Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits
Chapter Eight: Falling Apart
I walked home.
I had to get out of there, I had to be by myself, to think and breath, to be, to understand what I was doing, what I was becoming. My head was spinning with conflicting thoughts, my heart with conflicting emotions. You had asked me to stay with you, to sleep in your bed, in your arms, but I wouldn't. I couldn't be near you for I knew that if I were, nothing else would be important.
And, I would lose my way.
If I hadn't already.
So, I walked home, and I felt you following me in your car, making sure I would arrive safely, for which I was both grateful and annoyed. But, you were tempting me, too. Did you know? At every red light I wanted to turn around, slam my fists onto the hood of your car, beg you to forgive me for my uncertainty.
But, instead, I stared straight ahead, pretending that I didn't know you were behind me, pretending that I didn't care.
But I did. I did care. I cared too much.
How, after just three days, have you affected me so deeply? How is it possible that I have become so indifferent to every other part of my life, become so obsessed with you, so bewitched by you, that nothing else mattered? That I was willing to do almost anything? Be almost anything?
How had I fallen apart so completely?
Day Four
I wandered back from class, not paying attention to the path I was taking, not caring. My thoughts still wholly consumed with images from last night. Images of what I'd seen, and felt, what I'd done, what she had done to me, and I was confused.
Horribly confused.
But, I was also intrigued, aroused, and I wanted more. More of her, more of that.
Which only served to compound my confusion, and now my head was pounding, a grating, annoying, thumping pain right at the temples, the kind of headache that wasn't going to go away any time soon.
I dropped my book bag on the bed, grabbed a Diet Coke out of the mini-fridge, shook a couple of aspirin out of the 500 count bottle on my dresser, and plopped unceremoniously into the chair at my desk. Flipping on the computer, I tossed the aspirin in my mouth and washed them down with a generous swig of soda.
Why was this bothering me so much? What was the big deal? So, we went to a sex dungeon, so we watched beautiful naked people having sex, so, we had sex. So what? We were both adults, we were both consenting; I had wanted to do it. What was the big deal? No one had gotten hurt.
The computer having finally gone through it's self-diagnostic as it booted up, I connected to the Internet, and then brought up my web browser. As soon as the little man in my computer told me I had mail, I sat up, the Diet Coke suspended in mid-air as I stared at my computer screen.
There was an email.
From her.
My heart did a sudden leapfrog to my throat and I held my breath as I opened the email.
Kate,
I watched you walk home last night. I could see the weight on your shoulders, the conflict in your heart. I'm so sorry that you're feeling this way. I never wanted that. I just wanted to show you what's out there, the variety and spice and colors of life, how sexuality can be expressed in unique and salacious ways, how your own body can bring you such intensely pure and novel pleasure.
That place is a favorite of mine, I'll admit it. It stokes the imagination, fuels the fire that gives human sexuality its intellectual, adventurous, and surprising textures. It seems perfectly normal and healthy to me. But, to the outside observer, I can see how it might seem overwhelming, indecent, even.
And, maybe it was too much, too soon, and for that I am profoundly sorry. I truly hope I haven't scared you off. I like you, Kate. I like you a lot. I like being with you, talking to you, in bed and out.
You're an extraordinary woman.
Please call me. Please call me so we can talk.
xo, Bette.
I leaned back in my chair, chewing on my thumbnail, staring at the words on the screen. Just the sight of her name flickering on the glowing monitor stirred that familiar feeling low in my belly, and I wanted her.
What the hell was I supposed to do?