Memories to be Forgotten (Part 2)

The truth of my life, at that moment, was that Reality is a bitch.

I doubt that I ever thought he would face the ramifications of our actions while standing next to me because it was something I could never ask of him. I had justified that asking him to wait for me was more than I deserved- Now I’m left grasping to remain focused because the possibility of what his response could have been leaves me petrified.

He was eighteen, I remember because I reminded him of it often after he teased me- how could I have asked him to be an adult with me? I wasn't able to convince myself that request was fair. I felt a new piece of me begin to tear. His trust was rendering my thoughts suffocated. I was anxious to fix everything and everyone but there wasn't a Band-Aid big enough to amend all of the consequences.

I confessed everything to my father and he didn't waste any effort in trying to mask his disappointment- he left me suffering in silence while he thought of a response. I anticipated a hard truth but I hadn't prepared for how cold it would feel. He reminded me of who had more to lose and questioned if I could do that to an innocent person – I was lost in that moment before I realized that I couldn't do it.

Did he know I was slipping away? Could he feel the distance I was putting between us? I could and it tasted bitter like a cold penny dissolving on my tongue.

There was nothing sweet about our last night together- he was mad at me and I used it to wedge us further apart. I used his anger to make the disconnection easier- then I left.

He argued that I ruined everything- he said the mess was entirely my fault; but he knew of my situation.

I never intended to leave him feeling abandoned or cast aside! I only meant to let him move on, free of the penance I was left to pay. My punishment was the disease of festering guilt feeding on memories I had refused to release.My intention was to have him be spared of the pain and guilt I had to endure because I was the adult in our relationship.

If I lost focus, the barriers on my mind would slip; my thoughts would be concerned with him. I caught myself hoping he was doing well and imagining he had been left unscathed. I never considered he would feel pained by my decision- and I never considered he would focus on each of my flaws daily until he magnified them to a disgusting hatred for me. If I had realized sooner I would've tried to help him.

Days died with the sunset and were reborn with the sun rise- months passed before I could consider exposing my existence to him. I thought he was fine because his laughter would echo into my classroom; I never forgot his voice.

I wanted to apologize to him, for everything! I had decided to accept complete responsibility because I realized that not everything can be divided both equally and fairly.

His voice traveled into my class near the end of the period during each of the lectures; it was reoccurring and could be timed to the final ten minutes of class. I dedicated seconds of dwindling minutes to listen to his tone to detect signs of happiness- I thought he was fine.

I was hesitant with the action of apologizing because I was worried it would do more harm than good, but I had to know he was doing well. I’m ashamed of my apology because it was composed in a cowardly manner and delivered through an email. My trepidation in facing him was founded in the uncertainty as to whether he wanted to see me. He accepted my sincerity and we proceeded to be playfully platonic as long as he thought I was unavailable.

Memories to be Forgotten (Part 1)

Sometimes to erase memories, we have to start at the beginning. The issue is remembering everything from the start can hurt- I can already feel my chest tightening to hold the pieces of my heart together–
Is it worth ripping open these deep wounds to forget?

The starting point was the beginning of a fall semester, some years ago . I had just finished running up three flights of stairs to rush into my theater class . I was late and feeling anxious, it wasn't a new feeling for me- but despite my mental disarray, I noticed him . I suppose it would've been hard for me to be unaware of his presence considering his height-  compared to my petite frame, he towered over me . Secretly, I think  I liked that
.
Although we sat near each other,  it was obvious he paid me no mind, so  I sought out to gain his attention. I was drawn to his laid back demeanor; he had always be so easy going.

Originally, I may have noticed him for his height, but my first observation was in his hands. He had long, masculine fingers- they were flawless. His nails were always well-kept, never too long and always clean. In spite of their utter beauty, his hands never looked feminine- maybe that was because his beautiful, masculine hands were connected to his beautiful, masculine wrists which were connected to his beautiful, masculine arms. Observing his beautiful hands, that was the start of my attraction to him.

Each class period, I’d seek him out- he was quickly becoming my addiction. I always wanted to be near him, to engage him, and to have him notice me. I found him on a social networking site and located his number – that day, I texted him. Our texts were playful and revolved around food; all the while I attempted to remain anonymous- he figured me out.

 We started spending more time together.  Classmates had asked if we were dating- I’d deny it, but if we weren't dating, then what were we?

I asked him to walk my dogs with me, I was sincerely afraid to walk alone, and he complied. During that walk, he did the most beautiful thing I had ever seen a man do- he got down on one knee and poured water into his cupped hand; he made a bowl for my dog. That night I talked to my mother about my feeling and she knew I had a crush, given my circumstance, she warned me to be careful.

My emotions only grew stronger and I began to desire more physical contact, more of his hugs- I was completely and utterly infatuated.

Autumn was ending and I was being torn apart inside. I was able to suppress the pain by focusing on my desire- him.

One night I called him after a dance  rehearsal- he drove to the school to pick me up and then took me to eat. His car had sentimental knickknacks. A cowardly lion sat on the dashboard and his graduation tassel dangled from the rear-view mirror. His car was loud for being a Pacer, but he was driving; his hands were on the wheel so I felt safe. That night he made me a small origami rose from scrap- he had such talented hands.

I learned we had a hobby in common,  we each enjoyed snowboarding. He went to the School’s snowboarding club with me to purchase my season pass. I was elated that there was a chance for us to spend more time together.

The snowboarding club was having a raffle at a local Grill; he drove us there and then to a store so he could make a purchase his upcoming project. He carried me to the car, through the parking lot; I can’t recall any other guy being able to carry me so securely. In his car, I curled up in my seat and day dreamed. Maybe he was beginning to like me, too.

It felt like all our teasing, wrestling, pushing, and pulling were foreplay and the moment he lifted me onto the hood of my car, I became unhinged. The heat spread over every surface of my body, it was the first time I had ever blushed that intensely. Every part of me was on fire and he was between my legs. The cold metal pressed against my back and his hands were on me, I was becoming dizzy. The threads of my control were fraying; I had to leave- I had to get away from him.

Later that week I confessed what that simple action had done to me, he seemed surprised that I was so easily embarrassed and all I wanted was for him to make me feel that embarrassed again. The memory still ignites a fire and causes a shiver. After that, I lost control.

I don’t recall when it happened, I just remember wanting to share myself with him- I wanted him to feel the heat that I felt; I wanted him to feel how much I burned for him.

It started in my truck with territorial marks; his hands were holding me while his teeth were scrapping against my skin, but he always had more self-control than I did. His neck had a glaring purple mark for a week. We joked that a flying doorknob had hit him, maybe because we liked feeling like the truth was our own private secret.

Later, a blazing gust overtook me; I was left straddling him- and apologizing. Perhaps I could have stopped myself from using him, but more than anything- I didn't want to. Every day I wanted more of him and my sanity couldn't say no anymore.

Truth be told, he was amazing- he set all my nerves on fire. It scared me. I became more torn than ever and I had made myself this way.

Up in the snow with friends, we were casual; but I’m sure everyone knew of our relationship. I couldn't keep myself from liking him more than I ever wanted to admit, so I pulled away. Deep down, while falling apart, I was a coward. The only proof of faith I could offer him was allowing him to be my only partner. My body was honest, it knew it wanted only him, but my mind was still sorting through its own conflict.

Time and time again, I’d wake up in his bed. I slept more peacefully there than I did in my own home because in his bed I could be honest, I could offer him all of me and accept everything he had to give. In his shower, I’d ask him questions and he was always so honest about everything- so why didn't he act like he wanted me more?

After Christmas, he took me to my favorite breakfast place; I’m surprised he had memorized my order- maybe that’s why I want to cry ?

When we were full,  we took the remains to-go and headed for his hometown. His town was smaller than mine, it was charming though. The house he grew up in was large; I always thought he was a little spoiled. It’s one of the reasons I was convincing myself to not be in love.

It rained on us while we were at the school, kicking one of his soccer balls; but that was okay because the scene was mesmerizing . Beyond the school were rolling hills layered in lush green grass- I took a photo of those hills and kept it.

While in town, he introduced me to his best friend, I watched them play pool. He was so tall and graceful, and always had beautiful hands. That evening he, his best friend, a companion, and I drove around through the night.

The next day he gave me a memory that still scorches my senses and leaves me feeling dazed.

He offered me a wonderful vacation from my own life, I was willing to promise him my world to satisfy him; too bad my reality was at home.

Lost Moments

I could feel his arm draped over my body and his large hand encasing my small one, holding me against him. His heat pressed flush against the cool skin of my back. A tremble rocked through me at the intimate sensation. He’d always been capable of igniting each of my nerves.
He shifted his weight on the bed behind me. I felt him move over my body before I became lost in him. So rapidly, my senses were overwhelmed; my only anchor to reality was his hot breath licking against my ear. Through my daze, I realized he was asking if I was okay. The weak smile I gave him was forced and accompanied by an enthusiastic nod. At that point I was certain words would not have been able to escape my tightened throat.
He lay back down beside me and continued to hold me close. How was I supposed to tell him that I feared the end of this? Because, for me, all of "it" had never been casual.

He left me with a stigmata

To surmise, He left me stigmatized.
His vengeance burned against my iced decision.
I felt His malice lick the shackles binding my heart
and I conceded to His whim.

His lust was my rapture-
and I was more than willing to be used-
to be destroyed.

He was like a fiery tornado
resolved to incinerate any shadows of joy I had left
and I let Him
because somewhere in that scalding moment
I fell in love with Him.