Page 62 of The Way I Am Now
We’ve done this all before, though, I remind myself. It’s safe with him, safe to let it feel good. It’s safe to stay in this place.
I reach down to find some part of him to hold on to—his hair, the back of his neck, his arms, his wrists—and when his hands meet mine, it’s like an anchor, our fingers interlacing, pulling me back. He’s pushing me right up to the edge, but I can’t let myself go. Because I’m looking up at my ceiling, and it looks too much like too many other unfamiliar ceilings I’ve been under, and even though it’s him,us, it’s different now than it was back then.
I’ve had so much practice keeping Kevin out of my head in these moments, and I mostly succeed. It’s the others, though, this time. The nameless, faceless ones, dragging me away from here. I close my eyes again, trying to focus on how good this feels, his mouth, his tongue, the warmth, the rush of it all, but—
I let go of his hands. “Josh . . . ?”
“Yeah?” He crawls back up to me. “What is it, are you okay?”
I nod and try my best to smile. “I’m okay, I just—”
“That was too much, too fast, wasn’t it?” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it wasn’t. It felt so good, really; I was just starting to get in my head a little. It’s, um, been a while since I’ve done this too.”
“Oh,” he breathes, looking at me like he hadn’t considered this. “Okay. Well, just tell me what you need.”
“Can you just stay here with me, close to me, I mean?”
“Yeah, of course.” He lies down next to me, kisses my shoulder, and says, “I’m staying right here. Do you want to stop? We can. I promise I won’t mind.”
I shake my head and take his hand, sliding it down my body again, guiding him to where I want him. “I don’t want to stop,” I tell him. I want to be here for this—all of it. I want to feel everything. I don’t want to let these fucking ghosts in my head win.
I’d forgotten the way he pays attention, as if nothing exists but us. I pull him close, so I can feel his weight against me. There’s no fear or impatience or self-consciousness in his touch. He holds steady, watching my face, keeping me with him. I feel my breath coming faster, trembling as he tips me over the edge in a way I’ve never known before, feeling it somehow beyond my body, even. And then he’s kissing my lips, my neck, my chest.
“You are amazing,” he’s whispering, breathing heavily now like he’d been holding his breath that whole time. “God, I want you so bad—sorry, can I say that?”
“Yes,” I answer, trying to catch my breath while stopping myself from smiling at his words. I open my eyes, not even realizing I’d closed them. “But you have something, right?”
He looks over at our clothes on the floor. “I do. You want me to get it now?”
I nod.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. I watch as he walks over and fishes the condom out of the pocket of his shorts. The way he’s looking at me as he climbs back into bed—like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen—I could just die. “Just tell me if we need to stop at all, okay?”
“I will.”
He’s going slow, being careful. The way he’s watching me so closely, his eyes dark and deep and warm, has me sort of hypnotized. I have a montage running in the background of my mind of all the times he’s looked at me like this—making me feel weak and strong, all at the same time. He moves gently, his breath even and paced now, and I can tell he’s trying to restrain himself.
“I love you so much,” he says quietly, his mouth against mine. “You know that, right?”
I nod because I do know. But I can’t speak because I feel the walls of my throat suddenly caving in, heavy with too many competing emotions, and words sitting there waiting, trying to figure out how to get out of me. I clutch his shoulders as we move faster, together, breathing each other in.
It’s kind. Delicate. This giving and taking.
I’ve never been so present. Never this connected to anyone, not even him. I’m holding on to him so tight and I have to bury my face in his neck because, I realize, I’m crying. Crying because I’ve never felt this way before. About him, about myself. I don’t even know whatitis, but I feel it in my body, my heart, my mind, everywhere—it’s everything.
And then I know, all at once: This feeling is freedom.
Even as he finishes, he’s still being so gentle with me. We pant against each other for a few moments before he tries to raise himself up off my body. But I hold on, keep him close. “No, stay,” I tell him.
“Look at me, Eden,” he whispers, brushing my hair aside. I turn my face away because I don’t know how to explain. “You’re crying.”
“No, I’m not,” I try to say, but I hear my own voice, all wet and raspy.
“Yes, you are.” His hands are on my face now, his eyes searching mine. “Talk to me. Did I . . . ?” He pauses. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I gasp, and the tears are coming faster now. “No, I’m crying because I’ve just never felt like this. Ever. I’ve never felt so . . .”So happy, cared for, respected, even. But then I say what all those things really mean: “So loved.”
