Page 20 of King of Guilt

I wanted to ask him not to toy with my heart that way, but the sensation of him inside of me was more overwhelming than anything I had ever experienced. How could a man’s movements be so passionate yet so tender? How could every push and pull take my soul in and out of my body this way?

And how was it that we had found each other long before we found each other like this?

In a moment of absolute bliss, I felt our souls meld. I heard our voices resonate in perfect harmony. And our bodies, having reunited after an eternity of separation… just didn’t want to let go.

ten

To Let Go or to Hold on Tight

Dean

My week went by in the most peculiar of ways. Never had I ever thought that I would make love to a woman, only to fail at looking her in the eye the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

As if she, too, had felt the same way, Emma’s demeanor around me remained extremely professional and reserved.

Yes, on Monday, I had thought it was apt for the two of us. On Tuesday, I had hoped we would exchange any words outside the context of work. By Wednesday, I had given up that hope. On Thursday, our day was so packed with meetings and partner visits that we barely saw each other. When Friday rolled round, Emma had informed me through a text that she was going to visit her mother after work. On Saturday, I had a gala to attend in the morning, and a family dinner in the evening. Although Emma had joined me for both, we didn’t get to spend a single moment alone. Nor did we exchange any private words.

And then Sunday came.

It had been exactly a week now since Emma and I had allowed ourselves the luxury of being so completely vulnerable with each other, without holding back. A week that showed me, without any words, just how much she regretted it. A week of me sleeping alone in bed as per the usual, yet missing something I shouldn’t have had in the first place. A week of certainty that my life now had been touched by something so random, so unplanned, and clearly, so unattainable.

I couldn’t keep thinking of the way I had felt in her arms that night, nor should I keep her here when she evidently wanted to stay away.

In an effort to escape, I spent the entire day in my study attempting to read a book or another. With every page I tried to absorb, my focus failed me, forcing me to go back and read all the way from the start. My mind was absent, attached to Emma and questions about what she was doing now.

Why did it have to be so hard?

Because I lied to my mother… and this was my punishment.

When Emma texted me in the afternoon that she was having dinner with her friends, I felt relief. She was going to be away—physically out of the house. Perhaps then I could focus on anything but thoughts of her.

Instead, I found myself reaching for my laptop and making a transfer to her account—one million dollars.

It was clearly over, whatever it was.

As soon as I saw the transfer confirmation on the screen before my eyes, I had a feeling reminiscent of those I used to get when a breakup was finalized with closure. Folding the device shut, I sat back and reached for the glass of whiskey on the table next to me. It was odd that I thought of it this way, since Emma and I weren’t in a relationship.

“And love can be powerful, even if it lasts for one night.”

Emma’s words came back to me with a new meaning. Perhaps she had used the word love as a way to address glorified lust. In that case, her statement made perfect sense. Yes, I do believe we made love that night. We weren’t in love, but how did people in love do it? I had been in love before, but never felt the way I did with her.

My mind had been invaded by grief, confusion, and the guilt of lying to my mother. Nothing about what we had done was natural… not even that.

I shouldn’t keep lying. And to stop, I had to start by telling myself the truth; Emma had served her purpose in our little charade, and it was time for her to go. As the thought of Emma leaving this house tied my stomach in knots, I took a large sip of my drink, letting the welcome sting in my throat mask the pain.

Selfishness had never been a quality of mine, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask Emma to stay any longer. I had to set her free and deal with my own loss and grief alone. None of this mess in my head was her responsibility.

Standing up, I turned and stood facing the window with the glass in my hand. The cold February night sky wept with rain, crashing against the glass with a slant that skewed everything in my view. Everything was hazy and dark, except for the streaks of lightning occasionally lighting up the night.

In silence, I finished my drink and decided to retire to my bedroom, taking the book with me in hopes that I could now face the words with a clearer mind.

And once again, that grief returned in the pit of my stomach, branching out to invade my chest, making reading more of a challenge.

It wasn’t long before I heard a knock on my door.

“Come on in,” I said.

Emma stepped inside, her raincoat dripping as she held up her phone to me. “What’s this?”

---