Chapter Twenty-Three

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Chapter Twenty-Three

TPOV

For a guy that prided himself on being patient for his girl, and being understanding when it came to her sexual hang-ups, I was really shitty at it.  I had a real knack for fucking up sex with her.  Sex in the alley notwithstanding, I apparently hadn’t learned anything from that, and was just as fucking impulsive and careless now.  I couldn’t even fathom afterwards what I was thinking that night.  I never should have let it get that far out of control.  I never should have let myself get that far out of control.  I should have asked more questions.  I should have stopped to get a condom.  I was such a fucking moron.  There was a sure-fire way to make your partner comfortable, and I fucked that up at every possible point I could have.  

That sad part was I had no excuse.  I promised her at the start that I wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.  And even though I know I asked, I couldn’t even remember if I waited for her answer before I started pushing inside.  I just let my dick do the thinking because I wanted to feel her so badly.  And the same argument that I had with myself after the alley kept playing in my mind—the difference between the words want and let, and I swore I would never have let be the situational decider again.  Except I did.  

I must have called her six times just the first day after it happened.  I needed to know she was ok, even if everything was over.  I couldn’t function without knowing if she was ok.  I didn’t sleep at all that day, or that night.  I wound up pulling close to a 72-hour stretch because I had work the next day and collapsed from nothing but exhaustion after work.  Aidan was badgering me for information, and for the reason I was suddenly always at the apartment and sleeping in my own bed when I’d barely been at the apartment for weeks before that.  He kept trying to keep things light, but somewhere around the fourth or fifth day, he must have realized the gravity of the situation and actually asked me what the fuck had happened and why I wasn’t over at her apartment every night.  

How could I even explain it when I didn’t understand it myself?  I mean, I knew her reaction; I just had no idea what I did to provoke it.  And that lacking piece of information was the only thing keeping me from camping outside her door or stalking the strip club again.  I must have started the walk to her apartment more than a dozen times, but I always forced myself back because I kept thinking the truth could be the only possible thing worse than not knowing.  

I was constantly distracted; going over and over and over the whole night, from the minute I got to her apartment to when she freaked out.  I couldn’t pin down one thing that stuck out in my mind as something that I did wrong, other than not taking enough time to make sure she was cool with what we were doing.  

I was such a monumental fuck up.  And that was really all I was ever gonna be; that was quite obvious.  I couldn’t imagine what she must have thought of me.  But as she wasn’t returning any of the numerous calls and messages I left, I had to assume the worst.  And it was killing me.  

It probably wouldn’t have been as bad if she reacted differently.  If she simply told me no and we stopped; things would have been awkward for a while but we could have talked about it, got it sorted out then, and made a plan for moving forward.  Now I had nothing to go on.  I had nothing to go back to.  And the fact that she’d been so…still; it really worried me.  What if the reason she wasn’t returning my calls was because she was still fucking catatonic or something?  It wasn’t like Jordan was going to call to let me know.  What made someone just flip that switch and go all catatonic?  What happened in her mind for her to slip that far away from me, where I doubted she really noticed my presence at all?  

Because I lacked the experience to understand it, I found myself looking shit up again.  And I didn’t know if I’d even call it that after I read shit.  Catatonia was manifested by stupor; motionless apathetic states where the subject is oblivious to external stimuli.  In a lot of ways she seemed to fit that bill, but she hadn’t been emotionless, and she certainly hadn’t been completely motionless either.  She cried, so I didn’t know what the fuck to classify it as; I just knew I had no idea how the fuck to deal with it no matter what the term for it was.  

I felt helpless.  I hated that feeling.  It was the same feeling I had when Michael killed himself; like there was nothing that I could have done that would have changed anything.  Or was there?  That was the fucking worst part.  

So I started wondering if some traumatic event from her past had happened similarly; or if she was really just that sexually… I didn’t even know what to call it.  She wasn’t unresponsive ever; it was just this one act that seemed to trigger shit.  

I basically drove myself nuts 24/7; analyzing and reanalyzing, and thinking of how I could have changed things.  How I could have gotten her to talk to me after.  How I could have forced talking gently without sending her psyche into some sort of defensive breakdown tailspin.  When I exhausted myself with options and scenarios and analyses, then I just wallowed in depression as I left messages day after day that just went unacknowledged.  Because if it wasn’t something I did, she surely would have talked to me by now.  As the week stretched on—literally the longest goddamn days of my life—I stopped leaving messages.  The longer it went on, the more hopeless it seemed.  I didn’t know how to just pick up my life again without her in it.  It seemed largely inconceivable to do so.  I wasn’t even sure I knew how to anymore.  And the more important thing was that I didn’t want to.  I’d been sick of the one-night stand cycle and all the random faceless people you met.  That was why I liked her to begin with.  She had a face; she had a personality.  She was different.  

I would become a recluse.  That was my backup plan.  That was more preferable; just stay away from people altogether.  Probably smarter, too.  

By the end of the week, I started bargaining with myself.  That if she didn’t call back or answer this time, tonight, by tomorrow, by the next day, three days, seven days, then I’d give up.  It was pointless; I just kept pushing the day farther ahead and calling once a day anyway.  It sort of became part of my routine.  Force myself out of bed and get ready for work.  Force myself not to stay in bed wallowing all day if I didn’t have to work.  Eat.  Pick up Caroline and try to be some semblance of normal.  Try not to seem like the only brother she had left’s life wasn’t falling apart around him.  Read and reread and finally throw the book across the room.  Try not to be a completely irritable bastard at work.  Try not to punch annoying people.  Try not to get arrested.  Call Allison.  Wait for the entirely too many rings to complete before her message kicked in and then hang up.  Put the phone down gently instead of taking out frustration on it.  Let Aidan get me drunk repeatedly.  Throw up in the bathroom.  Try not to think about how much better my life was with her in it.  Try not to throw everything angrily.  Wish she’d pick up the phone and just not say anything.  Anything.  Try to come to terms with the possibility of it being over.  Fail miserably.  

The longer it went on, the more desperate I felt.  I didn’t even care anymore if I was wrong and she was mad, or if this was all over.  I just needed to know she was ok.  I never wanted to disappoint her, and never intended to hurt her, and I came to this realization that no matter how hard I wanted to try, maybe I wasn’t what she needed, and she’d be better off with someone else.  Maybe her not calling was her way of telling me that.  Not patient enough.  Not gentle enough.  Not right enough.  Not understanding enough.  Not apparent enough.  Not careful enough.  

Then I felt really fucking stupid because what had made me think I could be what she needed anyway?  I had nothing to offer her.  I didn’t have a career path or some grand life plan.  I had father issues several miles long, a mother that I thought was too fragile to handle any of my bullshit, a guilt I’d never lose because of a brother I couldn’t save, and a sister that I’d probably fuck up just as badly as I’d fucked her up.  What was there for her to come running back to?  

~ ~ ~

It was another really shitty day in a string of really shitty days.  Patience was gone several minutes after I got out of bed.  I was hunting for a flannel shirt, and I knew I’d seen it relatively recently.  It suddenly dawned on me that I left it at her place, and had to take several deep breaths before I put my fist through the wall.  

Then someone knocked on the fucking door.  And I was not in the mood for visitors.  

Fucking A.  No one ever knocked on our door unless we ordered pizza or something, and anyone that wanted in, didn’t even technically have to knock.  It was just politeness if you knocked on our door and then waited for us to get there while the door opened on its own.  

Of course lazyass-Aidan hadn’t gone to answer it.  “Don’t get the door or anything, fucktard.”

He flipped me off on my way past.  If he wouldn’t have been basically the only one still talking to me, I might have said more.  He offered getting shitfaced in the apartment tonight; which was quite a large concession on his part as he thoroughly enjoyed the going out part of alcohol, so I couldn’t be too irritable with him.  And I didn’t work tomorrow, so there was no reason not to wallow in alcohol tonight.  

“Did you order pizza?” Aidan called from the kitchen.

“No.  Did you?”

“Nope.”  He popped the top on a bottle of beer.  “Wonder who it is then?  If it’s a tall, lanky blonde, I’m available.”

I scoffed. “Tall, lanky, blonde man, got it.”

“Fuck you, Tyler.”

“Back atcha, asshole.”

I grabbed the excuse for a handle and pulled the door open wider.  And then kind of gaped.  She was standing there in a baggy, old sweatshirt and jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and her leg bouncing a mile a minute.  Her hands fiddled with the seam at the bottom of the sweatshirt.  She still managed to look beautiful.  And seeing her, the ache in my chest just compounded about a thousand times.  “Hey.”

Hearing her voice live, and not on that goddamn voicemail, was so fucking surreal.  I missed it.  Holy shit.  “Hi.”  I stood there dumbly looking at her for a few seconds before my brain jumpstarted, and I moved out of the way. “You wanna come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Well?  Is it a tall, lanky blonde who’s just longing to suck my—Hey, Allison,” Aidan said from the kitchen, giving her a wave.

“Hey, Aidan.”

I looked over at him. “Hey, get lost.”

He nodded once. “You bet.  I was just thinking I wanted to go out.”  He grabbed his wallet and brushed past us.  “Nice seeing you, Allison.”

She smiled as he exited. “Yeah, you too.”

Oh man.  This was so fucking weird now.  Like, we both stood there for I don’t even know how long, not even looking at each other, not knowing what to say.  Finally I managed, “You wanna sit?”

“Yeah, thanks.”  She moved over to the couch and sat on one end of it.  

“You want anything?  Something to drink or…” I trailed off.  A shot of whiskey?  A cigarette?  A gun to shoot me with ‘cause it’d be over with faster.  Please aim for the heart or head.  Make this quick.  

She shook her head, a short smile while she glanced at me. “No, thanks, I’m good.”

I nodded.  Right then.  Shit.  Did I sit?  Stand?  Was standing, like, too domineering?  Would that make her uncomfortable?  Would me sitting make her more uncomfortable?  Should I sit in the chair?  Would that be rude?  Would she take that the wrong way and think that I didn’t want to sit by her?  Jesus fucking Christ, how did this get so complicated when it was all going so well?  I finally decided that standing there like a fucking dumbass was probably not going to help anything.  So I sat on the couch with her, but at the other end, giving her plenty of space if she wanted it.  I tried to read her reaction, her lips set in a line, but she didn’t give anything else away, so I didn’t know if that was the right thing to do or not.  It seemed like more than a week had gone by. Like an eternity since I’d seen her, heard her voice, seen her smile.  Fuck.  For all I knew, she was throwing in the towel tonight, and I still couldn’t think of anything but her, and the almost innate physical need to touch her.  To make sure she was real.  

“Are you ok?”  It slipped out before I could stop it.  Like breathing.  I had to know.  No matter what she was here for, no matter what she was going to say; I still needed to know she was ok.  That my failure had not done some irreparable damage.  

She nodded, the same small smile appearing briefly.  “Yeah, I’m ok.”  

“Good.”  That seemed genuine, truthful.  That made me feel a miniscule amount better.  “I called…” I added, leaving it open.  Only two, or three, or fourteen times.  

Her brow furrowed.  “I know.  I just needed some time to figure out what I wanted to say.  And I wanted to do it in person then…”  A beat passed.  “You ok?”

“Yeah,” I said, letting it out with a breath.  But…needed time to figure out what to say?  And in person?  That didn’t sound good.  That sounded…decision-worthy.  Final.  It occurred to me this could go even a lot worse than I had imagined, which was already pretty bad.  I wasn’t ok.  Not at all.  Because a very large percentage of my life hung in the balance here.  And she could lay something on me that I couldn’t even see coming.  

She nodded again. “Good.”

I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do here.  Was she waiting for me to start the conversation?  Because I didn’t know if that was what she wanted and I really thought she needed to talk first.  So I sort of just waited. Which sucked.  Because we’d always been able to talk before.  It was never this awkward, or at least not since the very beginning.  I kind of felt like we were starting all over again.  And I didn’t like that feeling.  I liked how communicative we were.  I liked knowing what was going on in her head.  But I didn’t know that right now.  And it sucked.  Some more.  

And right before she started, I realized that I’d do just about anything to make her stay.  And that I quite possibly was not above begging.  

She let out a deep breath, looking down at her hands.  “So…I need to explain to you what happened the other night.”

Yes, please.  Because I was clueless beyond something happened that she couldn’t handle or didn’t like.  I didn’t say anything though.  

Her eyes darted to mine.  “I’m sorry.”

My brow furrowed.  “What are you sorry for?  I’m the one that needs to apologize.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t.  It was just…”

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t…I didn’t push or anything, I don’t think.  I mean, I would have never… No means no.  I’m not one of those guys.  And I thought I asked you and you were into it.  And I’m like 99% sure you said yes.”

“I did, Tyler.  I did.  And I want to.  I do want to.  It’s just… I’m not ready.  And I guess I didn’t realize that.  Or I thought I was over it.”

“Did I do something?  Or not do something?  Or did it remind you of something bad?”

“No.” She shook her head quickly. “No.  You didn’t do anything.  It wasn’t you at all.  It was just that you were coming at me from behind, and I couldn’t see your face, and you were pulling me back and it was just… I dunno, it just triggered something for me.  But it wasn’t you—it was wonderful and you’re gentle and so fucking attentive and I just—it makes me mad that I reacted that way.  Because it couldn’t have been any nicer or gentler or different from what I’m used to.  And my mind still freaked out.  And I hate that.  I hate that it did.  And that I can’t control that.  But it didn’t remind me of anything.  There’s nothing else I have to compare it to, ok?  Things with you are on a completely different level than the shit that’s happened to me in the past.  So much better.”

“I didn’t think we were rushing anything.”

“We weren’t.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go that far.  I should have stopped after the oral.  I wasn’t thinking and I should have been.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.  I told you, I wanted to.  I do want to.  I just can’t yet.  And it’s got nothing to do with you.  You’re always great.  And you’ve been more patient than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“I still think it’s my fault.  I should have asked more.  Made sure.”  She was going to say something there, probably refuting that, but I kept going.  “Are you sure I didn’t do something?  Because you didn’t even want me to touch you then.  And you wouldn’t talk to me.”

She sighed, looking away from me. “I really don’t remember much of that.”

“It was like you were afraid of me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.  I remember asking you to stop and then not really anything else.  I just knew you were there.  But I’m not afraid of you.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that.  I mean, it was great she wasn’t, but her not remembering that entire span of time when I was afraid she wasn’t ever going to get back to normal, it made things even a little more complicated.  Because she couldn’t answer or talk to me about shit she didn’t remember.  

“You make me feel so different, ya know?  And I don’t know what to do with that a lot of times.  I told you that before.  And we just got caught up in the moment and I wasn’t ready for that next step.  Or like my body was more than ready and my mind wasn’t.”

I nodded. “Right.  Yeah, I get it.”  

“I can’t tell you when I will be ready, either.  And it’s really not fair of me to just string you along thinking it will happen when I can’t even tell you when.  Or if it ever will.  So…ya know, I understand if that’s something you don’t want to wait forever for.”  

She was playing with her fingers, and I watched absently, while this ache in my chest intensified thinking about her walking out and never coming back.  Never seeing her again or talking to her or holding her.  I didn’t want this to end.  And I didn’t care about how long it took.  And I hadn’t been trying to push us to that place, either.  

“I said I’d wait.  I meant that.  I didn’t plan for that to happen; it just kind of progressed that way.  I didn’t have some grand plan for sex that night.  And I’m still here.  I’m not going anywhere.”  I paused and then added quickly, softly, “And I don’t want to lose you.”  I managed to keep eye contact all the way until the end.  But I forced my head back up.  

She looked extremely relieved.  “I don’t want to lose you either.”

And that made me extremely relieved.  It felt like the entire chest-full of emotion and pent up anxiety in my stomach lifted a little.  I mean, I was still kinda freaking out because while we kinda hashed this out, I had no idea where we went from here.  Or what the boundaries were.  And it was clear, in my mind anyway, that I was never setting any again.  I wasn’t going to suggest or pressure or ask or proceed with anything unless she wanted it, and told me so.  

On the other hand, the intense need in every way, shape, or form to touch her was completely undeniable.  It felt so wrong the entire time she was here already, being in her physical proximity and not touching her in some way.  Or what I wanted to do from the second she pulled away from me the other night.  And it was a really good thing that no one else in the entire world would ever hear what a gigantic fucking pussy I was going to sound like when I asked her, “Can I hold you for a little while?”

She sort of sobbed out an answer with a nod and started falling towards me, and I moved closer quickly so she fell against my chest, her head buried in the crook of my neck and my chin resting on top.  With my arms around her, everything that had been wrong the last week eased, and I never wanted to let her go.  Thankfully, her arms wrapped around me were holding on just as tightly, and part of me wished I had tried to press this more that night, but who would have known how she would have reacted to that.  I breathed in deeply, letting it settle me further, and took in the softness and scent of her shampoo on her hair, the warmth of her.  “I missed you,” I said quietly, nuzzling into her hair.

She pressed back with her cheek and forehead, burrowing into my chest.  “I missed you, too.”

“Do you have to work tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Do you wanna stay here?”

She nodded against my chest. “I’d like that.”

I squeezed her tighter in answer, ecstatically happy at that moment, even though I wasn’t sure what it meant, nor did I want to assume anything.  “I can sleep out here on the couch if… If you’d be more comfortable with that.”

She backed out of my arms, and I wanted to grab her again immediately, but I held off.  “Is that… Is that what you want?”

My gut reaction was a raucous Fuck, no, but I tried to read her eyes, tried to figure out if she was for or against the idea of sleeping in the same bed with me.  It would have been weird not to sleep with her in the same apartment.  “No,” I said softly.  “Only if you’d feel more comfortable with that.”

She just watched me for a second.

“I’d rather sleep with you,” I added.  

She nodded. “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.”

I nodded back slowly, and then got up and started walking down the hall, forcing myself not to check behind me.  I didn’t know what the boundaries were as I led us into the bedroom.  I mean, I obviously knew that anything sexual was going to be backburner-ed for an indefinite amount of time.  But was affection allowed?  Could I kiss her goodnight?  She let me hold her on the couch, so that level of touching was ok, but I was apprehensive about suggesting anything else.  Suggesting period.  I just had to try and follow her lead.  My hand went through my hair as we reached the bedroom and it turned slightly awkward again.  It dawned on me she would need something to wear for bed and that at least gave me something to do.

“Right, I can get you a tee shirt and some boxers to wear for bed if that’s ok?”

She nodded, sort of staring at the bed like it’d bite her or something.  “Yeah, that’d be fine.”

I started rummaging through drawers to locate that, and I’m not sure if it was just because I wanted to make sure none of this got fucked up now or not, but I found myself dismissing certain articles because they weren’t right, and then realized how stupid that was because it was just clothes to sleep in.  They really didn’t require meaning.  

I turned to hand her the clothes and there was some more awkward shifting on both of our parts because she needed to change and so did I and neither of us was sure we were supposed to just start stripping or whatever.  

This level of apprehension on her part, or insecurity, or whatever it was, the look she was giving me; it hurt.  Because a week ago we hadn’t had this nervousness; there was only comfort and commonality; naturalness.  It was frustratingly like being back at step one.  Like she was uncomfortable with me seeing her now.  And part of the problem was, too, that I didn’t share those feelings.  I was only uncomfortable because she was.  I would have started stripping right away otherwise.  There wouldn’t have been any apprehension on my part because nothing had changed for me.  But there was a huge, tangible change for her.  For whatever reason, I wasn’t as comfortable for her anymore.  And because of that, I couldn’t just expect her to pick up where we left off.  

And it was all just off, like we were somehow transported to this alternate timeline where we both knew each other and everything fundamentally was the same but also glaringly different.  I mean, it wasn’t like I expected her to start ripping clothes off and making out with me; I just… I didn’t even know what the fuck anything was anymore.  It was confusing.  And disorienting.  And unnatural.  

“Why don’t I brush and you can change?” I suggested, because the whole staring at each other thing was working really well at solving things.  

She looked relieved.  “Yeah, ok.”

I nodded and turned wordlessly, trying not to let that hurt as much as it did as I shut the door gently.  What occurred in the bathroom then was probably the most half-hearted attempt at brushing ever.  It was probably also going to go down in the record books as the longest, because I wanted to give her time, but part of me was just reeling with the ridiculousness of all of it.  It shouldn’t be this way.  And no matter what she said, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault—like if I had just engaged my brain that night, we’d be fine and none of this would be necessary.  We’d both still be happy.  

I grabbed an extra toothbrush and put it out for her, wondering if there was a protocol for me going back to the room.  Like, was knocking required?  Did I ask if she was decent?  I’d seen her naked!  What was the point?  Christ.  I spent more time staring at the door than was necessary, thinking she probably had about as much clue as I did.  She was probably just as unsure on the other side of the door.  Still, opening the door unannounced seemed insensitive.  

So I knocked.  On my own fucking door.  

She must have been thinking that was as weird as I did, because she didn’t say, ‘Come in,’ or any of that shit.  She just said, “Yeah,” instead.

She smiled at me gently and I really couldn’t help but smile back because the shirt was huge on her, and it looked more like a nightshirt than a tee shirt.  “I left a toothbrush out for you,” I said, jerking my thumb out the door.  

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and ducked her head before ducking around me. “Thanks.”  I sighed as I riffled through my drawer before aimlessly grabbing boxers to sleep in.  I didn’t normally wear a shirt to bed, but I forced myself to take one out because that probably wasn’t going to help with the comfort level.  

I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out how we were going to sleep and if it was presumptuous to be in bed when she got back.

I mean, it was my bed.  And not being in it was probably more awkward, so I finally decided that it was easier if I was in bed because then she had the choice.  If she just wanted to lie there next to me or something; she could.  If she wanted to be closer, she could make the decision.

She looked a little unsettled when she found me lying in bed with my hands linked under my head, but it was the only way to ensure I wouldn’t touch her.  If my hands would have been unoccupied, all I’d want to do was reach out—feel that she was real again—hold her.  

The bed depressed on her side when she got in and we both just basically laid there staring at the ceiling silently for fuck knows how long.  All I could think about was the first time she’d shared this bed and how far apart we’d been, then.  And how similar that felt to now.  At that time, I knew that trust took building, and I was ok with the distance.  Rebuilding, no matter the circumstances, took even longer sometimes.  

I sighed, louder than I anticipated, and when I felt the bed start to move, I thought she was crying at first.  I turned my head and when our eyes met, it was evident she was laughing.

I smirked and chuckled and when she started to roll, I adjusted to cradle her against me and by the time her head was against my chest, everything seemed more intensely right.  Maybe I didn’t need to rebuild.  Maybe she just needed to rediscover.  The sigh I let out then was much more relieved and content, even if everything still kinda felt fucked up.

I wasn’t really tired, but I stayed quiet in case she was, and I couldn’t really tell if she was sleeping or not, but her breathing hadn’t changed.  

She actually kind of startled me when she said, “I started smoking again.”

I took a second to figure out if I was supposed to respond to that or not.  I brilliantly replied with,

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you…happy about that?”

“No.  Not really.”

“I’m sorry.  That’s probably my fault, too.  By the time I offered, I was kind of desperate for any response.”  I paused. “I didn’t really think you were going to.”

She nuzzled into me. “That’s not your fault, either.  It was my choice like anything else.  I’m just disappointed I caved.”

I didn’t say anything back; just rubbed up and down her back instead.

“I forgot how much I liked smoking, ya know?  It’s very calming.”

“Yeah, it is.  I don’t know what I’d do with myself sometimes if I didn’t smoke.”

“You mean like when shit blows up in your face?”

“Yeah, like that.  Or when you call fourteen times in a panic and the one person you want to talk to doesn’t pick up.”  The minute it flew out, I wanted to take it back.  One, I knew it’d make her feel bad, and I didn’t want it to.  Two, I realized it might make her mad and she’d leave again, and that was the last thing I wanted.  Three, I had to stop fucking this up if I wanted it to work.

I actually tightened my grip on her, wanting to make sure that she’d stay or at least give me the chance to fight it this time.  

She didn’t move though.  She was just quiet, and her finger started slowly tracing back and forth over the top hem of the pocket on my tee shirt.  When she stopped, she laid her whole hand flat against my chest.  “I’m sorry, Tyler.”

See, now I made her feel worse.  “I didn’t mean that you needed to apologize.”  I let that hang in the air for a minute.  “Can I ask you something though?”

She tensed slightly.  Not anything anyone else would notice because it was a minute change, but I knew her well enough to recognize it.  “Yeah,” she said, some tone between resigned and wary.

I waited a minute before asking, “Can we please not do it again?”

She relaxed on a quiet sigh, and nodded against my chest.  “Yeah, I don’t want to do this again.”

I squeezed her.  “Good.  So if something happens, which it never will again,” I added quickly, “just…I dunno… Smack the shit outta me or something or, I dunno… We have to have some kind of system in place or something.  So I know what to do.  What should I have done?  What could I have done differently?  What did you need?”

The questions pretty much just floated there, but I didn’t push her to come up with an answer.  We still needed one though—I needed one.  I needed to know how to deal with it if it happened again.  I needed some peace of mind that I’d know what the right thing for her was.  

Problem was I don’t think she could come up with answer.

“I think I was embarrassed.  Or maybe that came later.  I’m not sure really.”

That really wasn’t an answer either, but I think she was trying to get to one.  “You didn’t seem embarrassed when it happened.  I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

“Scary.”

“Because of the not talking?”

“No.  Not talking I can handle.  It was the way you looked at me like I was going to hurt you, and the way you shifted away from me.”

“But I don’t even remember doing that.  And I told you I’m not afraid of you.  But I can’t stop the way I reacted.”

“Maybe we can now.  Maybe we can control it together.  So you don’t go all radio silent for an entire night and morning.”

“How could we do that?”

“I dunno.”  

We were both quiet for a minute.

“Has this ever happened before?”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“What did you do then?  Or who helped you?”

“I don’t really remember them either.  And Jordan.”

“So you, like, black out?”

“No.  I mean, there are parts I don’t remember, but I always know where I am, I think.  I dunno, Tyler, it’s not exactly something I’ve thought about a lot.  They’re usually not good situations.”

I knew she didn’t mean it like that sounded, but I couldn’t help my mind going that way. 

She nuzzled me. “Shit.  I’m sorry, that’s notthat’s not what I meant.  I didn’t mean that things with you weren’t good.”

“I know.”

She was getting frustrated. “I don’t even know what to tell you.  It’s just something that happens.  And it’s not a lot.  It’s happened maybe three times.”

I couldn’t even begin to think then about what the other two times were like, and I couldn’t ask her about them now either.  Maybe it was just time to leave it for the night.

“Let’s just sleep now, ok?  We’ll figure it out.”

She let out a deep breath, “Yeah, ok.”

I couldn’t really say much was resolved, or that I knew exactly where we went from here, but she was here with me, and that’s kind of all that mattered to me at the moment. 

One (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two |  Twenty-Three  |  Twenty-Four  |