel her beneath me for as long as I  could. I felt needy and fought the desire to hold onto her forever and  never let go.

She finally pushed against my chest with her hands, creating space  between us. But as I leaned back, she began to sit up and the small  space that had been created in our changing positions quickly  disappeared. Her hand remained on my chest as she looked into my eyes,  the determination was evading.

"After all that, you can't just leave. Just stay a little longer, please."

Ivy released a slow breath and looked down to her hands where they were  flat on my chest just above my pounding heart. I was sure she could feel  it beating wildly behind my ribcage. "You need to eat and I need some  sleep."

"I just ate; I'm not hungry," I teased and it earned me a shy smile.

She slapped my chest and then moved her hands to her lap. "I don't know  how I feel about any of this, Cade." Her mouth opened as if she'd say  more but then closed and her hands began to twist together.

I reached out and grabbed them, keeping her from losing herself in her  insecurities. "Then let's talk about it. Don't leave like this. If  you're feeling something or unsure how you're feeling about something,  talk to me about it." I tried to keep my voice strong and confident, but  the words came out sounding as if I was pleading-which, in all  actuality, I was.

Her eyes rolled once before settling on the ceiling. She took in a  lungful of air and puffing out her cheeks as she released it slowly  through her pursed lips. I could tell something was going on inside that  head of hers, but I couldn't figure it out. I only hoped it wasn't  regret.

"This is so confusing," she began but then never finished. She looked  downward and it was obvious she was struggling with the situation as  much as I was. Even though I had come to the conclusion that I didn't  want her to leave and she wanted to leave.

I grabbed her by the chin and made her look at me. "What is?"

"This!" she exclaimed, waving her hand between our bodies. "Sometimes  you act like you have feelings for me. Other times you act like my  therapist. I don't know who you are from one minute to the next or how I  should act around you. And then there's still the question about last  week. You were into me and then in the blink of an eye, you were running  out the door. It was like you couldn't get dressed fast enough. Yet you  call me-drunk out of your mind-and tell me that you need me. You can't  deny that all of these changes in your behavior are confusing."         

     



 

"You're absolutely right. I've been giving you mixed signals." I knew  the issue with me leaving would come back up; she would want an answer  and I knew I would have to give her one. I just didn't know if I was  ready to start divulging all of my secrets I had kept hidden for so  long. I never shared them. Could I share them now with her? "But it's  not what you think. I feel something for you-beyond what I'm used to  feeling for other people. And as for me acting like your therapist, I  think that's because I do care about you so I worry about what you're  going through. It comes from the part of me that deeply cares about you  beyond the normal level of caring I have for my clients." My heartbeat  increased to a rapid pace as my chest tightened around it, knowing I was  about to explain part of my life that very few people knew about.

"What about your disappearing act? If you care so much about me …  what was that about?"

"Can you just answer one question for me before I answer that?"

Her forehead creased as her brows furrowed in confusion or concern-or  both. She nodded, silently agreeing to answer my question. I knew I  needed to know the answer, but I was terrified of it all at the same  time.

"That night …  did I hurt you? At all?"

She shook her head but answered anyway. "No. Not at all. Why?"

"I kind of blacked out …  more like spaced out I guess you could say and I  have been so scared that I was too rough or did something to hurt you."  My voice was small and sheepish; I had never heard myself sound like  that before.

Ivy swallowed audibly before licking her lips and asking, "Has that happened before?"

With a shrug, I answered honestly. "Yeah …  but it was for a different reason."

"I still don't know what the reason is. You say it wasn't about me, but-"

"It was completely about me," I interrupted. "It was about a hang-up  that I have. I can't-and don't-have sex on beds. It's never happened  before, but I was so into the moment, so into what we were doing that I  wasn't paying attention. I didn't even realize we were on your bed  until … " How the fuck do I explain this? "Until you came. For some  reason, all I could focus on were the bedsprings creaking and that's  when I realized where we were. It brought back too much and I freaked.  I'm so sorry, Ivy. It had nothing to do with you or anything you did. I  just found myself in a situation I was unfamiliar with and choked."

Her eyes darted all over the room as she tried to comprehend my words. I  could tell she was just as confused as before-if not more so. "But I  don't understand. You were fine. We were on the bed the entire time and  you were fine."

"That's because I honestly didn't even realize it. I was so wrapped up  in you that I wasn't paying attention. And that has never happened  before-ever. I have never been so into someone that I wasn't aware of my  surroundings or my actions." I had been so lost in my own head that I  wasn't aware of my actions, yes, but never someone else.

Ivy shook her head, looking as if she was trying to understand. "Why  can't you have sex on a bed? It doesn't make sense to me. Where do you  have sex, then?"

"You read books …  you know there are other places to fuck than just a  bed. I've already told you, Ivy, I don't make love. I fuck …  so a wall, a  counter"-I looked down-"a couch …  they all work just fine for what I  do."

"So you just don't like beds? Because it makes you feel like you're  doing something other than fucking? What do you have against making  love-or just normal sex? Did you freak out because of what we were  doing?" she fired the questions one after the other.

My mind was in turmoil and I had no clue where to even start. "My issue  with making love-as you call it-is that I don't believe in it. I wasn't  lying when I said I don't believe in love. Love ruins people. It blinds  them and leads them into a false sense of security. And when the  blinders come off, all that's left is destruction. So I don't believe  that there is such a thing as making love." I started to mentally  prepare myself for her reaction to the secret I was about to reveal and I  couldn't do it. I couldn't tell her. I took a deep breath and started  out slowly, by telling her just the beginning. "But that's not why I  don't like beds." I took another deep breath and then said, "When I was  eight, I was playing in my parents' room. I wasn't supposed to be in  there, but I was. My mom didn't know I was there; she thought I was in  my room across the house. When I heard her coming down the hall, I hid  under the bed. I didn't want to get in trouble and thought I'd just wait  until she left and then I'd sneak out. She'd never even know I was in  there, but she wasn't alone. Needless to say, I was stuck under the bed  the entire time she had sex, listening to the creaking of the bedsprings  and the slapping of the headboard."         

     



 

"That doesn't make sense, Cade. Kids hear their parents have sex all the time."

I shook my head. My breaths started coming out faster, but I didn't  think it was noticeable. I was so good at covering it up. I didn't know  if I could tell her the whole thing just yet. The entire secret. "She  wasn't having sex with my dad. I crawled under that bed as a kid and  came out …  broken. Those sounds that came from the room during their  sexual act are synonymous with destruction for me. They ruined my  family. They ruined me. So as you can see, I don't believe in love  because my mom was supposed to love my dad. Instead …  she made love to  someone else and demolished my foundation. She ruined everything she was  supposed to have loved; our family unit was destroyed in one afternoon  of sexual passion."

Her hand reached out and grabbed mine. "Really? This whole time your  issue with love, relationships, and sex has all been about your mom  cheating on your dad?" Her question wasn't condescending. She asked it  with a level of concern that surprisingly didn't bother me. "Cade,  people cheat all the time."

I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I would never be able to get her  to understand, and that was because I couldn't tell her the entire  story. I thought I could. I thought I could open up and share everything  with her the way she had done with me, but I just couldn't. Too many  scars had been ripped open for one day. The deeper ones I had carried  with me for so long would have to wait for another time. I was scarred.  Would I ever be able to trust her with the skeletons that were buried  deep within? It had been so many years and it seemed that the more time  that passed the deeper they were buried. They were hardly within my  grasp. I had no control when they resurfaced, reeling their ugly heads.