Author's note: I wrote most of this a long time ago. I'm so sick of looking at it, and I'm not sure it even fits the story anymore. Such is life. I wrote the second half over the past few days when I'm heavily medicated with prescription narcotics. Which hopefully explains a lot. I apologize for this part, but like I said, I'm sick of it. And I'm sick of writing. So read it and think what you will. You've been warned.
Part 2
The clicking of metal on metal echoed through the dimly lit room as the latch caught in its proper place on the doorframe. Her footsteps on the hall carpet created indentations of darkness to the light passing under his door. Muffled footsteps faded as the disturbances in the light pattern lessened, and finally disappeared. In seconds all was quiet and the light shown under the door as clearly as it had before she ever disrupted its path. Silence encompassed the room, broken up only by the erratic, shallow breathing of the man sitting amidst the quiet.
And just like that, she was gone.
Staring at the wooden barrier less than ten feet across the room, his eyes glazed over as the reality of her leaving struck him in a direct blow. His mind reeled with thoughts of the distance she was creating between them. Running away from the progress they had made to overcome the separation. A gap created during the first meeting, crossed by their fragile friendship, and finally closed by some sheer will of fate hours before. And now she was widening that expanse, instilling fear that the damage done this time would be irreparable.
He collapsed backward onto the disheveled sheets staring blindly at the ceiling overhead. Images floated in front of his eyes jumbling together on the jaded plaster background. He laid motionless, viewing the twisted slide show his consciousness played out before him. He felt as if he were dying. Parts of his life flashing before his eyes. And in a way, that was true. For part of him would always be tied to her, and the sickening feeling in his stomach cried out that any hopes for a relationship with her were fading fast.
He inhaled sharply as he reached his arm out to the side, grasping a pillow, and pulling it over his eyes to block the montage. Immediately he regretted the action. Her scent lingered on the fabric, flooding his mind with more memories at the recognition. He fought an inner struggle, willing himself to pull it away, to remove all reminders of her until he was able to process all that had happened. Yet another part of him couldn't let go of the one piece of her still within his grasp. His grip tightened slightly, reflexively tightening and loosening the hold as he waged his battle.
He mumbled something into the pillow, cursing himself for being so stupid. All of the time invested into their fated relationship amounted to nothing for the end result of their encounter was not what he had hoped for. He should have known that something so good, so right, would end in such an ironic way.
Hours before, all had been perfect. He was lying next to her, holding her close against him as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, her steady shallow breathing comforting his senses. She had fallen to sleep pretty easily, the innocence of her deepened by slumber. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, the frightening scenario had ate away at his confidence that such an end were possible. He watched her for a while, content to memorize every line of her face, every curve of her body for recall in the days to come. He had studied her intently, relearning all the intricacies of her that used to fascinate him so. The seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes to hours, until he himself gave way to the fatigue pulling at his body.
Now, lying alone on his bed, her scent still permeating the cotton sheets next to his head, he fought back the subtle images flooding his mind. Each image growing stronger in intensity and eating away at the little self control he had remaining.
He remembered her purple nail polish decorating the toes that peeked out from the strappy sandals. She propped them on the seat next to him, her long legs more than adequate to span the distance under the table. It was she that suggested they stop off for a quick cup of coffee. He had recommended the quaint little cafe down the block from his apartment, knowing there was no way he would come between this girl and her coffee. He had placed his hand gently on her ankle, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the smooth skin, an intimate gesture between two old friends.
He pictured her smallish tattoo, resting slightly above her hip bone. The personal marking hidden from the world, yet revealed to him in a moment of complete and utter trust. The design was simple, a gift she had given herself, not meant to be admired or flashed to strangers. It was intimate, and entirely her. He covered it easily with his thumb, touching a part of her that she openly shared.
Her long brown hair hadn't changed much over the years. She had shortened it a bit in length, stopping just below the shoulders, flipping lightly with the breeze. Gone was the restraining headband, allowing her tresses to flow freely around her face. She still tucked the strands behind her ear, a habit born of convenience now rooted in her nervousness. His fingers entwined in her hair as he kissed a sensitive spot below her ear. And later, his muscles twitched as the strands fell carelessly across his chest, her head resting lightly over his heart.
He bolted upright, rubbing his eyes with his open palms. His subconscious was playing tricks with him, leading him down a path of self destruction. Every recollection was tearing at his insides, reminding him of what could have been. And more importantly, what was.
He wanted to take it back. All of it. The small touches. The gestures. The smiles. The sex. He would take any of it back if it meant he still had the smallest chance with her. He had imagined for years what their reunion would entail. The laughter. The innuendos. The words tossed carelessly back and forth, playing the melody of their banter. The experience did not falter from his fantasy in detail, only in timing. He was a man of control. A man of preparation. Walking through that door and locking eyes with her had thrown him for a loop and shaken any self control he had cornered. He had taken a few minutes to collect his thoughts, sort through his intentions before taking the first step in her direction. But all in all, last night was a foray into the unexpected. And ultimately, the spontaneity of the night had been his demise.
He approached her with shaky confidence, careful to mask his emotions lest they betray him. She smiled genuinely when she turned to greet him, wrapping him in a friendly embrace. He pulled her tight to him, releasing her seconds later as friendly protocol would demand. Raising an eyebrow and fighting the smirk twitching at his lips, he delivered a cheesy pickup line, finally submitting to the smile while he watched her roll her eyes.
And in seconds, they were entwined in a friendly dance of words that was so familiar. The comments flowed free of forethought, every twitch of her lips and ducking of her head eliciting another innuendo. She smiled genuinely at his teasing, offering a few sultry remarks in response. And the second nature of their relationship returned full swing, the years of separation forgotten and surpassed in mere moments.
Hours passed, unbeknownst to either. Her stories landed on open ears for he was honestly interested in what had taken place in her life. She commented on the changes she saw in him, complimenting him for the obvious maturity and confidence that befell him.
And minute by minute he was falling for her all over again.
He had known they had a connection even back in high school. A shared glance. An inside joke. A whispered answer in class.
A few years later and nothing had changed. They had grown up and out of a lot of the habits of their childhoods, but their ability to communicate without words remained. She looked at him over her drink, raising one eyebrow and glancing towards the door. Two minutes later he was standing on the steps of his friend's house, helping her on with her jacket. Open for wherever the night may take them.
Looking back, he wasn't certain if last night's itinerary were an accident, or the subtle pull of his unconscious, willing the events to fall in the perfect order. He was aware that she had been drinking, her outer appearance never betraying the extent of her intoxication. She never wavered, never slurred, and never gave a sign that she wasn't prepared for what was to come. But perhaps he didn't look hard enough.
Words were lost between them, as his lips pressed lightly to her collarbone. Her responses willing him forward, pushing him to a limit he knew he could not uphold. He fought the voice in the back of his head, screaming for him to take it slow, all the while backing with her through the door to his room.
Their movements were like a slow dance, each step fitting where the other left off. No words were needed as each touch relayed what was on the other's mind. He willed himself to stop, knowing that he had yet to make the irreversible crossing of the taboo. And without warning, he was at the point of no return. He mustered enough courage to pull back, eyes meeting hers over the erratic beatings of their hearts. Lightly laying her hand on his chest, the whispered sound of his name from her lips was his undoing. And in that moment, their lives were changed forever and unequivocally connected forever in that night.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he braced himself against the nightstand, slowly rising to his feet. Crossing the floor, he grabbed a sweatshirt from his drawer, throwing it over his head and pulling on the sleeves. He repeated the manner with his running pants, not bothering to undo the ties as he pulled his running shoes onto his bare feet. Completing the ensemble, he pulled on his faded blue ballcap, tucking the blonde strands under it's covering.
Pulling his bedroom door shut, he caught the eye of his roommate not bothering to explain away his unusual actions. Crossing the hall he threw open the door, barely breathing in his first breath before his feet took off on his morning run. He was running for the exercise. Running for the relief. And running from the events of last night that refused to evacuate his every thought.