Page 33 of Fourteen Years

“I’m sorry,” I started, my voice shaky, thin and breathless.

“Shut the fuck up and breathe, Monica,” he demanded. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Absolutely nothing. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling after your first…after having sex for the first time…” even he kept breaking off.

He seemed unsure of what to say, what to bring up, that wouldn't cause me to spiral further into the panic, instead of settling into the calm he was trying to provide.

“I’m here for it all. You can’t keep running from me. I thought I’d hurt you or something.” He was speaking softly now, as my breaths stopped racing and I gradually relaxed against him. He moved a hand up, releasing one of my wrists, and soothed it against my hair.

“I’d be shocked if you hadn’t had some kind of emotions after this.” He continued, “Fuck. I’m having emotions. He was my friend too, Monica. He was like a brother. He helped save me…”, his voice broke.

I turned to face him and wrapped my arms around him, drawing him closer to me.

“Just don’t keep running from me. Let me help, baby. Let me walk through this with you. When you can’t walk anymore, let me carry you. Let me fight the pain with you.”

I pressed my face against his neck, he was still naked. There was something very primal about this kind of grief. Both of us without clothes, wrapped around each other, healing.

“I don’t know what happened,” I tried to explain, my voice trembling. “It wasn’t you or what we did. It was amazing. It just hit me…” I continued.

His hands moved up, pulling me back and cradling my face gently, green eyes scorching into mine. He looked fierce.

“And when that happens you don’t shove me out. My love for you isn’t fragile, Monica. I know you loved Paul. I know this was a huge step. I’d have held you on the kitchen floor, the middle of the street, a crowded restaurant. Fuck, baby. Whenever you need me and wherever it hits you. I’m there. I’d walk through fire to get to you if you were hurting and needed me.”

I hiccuped a soft sob, more tears escaping my eyes, as he brought his forehead against mine and we breathed each other’s oxygen.

“I know,” I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing to me for things I’m supposed to help with.” He growled, fingers tangling in my hair.

“I fucking love you, Monica. That will never change. That has never changed.”

“I love you too,” I spoke softly, bringing my hands to rest on his chest.

“Come here,” he said, standing and bringing me up with him, holding me steady. Stepping into the shower, he pulled me in gently behind him.

“Let me take care of you,” he continued, guiding me under the water and running his fingers through my hair. “Let yourself be taken care of. You don’t have to be so strong all the goddamn time.”

So I let him. I willed my body to relax and let him gently wash my hair. Shampooing and rinsing it with more care than I did myself every day. He worked conditioner through the strands with gentleness instead of the harsh tugs I gave myself in the mornings.

As his hands roamed over my body with soap I felt myself coming down from the emotions of everything.

The nerves of coming here tonight.

Having sex with someone new for the first time in fourteen years.

The panic attack.

As he rinsed me off and held me, I laid my head against his chest, weary and drained. I felt like a vase that could be tipped over and broken at any moment. Bare and exposed. Groggy.

He turned the water off and stepped out, guiding me again. He wrapped a towel that smelled like him around me and used another to dry my hair gently before combing it. It was like he could sense I needed his presence but no words.

His eyes kept meeting mine in the bathroom mirror and all I could see there was love and concern. I felt safer and more taken care of than I had in a long time. He’d grown into an amazing man.

He took my hand and gently pulled me through the apartment to his bedroom. The king-size bed took up the majority of the room, and pulled the covers back.

He took the wet towels off of me and guided me to lay down and crawled in behind me. Covering us both he pulled me back, so that I was tight against him, wrapping me in his arms.

“Rest, Mon,” he soothed, kissing the back of my head, “I’ve got you.”

Chapter 19

---