Don't Worry, It's Fiction

It was just that kind of night, ya know? The kind of night where anything seemed possible - including actions without consequences. And it was him and you know how we are with each other. We were weak and we were desperate and we were silly. Mostly, we were dizzy from years of holding our breath.

So, there we were, on that night, giddy with our weakness and I made the mistake of thinking I could allow him to trace the palm of my hand with his index finger. We sat there for much too long watching his finger on my hand, not able to exhale. When I finally looked up, he caught my eyes and pleaded silently for me to not overthink this moment away. He looked sad and determined and I knew I shouldn't kiss him, so I pulled away my hand. But I was shaking and he knew that I would not go and that is when he layed me down and wrapped himself behind me. I tried to ignore his breath on the back of my neck. I tried to ignore the hearts that would be broken if they were to walk in the door right then. I tried to ignore the good girl in me that always plays by the rules. I tried and tried and then, finally, I turned to face him.

"What are we doing?" I asked him, placing my hand in middle of his chest, keeping him at arms length.

"Absolutely nothing." he answered and raised himself above me. "I promise."

And then there is a blur in my memory. I only remember that we invented a thousand ways to touch without touching. We didn't kiss, but he brushed his lips against the inside of my wrist and made a noise in his throat that sounded like anguish and I decided I could overthink this thing later and placed both my hands on either side of his face. I looked at him and knew full well what I was choosing and there was no black and white, just the grey of so much want and so much history and so much breath held.

Part of me wonders if we didn't both go a little mad that night. Or maybe that is just what it feels like to be a control freak not in control.

At ten to six in the morning, when we could no longer justify laying in each other's arms, he walked me to my car. The night air felt heavy with all my guilt. He opened the driver's door and stared at me, daring me to love him. But girls like me don't love men like him and I shoved my desire into the glovebox and tried to make light of the situation. Back in control, back in the driver's seat, I made plans to have dinner with him and his partner later that week. The pain on his face was fierce, but I tried to ignore it. On my way home, I noticed that I smelled like him and ran a red light.

I seldom think about that night, which is to say, I think about it often. I try to reget it, but can't seem to bring myself to. Sometimes these things are not so much secrets as they are just unexplainable stories. Sometimes these things are not so much stories as they are a whole lot of truth wrapped in a little bit of fiction...

with a dash of denial on the side.