There's an epic A/N at the end. Please take the time to read it.
I don't own Twilight, its characters, or anything else that is publicly recognizable. Dexter, his family, and these words are mine. Please don't steal.
Tanya asked me to write, to journal the experiences with Dexter that meant the most to me. I sat staring at an empty page for at least an hour. I knew what I wanted to write; I wasn't sure I could actually do it. It didn't matter that the memory was one of the most powerful I had or that I never, ever wanted to forget it.
I almost felt dirty, because the first memory I wanted to write about was the last time we slept together.
Losing someone you love is a double edged sword. On one hand, you know how precious time with them is, because they could be gone at any moment. On the other hand, you know how precious time with them is, because they could be gone at any moment.
It feels awkward to be writing about this, but it's a memory I want to keep. When I'm ninety, and married to some other guy because Dexter insisted I move on, fall in love, get married, and have a family (and maybe because I actually let myself do those things), I want this memory. I hope that man is caring enough to know I love him, but I love Dexter, too.
The day after Christmas has been a big deal for our families for as long as I can remember. The Robinsons and the Swans, together for dinner. Emmett joined us the past few years and I'm kind of glad about that. Dex loved the hell out of Em, and it was nice to have him there; he cracks jokes when everyone else is emo and annoying. Fuck, I love the hell out of Em, too.
I can't remember what Sandy made for dinner or what Renee made for dessert, but I can remember every detail of what happened after Dexter and I got home that night.
We had this tradition of our own that we started in 2004. We always spent the night together, first at either his house or mine, then starting in 2006 in our apartment, and we always watched Love Actually at least twice. At least one of those times was with commentary, because we both loved how self deprecating Hugh Grant was.
We watched the commentary twice that night, because we completely missed it the first time.
I never, ever blamed him for anything. Missing the commentary that night was TOTALLY his fault.
We started out cuddling, which was fine. We did that all the time, even when he wasn't feeling well. He said touching me made him feel better.
Fuck. A big part of me wanted to start raging at my dead boyfriend, because writing this memory out is making me cry, and this isn't the kind of memory that should make me cry.
We got to the part of the movie where that Kelly Clarkson song was playing in the background and Dexter started kissing my hair and whispering how much he loved me. We kissed a few more times, and I hated it, but even though he was making me feel so good, I felt so bad. I knew he wasn't feeling well, and I just kept taking and taking and taking. We hadn't kissed that way in so long, and I was being selfish.
He got gropey, I got annoyed. He told me he wanted to make love to me (he actually used the words "make love," which was so not Dexter. Ever.) and I told him no. What idiot girl tells her beautiful and amazing best friend and boyfriend she doesn't want to have sex or make love?
Remind me to take a look in the mirror next time I ask stupid rhetorical questions like that.
I kept fighting him on it, and he kept insisting. I finally caved when he turned the charm on even further and those blue eyes of his were so full of love and adoration. How could I be stupid enough to tell him no?
There's no way I can be graphic about this, even knowing I'm the only one who's ever going to see my words.
He consumed me.
We both knew it was the last time, and we both made it worth it. Every touch - his hands, his mouth, his everything - was astonishing and amazing and sometimes I still feel all those emotions and touches when I think really, really hard.
I don't know how to imagine myself with anyone else. How could anyone's fingers ever feel the way his did? How could they fill me the way his did? Can I really let someone put their mouth on me in the most intimate way possible and not think of Dexter? Right now, I don't know if I will ever have the ability to let myself go with someone else.
It's probably ridiculous to say that; I'm determined to move on the way he asked me to, but it just seems so hard. I can't imagine every opening myself up to someone the way I did for Dexter. I can't fathom the idea of letting someone be where only he has been.
I can still picture the whole thing so clearly. The way his fingers felt as they moved inside of me, in time with his tongue on me. The way it felt when he was inside of me, moving and whispering and touching where he could. The moment we tumbled into oblivion together, all soft whispers of names and declarations of love.
This . . . is a horrible cliché, but every time with Dexter felt like the first time. Every time we were together, I never wanted to leave that moment. It didn't matter if we were in his bed, my bed, our bed. It didn't matter if he stopped me from cooking so he could take me in the kitchen, or if I interrupted the movie we were watching to put my mouth on him with the sole purpose of making him feel as good as he always made me feel.
What mattered was the way it felt, and it always felt like forever.
As readers, I hope you realize how much you truly inspire those of us who write when you review.
Yesterday, I received a review on The Letter from lisamichelle17 that said "I love that he wants to show Bella how much he loves her instead of using words. I can only imagine how powerful the sex was between them."
This journal entry from Bella is a result of that one sentence. Thank you, thank you, thank you, for all you do for me. I write because you take the time to leave me your thoughts and reactions.