Page 3 of Let It Be Me
My keys fall out of my hand and clatter to the floor making him jump. “So while I’ve been missing you andblaming myself for our lack of communication, you’ve been with someone else.” I’m angry. Angry that I stayed with someone through this move. Angry that I tied my happiness to him. I’m angry that I let him put me on that stupid pedestal. Angry that I told him I loved him. And I do. Well–did. I did love him. At least I think I did. Now I’m questioning if what I felt for him was actually love or was it contentment? Was my love for him tied to how dependent I became on him? Because in my grief of losing Liam, I clung to Paul to keep me afloat. I let him keep me afloat. I let him mold me to who he wanted me to be. Is that love? “How long?”
“Don’t make me answer that,” Paul says, and I know, despite my resistance to wanting the truth, that I need it. Because despite my need to not want the details, for my sake, I need them. I need to sleep peacefully at night and know that none of it was on me. I need to be able to move on knowing that none of it was my fault. But despite my need-to-know, I’ll always blame myself for us falling apart. But I’ll also blame him for letting us fall apart.
“How long have you been with her?”
“Nine months.”
I cross my arms over my chest and bring a hand up to my lips. Squeezing them together with an attempt to keep them from trembling. I think back through the last year and try to catalog when we went sideways. In my haze I can picture that moment. When his text responses came back hours later instead of minutes later like they used to. When he would always tell me to hold on as he went into another room and I’d hear the door close. I chalked it up to him wanting to talk to me in private. It was always him though and I walked around life blissfully unaware of what was happening back home.
“Come on, Sarah. You knew things were going to change between us the second you decided to move up here.” He says as if that excuses his stepping out on me.
“That is no excuse for cheating on me, Paul. I asked you to come with me. You could have come with me!” I shout. The tears of anger clog up my throat. Making it hard for me to speak. I feel weak. Weak that I’m letting him see a side of me that he’s responsible for. Weak that I’m crying over a man when I watched my best friend cry over two until she finally pulled herself out of the dumps.
He shakes his head like that suggestion is idiotic. “No. I was–we were building something there.”
“We could have re-built anywhere,” I say, as all the fight finally leaves my body the longer he stays here presenting his horrible case.
“No.” He says and ends that topic. Something I admired about Paul was his ability to switch topics at the drop of a hat. Because of it our relationship was never stale. But I never thought I’d come to hate his ability to end a conversation until it pertained to me. “I flew up here because you deserved some sort of closure from us. Because let’s be honest, our relationship was on the downslope the second you accepted the job up here. I’m just putting a name to it: a break-up. And I also want you to know that I’m proposing to her as soon as I land back in Charleston. I just wanted you to hear it from me first.”
I bite my tongue as the tears fill my eyes and I know that I can’t look at him anymore. Three years down the drain. A friendship so solid, ruined in his selfish moment. “Get out.” I spit as the first tear falls.
He walks a step forward and pauses as if he wants to say something more. But I move to the side, not wanting to hear whatever he wants to say and pull the door open as I do.When he crosses over the threshold I slam the door shut and lock it.
I cover my mouth with my palm as a sob lets loose. I cry over my stupid heart for opening up and letting someone in. I cry because I wasted three years on someone who gave me everything without my having to ask. I cry for being so stupid. I cry for being a stupid, hopeless romantic and naive enough to let someone in.
Hard to love, my ass.
Swiping off my tears, I head up the carpeted stairs, taking them two at a time and going straight to my bathroom to shower.
I bring my phone and speaker into my bathroom and find the most “female scream, I hate boys” playlist to yell in the shower. When the water is to my liking, I hop in and exfoliate my body from head to toe. The only way to make myself feel my best is to start from square one. And that involves an everything shower. As Kelly Clarkson sings about breathing for the first time, some of that post-breakup tension melts away from my body.
They say the best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else.
Well I vow to not only change the game, but to never fall in love again.
2
SARAH
SIX MONTHS LATER
It’s a chilly December evening and the club is packed, making it the perfect place for an inconspicuous hookup. The lowlights of the club and the bass from the music vibrates through my body. I drove up to Columbus for the weekend under the guise of a ‘spa weekend’ and my friends were none the wiser. My hotel that I chose for my stay is a block away from the club that I’m at. Honestly it was more for convenience than anything.
I finish my second drink of the night and weave my way back through the crowd and onto the dance floor. The music drowns out attempts at conversation with mid-level guys and thankfully stops any logical thought attempting to run through my mind. This night is about shutting off my mind and having an orgasm or two.
I’m in the middle of the dance floor and my body sways and rolls to the music as sweat begins to form on the back of my neck while my hair tumbles in thick auburn waves around me. What I thought would be a smart choice, the black backless mini dress I’m wearing, unfortunately does little to cool my body off. Sweat sits on the surface of myskin when the song fades and bleeds into another when I feel a presence at my back. My body reactively flinches and then relaxes as I feel the weight of sure hands land on my waist and wrap around to my lower stomach.
The strangers scent of cedar wood and leather cocoons us to where the other scents of Chanel No. 5 and Dior, in the club don't invade us. His body is firm and dwarfs mine from what I can tell. No inch of space is spared as he tentatively pulls my body flush to his. My body grinds into his groin and I hear the hitch in his breath. Good god what is he hiding in his pants? He takes my hand and pulls it up, wrapping it around his neck and my fingers slide up to weave into the hair that’s at the nape and I give the silky strands a tug. His hands roam my body and down to my thighs, trailing up to the hem of my dress and I can’t stop the moan that lets free. I’m thankful for the music being so loud as he and I are the only two who know the effects of what’s taking place.
I feel the heat from his mouth on my neck and my head falls back on his shoulder, rolling to the side to give him better access. His tongue laps out and licks a drop of sweat off my neck. The noise that escapes me spurs him into action and he latches on. Trailing kisses and alternating sucks as our bodies continue to move to the beat of the music. His hands lock me in place to his as our bodies move in a way that’s reserved for the bedroom and his lips trail up before he pulls on my earlobe. My libido goes haywire when he dips his tongue in my ear.
The foreplay has gone on long enough. I turn around and wrap my arm around his neck again, pulling him down for a kiss. No hesitation, no resistance. Just pure lust fuels this kiss. Even in my heels he still towers over me and I feel him lower to my height as our lips connect. A zing that goesfar past attraction moves through my body. I choose to blame it on the alcohol and music because I’ve never felt anything like this. Is what pumps through the air vents at Target pumping through the air vents in the club? His hand presses into my lower back and he rises to his full height. I slip my hand into the back pocket of his jeans as my head tips back while he devours me.
We’re no longer dancing.
We’re lost in each other as the magic in the club takes over our senses.
This is what I wanted. This is what I need.
