Every time, the nightmare is the same.
Lucidly I'm breathing. I can feel the push and pull, the give and take, the tide of air rushing through foreign lungs, but it's the unknown anxiety, the one beyond my control, that attacks during my unconsciousness; latching itself onto the hallucinations of my oblivion.
It's become a nightly visitation that emerges under the masked veil of my sleep. The manifestation beginning deep within my lungs. Seeping in like a vapor, slow and deliberate, determined to suffocate and smother the available oxygen until I'm left wheezing under it's expansion. My bronchi is silent, constricting painfully as I try to call out under the pressure. It quickly transforms into a desperate fight under it's fabrication.
This incurable sensation is entirely unwelcome. As unwelcome and harmful as the destruction I feel under the shadow of ghostly hands. They linger in the foreground waiting for the right moment to violate. And when they finally do decide to strike they're a mess of fingers and fists, all pushing and pulling and pounding at my body; they're realistic entity's determined to haunt and harm the physical. When the flesh finally puckers under the force of their manipulations, audibility informs the cognizant; the illusion of pain is unreal and my bones deteriorate under the violent onslaught.
The despondency of this nightmarish illusion manages to unfold further when the physical sensations are accompanied by the unfamiliar voices circling the air. The sounds I can make out under the promise of sleep clamor together until their slurred speech turns coherent. Broken words fight for attention until phrases like "She's not breathing", "Ms. Bates", "Hello, can you hear me?" echo their vocalization. Unrelenting they continue to attack from all sides until screams evolve into one convergent roar; it effectively deafens any semblance of coherence I cling to. And despite this physical mortality I'm feeling, the vociferation I'm experiencing is most definitely worse, because beneath it all, the torture, the struggle for air, the vocality, I can still make out his tormented cries. Hearing his pain is much worse than my own.
Regrettably there's no deliverance in the extrication because it's impossibility to an unwilling participant. And even as I deteriorate under it all there's something deep inside of me that understands that whatever I'm experiencing is not real. But the severity of this new routine continues to prey on my weaknesses during moments of sleep I can't control, and no matter how hard I fight back, or how desperately I call out, it's grasp is inescapable and I succumb to the sensations regardless of any conscious awareness.
I only find release when I when I recognize him screaming my name in the present.
And from that moment on it's always the same. I lash out, my arms and legs flailing, my lungs and voice screaming as I fight against the lifeless perpetrators; clawing my way back to an alert existence. But instead of achieving the balance of reality when I'm ripped from these nightmares, I end up fighting him off instead.
Truly I am thankful for his protection during these episodes but despite the comfort his company encompasses, I've managed to inflict destruction through it all.
And at first the physical damage was almost imperceptible but as the visions contorted into grisly reminders of the truth, damage escalated in tandem. And the countless bruises and errant scratches I've left behind on his skin increase with intensity. It's incomparable to my self preservation. It was his safety I valued before my own.
I've forced countless arguments over the issue of his abuse these past few days and despite his heated opposition to the contrary I've forced him elsewhere during my recovery. The exhaustion of this whole ordeal has taken it's toll on both of us and nights spent in isolation are easier to self harm than abuse. So when he does intervene, the repeat rescue creates a delicate dance, it's one mixed with mutual hurt and the will to restore the damaged; words are left unsaid but he protects regardless of my indifference.
And no matter how physical I get he's always there. His vigilant presence continually calming, strong arms supporting, holding and sustaining until I regain alert recognition; his body always trying desperately to assure my tranquility.
The hospital was much the same.
When I woke, the first few moments of my dazed comatosity were pleasant and the ebb and flow of my medical sobriety led to an albeit cautious existence. The surrounding voices were hushed, touches gentle, but my physical manifestation was a hallucination to all of them. Temporary and destined to dematerialize if one ventured too close; never for him though. His unwavering presence in the aftermath was just another testament to his constant surveillance; he was a man conditioned to protect what he held dearly. The mere thought of it, or what I was to him, ate away at my conscience because I knew what I had wrote and what I had left behind.
And I halfheartedly let myself assume it's was the same with Norman and I. A small delusion I'd allowed myself believe in while hiding underneath the overwhelming guilt of my conscience. I was a mother so deeply blinded by the love of her family, it easily disguised the truth, a truth I couldn't even recognize when fully directed at me. I should have seen it coming though because everything he'd ever done I brushed under a metaphorical rug, let someone else fix what I couldn't hide, until all of it spilled out of Pandora's box, slapping me in the face. And that inevitable hit was a hard blow take because now I know what he's done, can feel it in every restriction of my heart, and tear I let fall. I still have yet to voice it aloud. But it happened just the same.
The biggest difference this time is that the devastation is beyond repair; the facts are undeniable anymore. And in the the investigation that followed "my accident" there were pieces of information discovered through rounds of questioning, old skeletons drudged to the surface, and the presented evidence was unmistakable in the construction of the final puzzle.
And from what I can comprehend through all of the muddled details, Norman, my own flesh and blood attempted to orchestrate my suicide when his real intentions backfired; tried to cover up horrendous actions and discard my very existence with a lie.
He wanted us to end it all together.
I said something to him once. Something along the lines of "You'll kill me Norman". At the time they were just harmless words spoken under the influence of my frustration, fear during an argument, but I underestimated the severity of his illness then, didn't realize how he must have twisted my sentiment; the unpredictability of his mind was undeniable anymore.
And in that regard Dylan and Alex have managed to take care of a task that was inescapable. One that I would never be able comprehend or complete to fruition. Because I wasn't in a state to make decisions; would never be when it came to Norman. My fragility and indifference concerning him would never truly allow him the help he so desperately needs. So I hate to admit it but this intervention is welcome; I guess we were always destined for tragedy.
But any acceptance for me is difficult. Because it picks at my open wounds; the ones that refuse to heal. Wounds where admitting my failures leads to the unstoppable and those relentless nightmares are left to materialize when it festers. And when they spiral beyond my control once again I'm right back to the very beginning of it all. So he whispers. He whispers words of comfort, sentences he tries to fill with warmth, love, and nonsensical admissions. But as my fight advances to the realm of the living there's one phrase that always delivers the hardest blow.
"It isn't real. Norma it's ok"
But it was and it's not, because I was dead for two full minutes. A full one hundred and twenty seconds where my heart refused to beat and lungs refused to breathe. And it's all so casual, I mean it takes two god-damn minutes to sort, start, and change over laundry. A medial task that holds no significant meaning in anyone's existence and my life, was, is exactly the same. It makes me want to scream because if I had managed to die no one would really have taken notice, hell it even took me dying to notice. I'd left a life without context. Just another punctuation in the definition of my mediocrity. But right now, in this emotional aftermath I'm not sure how to rebuild something that I never had to begin with and no one around me seems to understand how terrifying that is.
So I've taken control the only way I can think of; I've stopped sleeping or really eating for that matter. I know it's not rational, but I'm past rationality. I'm not going to waste a single second on something that's out of my control. I refuse to let the visions come, or the guilt attack me when I'm unaware and unarmed to combat.
That being said I'm being treated like a child.
"Norma you need to sleep" and eat and change your clothes, and I just can't bring myself to fucking care about any of it. I understand where it's coming from, I know it's unhealthy, and if the roles were reversed I would most definitely be arguing the same, but I desperately want normalcy. And maybe, just maybe, I am being obstinate but I'm not fragile. I'm a grown woman who's always been stronger on her own. Worked best by herself and it's the only small sliver of self preservation I can cling to right now. No one needs to worry about Norma Bates.
Of course they do regardless. Because wearing this oxygen tank makes people uneasy.
It's only temporary for the worst CO poisoning White Pine Bay's hospital has ever seen, but in the short time I've had it, it's already made it's impact. Because now I'm a perfect reflection of everyone's mortality; a person defined by their circumstance. And I feel ugly wearing it, and horrible, and frustrated beyond expression because everything in my life has become daunting because of it's presence. My reflection in the mirror, going up stairs, just maneuvering around in survival; my mediocrity mocking. And to accentuate the cherry on top of this disaster sundae it catches on everything, causing me to trip or stumble, and it's beyond frustrating. And when it happens for the thousandth time in just a few short days I wonder if it would have been easier to slip off into oblivion. I never knew Emma was this strong. I'm not this strong.
But life continues on despite the contrary, and today, the sun rises as I sit alone. I can't exactly see it yet but when I look over at the window I know its arrival is imminent. I can hear the birds singing; their songs floating in with the breeze; curtains fluttering. Their incessant trills just marking another night where I refused to succumb to the temptation of sleep.
Each of these mornings is a small victory. Meaningless achievements that hold no real significance but they help vindicate advances in my unhealthy crusade regardless. Small goals that have no intention of completion because deep down I know when to admit that this self imposed contest has lost its amusement. And I'm not exactly sure what I am trying to prove anymore; the bags under my eyes becoming a physical testament to the foolishness of it all. But my stubbornness won't allow any vocal admittance of the opposite. Absolutely unacceptable underneath this layer of self-constructed apathy.
I can't dwell on my personal feelings too much because I have other things to worry about, people other than myself to take care of. And if I busy myself with enough tasks for their well-being I don't seem to notice the debilitating exhaustion as much. It allows me to continue hiding from the self deterioration. And so I'll start hiding from it all by making him breakfast. Even though I never touch any of it, I know he will. Alex has always been appreciative of that kind of gesture. But today more so, because the the first days back to work are always the most daunting.
He hasn't worked since that night. Didn't even answer his phone when it rang. Said other people could take care of it, because he had something more important to care for. He let the world cover his responsibilities while we recovered. But life has a way of catching up with you; it has to resume sometime; today is his day. And right now I know he's not awake yet, way too early before he has to be, but as I walk through the desolate stillness of the morning I can't help but sneak into his makeshift bedroom. And the door he constantly leaves open for fear of missing my call, makes it incredibly easy to arrive undetected; I have no intention of waking him.
Arriving I selfishly let myself watch him sleep. He's peaceful under it's embrace but his face reflects so many troubled thoughts; the perfect contrast of our current life. Tranquil on the surface but agitated underneath. And I react without considering, without stopping, and my hand caresses the brow of his forehead; the touch smoothing the contortion; he relaxes further into the linens.
It's going on day seven, four with the nightmares, three without sleep, and yet we still haven't talked about anything. Consistently avoiding one-another except for the occasional argument and his unwavering support during the nightly trauma. I miss him terribly, miss what we had and where we were in our relationship, I miss loving him. God do I love him. And he doesn't deserve any of this shit, any of the worry, or the damage I cause him. He deserves so much more than this, so much better than me. The emotion threatens to choke my breath so I leave him to the promise of his comfort a little longer.
And I'm downstairs for a good forty minutes, procrastination getting the better or me, before I finally hear the creak and groan of the floorboards above me. His weight shifting their position as he walks around upstairs. The sounds of his footfalls echo a route directly to my room; he always checks on me first. Always too damn protective. God he deserves so much better. Standing at the counter I fight off the moisture building in my eyes.
But it never takes him long to complete his morning routine. He's always been a man with a sense of urgency so the usual shower, shave, and dress in uniform is completed in record time. And after he's finished it's not long before I can sense his presence in the kitchen. He lingers underneath the threshold where hallway meets entrance because he's waiting for my cue. Any sign that will offer an invitation to enter because he's unsure of where he belongs. He never is anymore and I hate myself because of it. Because I refuse to discuss anything about what happened, the letter I can't explain, or the distance I've place between us. I'm watching it fall apart but I'm doing nothing to make it easier; I've willingly become the conscious bystander to the destruction of my own life.
I don't turn around because the tears still threaten to fall. My voice reveals nothing of what I'm feeling.
"I'm almost done"
"Ok" His voice is too quiet, his person too cautious, and I despise myself in that moment even more. But I hear no movement to detect his acceptance of my vocalization.
So when I do turn around I'm completely taken aback.
Prior mornings have reflected an unfaltering routine. One where he sits or decides to linger underneath the threshold . But instead of following this undiscussed pattern his body is positioned between me and the table instead and all at once he's incredibly close; I don't manage to hide my fumble at the distance. And after my momentary blunder there's no movement from either of us, just stillness, and we're left in an emotional standoff.
I'm not sure of what he wants, or what he's trying to accomplish in this moment, but the minutes drag on deliberately. And as the staring continues neither of us does anything to ease the tension and instead we manage to stretch out this unnerving silence impossibly longer. With him standing before me I'm extremely nervous, more so than I've ever been with him, because this encounter is hanging in a delicate balance. It's newfound closeness; territory we don't approach; it's completely unpredictable.
So when he does eventually clear his throat, I'm startled, and it's then I assume he's going to start talking about all the things I don't want to discuss. The panic spreads before I have a chance to push it down. Opening his mouth to finally speak I wince as the words come out.
"Norma something's burning"
It takes a second for my ears to register what he's actually saying, I'm too focused on the inevitable, but when they do I whip around to see his eggs encompassed by thick smoke.
"Oh god-damnit" Haphazard hands fumble as I try to recover but he reacts at the same time. Tries reaching around me, body interfering, and were left side-stepping each other.
"Here I'll..."
"No I've got it Alex..." And my body shoves against him. It's not rough, uncalled for yes, but the bump causes the tube of my tank to catch on the hardware of a cabinet, pulling hard, feet hesitate and I'm falling before I can catch myself. He does instead. His arms encompassing my waist; the only sound is the pan reverberating against tile.
Our bodies are impossibly close now, his face brushing mine, and selfishly I find myself leaning into his touch. It's been so long since he's touched me in a way that wasn't for pity and I'm dying at the unrequited contact. It surprises even me but all I really want in this moment is for him to love me, to make love to me, right here on the kitchen floor for all I care; stove on and everything. But he doesn't. Doesn't sense what I'm feeling and instead I endure the sensation of him taking us both upright. At once I'm frustrated.
My annoyance is obviously misplaced but I use the building frustration as anger instead.
"Get off"
"Norma" We're standing now but he doesn't make any movement to remove his hands.
"Alex please. Just don't touch me"
"I'm sorry" He lets me go like I know he will and I hate him for it.
"Could you just not be sorry for once? Jesus it's not your fault" I move around him to start cleaning up the mess.
"I just thought..."
"Well I guess you thought wrong"
"Excuse me. What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I know he's as angry as I am now. There's a thrill in it that I can't place or justify to myself but I don't let it deter me.
"Just leave it"
"I'm not gunna leave it"
"I'm not yours to look after and I certainly don't need you or anyone else to catch me if I decide to fall"
"It was just a reflex reaction. Don't read into it"
"Oh so now it's my fault?" I'm standing now, pan in hand, eggs inside it's indentation, challenging him further.
"I don't know Norma" He pauses before he begins again. I can tell he's completely unsure. "No... it's not... but maybe you should just let someone help you?"
"Oh why because I'm so fragile?" I pick up my tube with my free hand and wave it in his direction "because this bothers you?"
"Of course not..." His tone is gentle but I don't wait for him to finish. I throw the pan into the sink; the sound deafening.
"Ya know what I'm done. Finish cooking your own damn breakfast"
"I didn't ask for it in the first place" He's shouting the words over my own.
"Well you didn't seem to mind before" and there it is. He's breached the subject and there's no going back.
"Before we didn't do this either"
"Well it's not before, it's after, there's no going back" There's a pause of silence before I continue on this tirade.
"I'm tired with this conversation"
"Maybe that wouldn't be an issue if you fucking slept" Now he's gone too far.
"I think you need to go"
"What?"
"I said get you need to get out. You don't get to tell me how to live my life. And you obviously have a problem with how I am so you need to go "
"I'm not going to..."
"GET OUT" I flinch when he moves closer and even though there's shock in his sudden approach I refuse to back down. We stare at each other hard, a battle of wills, mutual stubbornness in full effect. His eyes flicker over my face. I don't know what he sees reflected there, don't know what causes him to back down, but he goes to leave just the same.
His body exudes anger, movements rough, and the force of grabbing his jacket from the chair causes it to topple, the sound clattering against the tile. I shake from the suddenness; it does nothing to change his course of action. His process is punctuated with the slam of the front door. Rooted in place I hear the roar of his engine, the stillness of the morning makes it easy to detect. The rotation of tires meets the crunching of gravel until I'm left with only the sound of my rapid breathing.
Only when I'm sure I'm alone do I let myself unravel.
There's no hesitation or control over my movements as I slide down to the tiled floor. Our fight wasn't a particularly bad argument, not one that held much severity in it's significance, but it packed a punch all the same. And now, with my back resting against cabinets I can feel the storm building its momentum until I'm left sobbing. My hysteria effectively mixing with the physical mess in front of me. The breakfast the least of my problems I fight to regain control until I'm left gasping for air.
I think I'm finally thankful for this stupid tank.
X
I suppose the tiredness has caught up with me. My heightened emotions being the final straw in breaking my streak of self imposed exhaustion. It happened beyond my authority because I find myself waking up with my face stuck to the chilled ceramic. And from what I can gather it seems I've easily managed to sleep here for quite some time; rubbing a hand over my cheek, feeling the indent of grouted patterns, I know my suspicions are validated. And even though my body is somewhat sore from the position it's taken during this impromptu "nap", even I can admit to feeling rested.
It's then that his words dig with impact, "Maybe that wouldn't be an issue if you fucking slept" and he's right as usual, he's always right when it comes to what I need. And I think maybe I should start to listen. And maybe just maybe if he sees I'm trying to make some effort, small as it is, it will come across as a half-hearted apology for the shit that transpired this morning. So I clean the mess that I can, make myself something small to settle the monster in my stomach, and go to clean myself up.
X
From my current position I've managed to watch the vibrant sunlight retreat back into darkness. I can feel how the once scalding water has turned cold against my pale skin. But no matter my current conditions I can't bring myself to move. Because despite all the condemning sensations. the water's comforting, a metaphorical rebirth, and from where I'm soaking it's relatively easy to think about all the things I need to change yet can bring myself to do. My body is as numb on the outside as it is within.
Submerged in the water I'm vaguely aware of how the hours have passed and just when I contemplate moving is when I hear the front door open, lock click into place, shoes kicked off and jacket hung up. The keys clatter in the stillness of the house. So much for showing him I'm making an effort.
"Norma" And for whatever reason I don't respond. Doesn't even register as a viable option until I hear his panic creep in.
"NORMA"
"Here" I whisper it above the water, breath causing ripples in the stillness; fragility. There's no way in hell he heard my insignificant utterance. He's running up the stairs now. Stops at my bedroom, crosses to his, before reaching the bathroom.
"Jesus Norma" his breath escapes in relief as he sees my sunken form. My eyes glance up to meet him, faltering like a child in trouble, and I can feel my lip trembling. I know my earlier actions merit an apology but I can't bring myself to speak the words I know he so desperately deserves to hear. This whole ordeal, today included, has weighed on him deeply. He deserves so much better than me.
He clears his throat before speaking, actions punctuated by a single hand scrubbing tiredly against his face.
"I had a rough day" I don't break my eye contact.
"Have you been in here long?"
"Yeah" My voice is shaky from unuse and the fact that I'm trying not to get emotional all over again. I have no doubt he can read the lingering sadness ghosting over my features.
"Actually a really long time" It still leaves in a whisper.
"Do you want help getting out?"
"Not really"
"Well I can leave you be?"
"No" I really can't bear to see him leave me so soon.
"Norma. Why don't we get you out?" He's always too gentle with me.
"I'm not ready"
"Ok then"
He shuffles a bit in the space between the tub and the sink and just when I think he's going to get the stool to sit by my side, I watch instead as badge, gun belt, and phone take their residence on the tiled counter. His movements are deliberate and he's stepping into the cold water with me before I get the chance to stop him; uniform and all. Sinking further down he shifts both of our positions until he's resting comfortably behind me, his arms encompassing my body. The gesture is too much to handle and I'm a mess before I can think and I'm crying hard as he holds. But as always his reassuring phrases whisper against my skin and masculine lips find their purchase on my hairline.
I calm fairly easily this time and we soak in a once again comfortable silence, errant tears still finding their way down my skin. I turn to look at him then; dreading what I know I have to do. But meeting his eyes all I can see reflected is the love he has for me and I derail momentarily.
"I think...I think I'm broken" He squeezes me tighter before he speaks.
"You're not. People don't break Norma because really...everyone's already just a culmination of individual pieces"
"What do you mean?" My hand finds a way to rest against the saturated fabric on his chest.
"What I mean is, you have to find the pieces that fit together to make you whole. No one can really do that for you"
"I don't know if I can"
"You can because you're the strongest person I know"
"I really don't deserve you Alex"
"You do. You most definitely do Norma Louise, because from the moment we met you have been one of my pieces"
My lips meet his in shaky kiss then, pulling back almost as soon as they make contact. His watery thumb comes up to graze a damp path over the skin of my cheek.
"Let's get you out of here"
"Ok"
He gets out first, wet clothes pooling water on the floor. On any normal day I'd chastise him with my words but I'm far from my typical behavior and instead I'm too preoccupied with watching him undress until he's left in wet v-neck and black spandex. I can feel my need for him blossom as I watch his muscles contract with each moment.
And I continue to watch as he carefully hangs his uniform to dry, lost in thoughts of my desire, before he startles me by extending his hand to encompass my own. Fully out he drapes my robe over my shoulders and I make quick work of securing the tie around my waist.
And before he can even respond I've already made up my mind.
"I'll meet you in our room" I let the words call out as I take my path to the bedroom, leaving my tank behind. I don't wait for him to follow; I want to be ready. I take precarious purchase on the edge of the mattress and wait for him to join me. He enters, looking questioningly at me before heading to his closet for dry clothing.
"Norma you should really lie down but it's ok if you don't want to"
He's mildly engaged in searching for clothing when I utter his name for the first time.
"Alex?"
"Hmm" He doesn't bother to turn around. Closing a drawer and opening another.
"Alex look at me"
He turns around almost frantic, eyes wild, like I'm going to tell him to get out again, but instead I half-heartedly smile. I hope it offers him some sense of our reconciliation.
"Alex. I..." I hesitate briefly because it's never been this hard to express what I want.
"I...I want you to touch me"
He stops moving completely now, his eyes sharp on mine, and his gaze feels heavy enough to crush me. But I can see the way his breath catches deep in his throat at my admission. And it's then that I know he wants this as badly as I do, misses what we used to share. I know he'd never push me if I wasn't ready.
"Norma I..." So I silence him with my words.
"It's all I can think about and I know I still need to deal with a lot of different things. Give apologies to you and...and Norman. But God I'm just so selfish because I miss you. Miss the way we were together before everything happened. I want us to be normal. To feel like I'm loved and give it back. I have never wanted anyone more because I..." and I don't manage to finish this overdue speech because his lips are simultaneously crushing my own. They effectively silence any lingering vocalization.
It's haphazard and frantic in the way we move then. His hands tracing quick arcs up and down my visible flesh, reaching lower until they're beneath the cotton of my robe, gently resting on my shoulders. He pulls his lips away and I whimper at the loss of our contact.
"Are you completely sure? We don't have to do this right now...as much as you know I would like to" I can clearly see he's already aroused.
So this time around I bite the bullet, moving first, and my hands maneuver around his body, up and under the fabric clinging to his skin, until the shirt falls over his head and onto the floor. He quickly follows suit, mirroring my actions, his shaky hands coming up to undo the tie holding my covering together.
Standing in front of one another, exposed before him, I don't hesitate to push my breasts against the expanse of wet his skin. And when we both feel the sensation of coming together we find ourselves kissing more passionately than ever before. We rub against each other trying to increase the friction. Our hands and mouths are delirious as they desperately search for more flesh to consume.
In the heat of the moment he's effectively managed to lay me back on the bed. Hovering over me, my legs open around him. I am well aware of his hand moving every so slowly over the swell of my breasts. It's slow and torturous but he's not stopping. He keeps moving up, momentarily encircling my throat before burying it in my damp hair, "I've missed you so much".
The cry he releases is unmistakable as I try to swallow down my own and it's a moment then before I can even bring my face up to look up at him. When I do his eyes are soft, whole face open , heart on display, and he cups my face in his other hand. My breath is shallow with the passion and emotion of it all.
His expression is so tender, something I haven't experienced from him in awhile. His eyes seem brighter as his lips brush over mine and before I can let my own tears fall to mix with his he begins an assault on my upper half. Massaging my breasts, rough hands teasing aroused nipple, until his lips leave mine to take one of them in his mouth. I don't even try to stifle the moan that escapes my throat; only arching further into his touch.
His name stumbles past my lips awkwardly as he bites, sucks, and teases, and it doesn't help that I am fixated on where his hand is, where it's moving, down past propriety. There's a nervousness there, mixed with an unbearable excitement, and it feels like our first time; the build up is beyond delicious.
"God you are so beautiful" His breath splashes across my flesh and the heat of his words cause me to tremble in anticipation of his touch. It's then when his hand sets an unrelenting pace against me, inside of me, alternating movements that have my hips bucking in response. My heart thunders throughout my chest and when he leans forward his lips find mine and I can't help but melt into him.
All too soon I can feel the pressure escalating and I'm not ready for this to be over, my body betraying how much I want this. All I want is to feel him inside of me.
"Alex...I" I can barely get the words out between erratic breaths and moans as his hands and mouth continue their teasing.
"Please...I want..."
And before I can utter anything else his underwear is discarded and he's sinking deep inside of me. The contact is excruciating and I instantly arch against the invasion; The world dims around me as pleasure crackles across my skin
"Oh God"
He kisses me harder now, his intensity overwhelming, control lost, and he thrusts into me agonizingly easy once again; I rise against him, reciprocating each movement, accepting everything he has to give. My name is a prayer against his lips and I intend to revel in the worship. Except his movements are too slow and right now I want to feel without thinking, without waiting.
"Alex please" It rushes out between pants "faster"
He's an excellent listener and his body slams against mine now, the pleasure cascading through our coupling. The length of him fills me completely, with every thrust he rubs against my sensitivity. It's only a couple of thrusts but my body wastes no time in exploding around him. I bite him to stifle the scream as the pleasure ricochets and walls contract, my teeth buried in his shoulder, he hisses out a surprised breath at the force of it all. It's been so long for the both of us and I know he's almost there with me. I encourage him, wrap my legs tighter around him, squeezing his ass and pushing him deeper, hips carving into mine. Forcefully I pull his head deep into the crook of my neck, face grazing against my own as his actions continue. My breath is extremely hot against his ear as I whisper the phrase that I know will push him to release.
"I love you"
My words are simple but true and they push him completely over, hands bruising where they meet and squeeze at the juncture of my waist. I bury my fingers in his hair tighter as his body clenches tight because I'm still riding out my own orgasm as he cries out my name. His final thrusts manage to send out shuddering vibrations throughout my own pleasure. Throwing my head back, this moment between us seems to last an eternity.
We lay like this, caught up in the moment for so long that our bodies eventually begin to cool and I can barely breathe under his weight but it's a feeling of our lovemaking that I absolutely crave. Resting within me, our breathing finally returning to normal before he finally shifts his weight to the side. We mutually groan as our bodies peel apart.
Free but still impossibly close, he pulls back the covers, dragging me beneath them, pulling my body tight against his own. And even though we haven't shared a bed with the promise of sleep I don't think I could resist his presence right now even if I wanted to, and I don't want to. So I allow him to drape me across his body. Laying down he kisses me softly once more before laying back and sighing.
X
I awake to a slight breeze caressing my shoulders and I try to ignore it for as long as I can, comfortable despite the cold, but I shudder against the sensation and it forces me awake unwillingly. Both legs are tangled in the linens as I stretch out, reveling in the fluidity of my overworked muscles. My top half is completely exposed but I do nothing to change it. I selfishly let a small smile grace my face at the thought of why I'm in this current position. I'm not stupid by any means because I know we have a long way to go, obstacles to overcome, but I'll accept our prior actions as a viable start. An indication to recover what was lost.
I reach to his side of the bed then, my eyes still hiding behind closed lids, until their forced open when my hand reaches out to the nothingness beside me.
He's not there and I instantly panic. Thoughts jumping to the worst of conclusions. Invading anxiety leads me to the assumption that during my time asleep I've had a nightmare and hurt him without remembering. Secondly I don't get to formulate a second, because before I can react I sense him hovering in the doorway, tray in hand.
"I thought you could use a little breakfast"
"I normally don't" His face falters.
"But if you made it, I would love to share it with you"
Walking into the room he places the tray in the divot of his empty side. Sitting up for the first time, I unceremoniously wrap the sheet around my upper half before looking over the assortment he's made for me. It's standard breakfast food but he's even managed to put a small flower in water, just for me.
He sits in front of me then.
"I know it's not much" Before he can take it further I decide to interrupt.
"Thank you. It's perfect" My hand coming to rest on his chin.
"I would love to stay with you today and talk things out but"
"I.." My eyes tear away from his gaze.
"We need to Norma. For the both of us" His hand begins rubbing reassuring patterns over my knuckles. Always comforting.
"I know. I know we do but it doesn't make it easier"
"We'll we've both been through a lot lately. It's understandable. I want to work through this, with you, together"
I squeeze his hand hard to show my understanding.
"I hate that I have to work today and that I have to leave you. But I've been absent too much lately"
"I know"
"I won't be gone long. I promise you"
"Ok" I try and offer a genuine smile and that seems to restore his hope. A promise spreads across my lips. He offers them a quick peck and that makes my smile grow all the bigger.
"Hey. Ya know what I'll even get ready in here so I can talk with you some more"
"Alright"
"I'll be right back. Feel free to start eating"
As his form retreats I do and I moan as the food enters my mouth. It's really been too long since I've had a real meal. I know I'm going to devour this without waiting. He comes back with his uniform, limp and worn out from spending the night drying on a towel rack.
He winks at me.
"Little wrinkly"
"I'll wash and press that for you when you get back"
"Norma you know you don't have to do that for me"
"Alex I'd like to. You know how I feel about doing laundry"
"That I do" and for the first time in forever we share a mutual chuckle. It truly feels blissful and I can't wait to share more with him. His work day can not be over fast enough.
I watch and eat as he pulls on his undershirt moving to shake out his uniform top before we both hear something large clatter to the floor. He looks around below him but can't decide where whatever it is has fallen. He seems panicky when I offer to help him look.
I don't even have to get out of the bed fully before I notice the object resting in front me, stillness on the floorboards. It's his mother's ring, my ring, and all at once I'm unable to breathe. I reach out a trembling hand, effectively cradling it in my grasp. I offer it to him with avoided eyes and outstretched arm.
"Norma"
"Take it" My voice is too harsh, the pitch gradually heightening as I try in vain to fight off my underlying panic.
"It's yours Alex. Just take it"
The bed shifts, mattress sinking as he sits impossibly close to me. Gentle hands encompassing my outstretched ones, taking the ring out from under my clenched fingers. I squeeze my eyes shut, tight as possibility will allow, tears manage to escape anyway. I know he's going to leave me, sure of it, know its true when the mattress rises, his weight leaving it once again.
"Norma please open your eyes" I don't. I can't watch him go.
"Hun please" I still make no effect to acquiesce to his demands.
"If you won't look at me then the least you can do is listen. I love you Norma. That's something I'm never unsure of and I know you love me to"
I hesitantly open my eyes. He's on his knees in front of me.
"And even though you took this off" I open my mouth to object but raises a tentative hand to still my words before they can escape.
"I know why you did it. It doesn't make it hurt any less... but this, this ring...is and has always been yours. There's no changing that. I meant what I said that day at the courthouse. You will always be my wife. As long as you'll have me."
"I don't know what to say"
"You don't have to say anything. You've been through hell. No one's pushing you to feel things you don't want to. Especially if you're not ready. You need to heal on your time Norma. Not anyone else's."
I'm crying harder now but I manage to get the words out regardless. He deserves to hear them.
"I never... never thought...that I would ever find someone as good as you. I've been so damaged for so long and when I did it was so unexpected. It made me question everything I had come to protect. It was hard to let you in Alex but once I did it was impossible for me to let you go. I did..what I did...because I was so fearful...for you...and for me. I should never have done what I did. I should have listened"
This last phrase it the hardest to let go of.
"I should be dead right now"
He's crying hard, burring his face in my lap. It's awhile before he regains composure to resume to conversation.
"I can't...even begin to think about how I almost lost you. I knew...I knew Norma. I did nothing. If I had been any later..." His breath shudders against me. He meets my gaze.
"But your not and you didn't. You're here with me"
"I know"
We clutch at each other while we cry in earnest together. Him squeezing my lower half as he kneels in front of me and I cling to his upper body. There's silence as our bodies calm. I'm the first to disturb it.
"I want to wear your mother's ring. I want to wear it for as long as you'll let me"
"Forever?" He grabs my hand, kissing knuckles, before he slips the cool metal onto my ring finger.
I kiss him as hard as I can then. Trying desperately to deliver every emotion I feel into this small display of affection. When he smiles against my mouth I know that he can. My hands come to wrap around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape, until he deepens the kiss further. Standing, never breaking our connection he hovers over me until I'm laid out on the mattress once again. His body over mine.
I break the kiss to release a shaky smile.
"I thought you said you had to go to work?"
"Eh screw em"
"You could always screw me?"
"I think I just might Mrs. Romero"
"Bates Alex. Bates"
"You know just when I think..."
"Alex please shut up and kiss me"
And he does just that before pulling back one last time.
"Always Norma"