we've all see them, we all know.
Weeks of attempting to contact her fell short, and he had given up, much to her relief. It was awkward, but only for her. Rushing emotions fell over her as she pulled her lips from his that night; regret, desire, and embarrassment; turning from him, she walked away, without thinking of turning back. When the feeling of relief would finally arrive, the sense of moving on, finally getting over him; something always pulled her back to him, she would never move on.
Text messages arrive in a timely manner and may provoke different feelings for different reasons in all of us, and at times, they provoke all the wrong feelings at all the wrong times for all the wrong reasons. Months after her leap of affection, she received a text message on her way to work that simply read:
Come back to me Wendy, I miss you
Her eyes began to well with tears as she pulled into her parking spot, and as the very first tear drop slipped through, she admitted to herself that she missed him. Granting him the attention, but not the attention he wanted, she replied, attempting to shrug off the sadness with irony:
I'm sorry Peter Pan, Neverland is so two years ago
Humiliation was all that he could feel, and no one could say they blamed him, but he needed to tell her. Cutting himself off from the world, he wouldn't answer their phone calls, or return their messages; it was a catastrophe that was going to spin out of control and he needed to be alone, he needed to rethink what was becoming of his life.
Acknowledging that the news should be broken to her before she read it in the gossip papers or saw it as a news headline when checking her e-mail; Andy sent her a text messages, unable to explain it to her verbally:
We think you should know, but he's not going to tell you.
Search his name and you will know why; they were probably for you.
Needless to say, she did as she was instructed and she understood why he wouldn't want to tell her, she wouldn't want to bring herself to saying it either. Spinning carelessly in her desk chair, she stalled as long as she could, holding the phone in her hand, admitting that it was necessary, unable to bring herself to do it. Knowing he would answer for her, she forced the courage, swallowing the lump built up in her throat; dialing the number her fingers knew all too well.
Her phone call was the only one he answered for two days straight and they spent the night talking. They were a bad habit that needed to be kicked, but she was an addiction that he couldn't shake; he needed her and would do anything to show her, no matter how big of a mistake it may have been. Apologizing more than she expected to hear, they discussed their situation and what it was causing inside of them, they discussed the past, the present and the future, trying to rebuild a friendship, coming to terms with what has come and gone; mending wounds that would brutally reopen before kicking their habit and giving up once again.
Rain falling down hard on her window that night, she found him at her door, in the early hours of the morning, soaking wet and visibly unhappy, without a clue as to why he was still in Los Angeles. With a deep breath and a leap of faith, she let him in, knowing there would be no way to resist. It broke her heart to see the sadness in his eyes; he was running to her and she was willing and waiting, when they should both have been running in opposite directions.
Weeks have passed since they had last spoke, and their encounters had become few and far between, but his newest distraction had given up hope, leaving him a lonely broken man once again. Part of Sophie felt guilty, but he was fully capable of making his own choices, she couldn't control the things he had done; it was time for him to learn from his mistakes, but he was never going to change. Moments later, he was kissing her, the conversation had stalled, the desire burning inside them both after months of depravation.
It would be a lie for her to say she hadn't missed him, that she hadn't missed his kiss, his touch, his presence in the daily activities of her life; with his desire to be close to her, driving him to this very moment.
An awkward avoidance would probably prevail in the morning, but neither of them cared, this moment had become a distorted reality; she was straddling him on the couch as clothing began to fall to the floor, his lips running the length of her body and back again. An outrageous sexual attraction made their separation more difficult than all others who had come before; there would always be an intimate connection, but at this moment it was hard to find the intimacy in the way she encouraged him out of his wet clothes or how passionately he kissed her, obliging to her every demand.
Moments after he slid inside of her, her hips pressing down into his, she realized that she was cheating. Breaking every moral standard she had ever set for the relationships of the past and present, she made the mistake, regretting it only momentarily. It was a game night, he would be away for days, and the probability of even a phone call to acknowledge her existence in his life was slim.
Their relationship was based on merit; it was something she fell into without even taking a second guess at what would become of it. Careers would be boosted, and goals would be achieved in their professional lives, but the intimacy would never spark; she didn't love him, she couldn't love him, it was a shame that she tried to fool herself into believing it was real, but she knew that this moment was real, and as he thrust deeper inside of her, letting out an exuberant moan of pleasure, she cheated. Cheating once more than night, then securing their place in the 'Mile High Club', she cheated again the next night, on a flight to Chicago; where he would accompany her to a basketball game, ironically in his hometown. Cheating once more before ending the relationship she had accidentally fallen into, and letting go of the man that would gladly take care of her forever, she found herself falling back into the train wreck of a boy that she once knew.