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“Are you okay?”
“No,” he answers, shrugging.
I sigh, turning away, not bothering to ask him to elaborate. I’m not sure I want to know, and in reality, I already know he’s not. Just as I’m about to walk out, he reaches for me and grabs my hand, pulling me toward him.
“What are we doing, Noah? This, us avoiding what’s really happening between us, it’s not healthy.”
He’s silent, staring back at me, almost as if he’s waiting for something. His lips part and my heart jumps. This is it. He’ll say something to make it better or drive us further apart. “I don’t want to talk about her if that’s what you’re wanting.” His eyes are deep, voice raw, watching my reactions, my reasons swirling in my too-glossy eyes. He knows by him avoiding it only pushes me further away, yet he still does it.
He pulls me down until he’s sitting on the edge of our bed with me kneeling in front of him. His hands shake as they reach my cheeks, eyes red, wavering. Whatever this is between us is so fucked up.
With a frustrated sigh, wanting to get up and leave, my forehead leans against his knee and the tears break through.
“Look at me,” he demands, sounding broken and desperate.
Unable to control my sobs, I shake my head. He stands and lifts me to my feet before placing me in the center of our bed and covering me with his body. I’m so tired, my eyes dry, red, and burning that I can barely keep them open. And then he kisses me. It’s forceful as if he’s trying to show me he’s here for me in this way, but only this way. Emotionally, he can’t offer me anything more, and I don’t know if that will be enough.
“I don’t want to see you cry anymore,” he whispers into the curve of my neck.
“Then talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
Lifting his lips from my neck, he covers my mouth, not waiting for my reply. His hips start to move and my eyes roll back. Noah’s way of deflecting his emotions is sex. It’s his distraction. He clearly needs something, but what he won’t say. His movements are harsh, never remaining in one place for very long. At my lips, my neck, my chest, and then moving back to my lips as if this is the answer.
“Noah,” I whisper, kissing him back.
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes catch mine.
“What are we doing?”
I watch the emotion on his face, the way he blinks, the pause, all of it. He mumbles, “I love you,” against my lips, so quietly I’m not sure I hear him correctly. But then I think about those three words. Are they enough? Do they mean anything anymore?
Noah works my shirt up to palm my breast with the one hand that’s not splinted. Then my shirt is gone, tossed quickly with my bra, and soon after, his shirt with it. Everything is happening so fast it’s hard to process or keep up with. He’s hovering above me and when I see the glossy edge to his eyes, I start crying again.
I look up at him, his eyes hooded and breathing shallow. He slides off the bed, standing in front of me. Unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, he pulls them down. Returning to the bed, his hands move to my leggings and yank them off just as quickly.
Reaching between us, he positions himself there, lining up, ready. I can feel him, wanting to move. Watching me so carefully, and then he enters me. Still hovering over me, his arms tremble from the weight bearing down on them. Slowly kissing my neck, he begins to move and my body curves around him.
Dropping his forehead onto my shoulder, he whispers something I can’t hear. Wanting to see his face, I peek up at him, the sunrise from our open window catching his dark eyes, red and wavering. He draws in a sharp breath when his body begins to shake, his mouth returning to mine as we share breaths. It isn’t long before his body trembles, and I realize he’s about to come again. And I know we’re avoiding, and this isn’t healthy, but I’m doing this for him. Bringing him the edge of that blissful high, even if emotionally I might have lost him completely.
When we’re finished, Noah rolls off me and covers his face with his arm. I slip off the bed and into the bathroom.
The light is blinding, the sight of blood a reminder. I wash off in the sink and then slip into one of his T-shirts before returning to the bed. I’m careful to keep to myself on my side of the bed where we’ve drawn our invisible battle lines.
Noah’s breathing heavily, not asleep, but maybe not fully awake either. For the last year, this is the side I see every day. He’s unreachable, his reactions ice-cold, nothing but brief kisses and tired responses. I want to curl into him, listen, and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, but I don’t. I wait for him to make an effort.
It isn’t supposed to be like this and every day, I fear the words “I’m not in love anymore,” or “I want a divorce,” but I’m not sure who they’re going to come from first. Me or him.
Even breaths fill the silence of our room, and my heart cracks open a little more. I turn to give him my back, to curl in on myself, my pain too raw to be exposed. But he knows. He always does. The question is, does he care?
Ten
Pushing Forward
(I wish I was pushing into something else. Warm, wet, tight… you get the point.)
You knowwhat everyone says about Viagra? How it’s a four-hour erection?