The Space Between Us(66)
I couldn’t give him what he wanted, but didn’t push him away either. He thought that eventually I would “come around”, that I would marry him, give him children. I knew better and I told him so, but if I were a good person, I’d leave him. He was so good, so hopeful, so wonderful. And I couldn’t let him go.
So like many times before, I let him comfort me and lied to him about the source of my sadness.
“What happened just then?” He asked softly, after I had calmed down. I pulled back from him, wiping my face with my hands. I couldn’t look in his eyes as I lied to him. I never could.
“That was the nickname Asher use to call me,” I said quietly, still trying to keep calm.
“Bit?” He asked, curiously. It pained me to hear it, physically hurt me. All my muscles cramped up, my throat constricted. I nodded, trying to catch my breath. “That’s a weird nickname.” I let his comment float between us because I had no need or want to explain it to him. “How long ago did he die again?” I closed my eyes and turned from him.
“Thirteen years ago.”
I stood with my hands on the vanity, my head hanging between my shoulders, exhausted from everything that happened in the last five minutes. I felt David come up behind me and place his hands on my arms, brushing his palms up and down, trying to comfort me. Then his hand came down to the bare skin of my rib cage, just above my waist. He ran his hand along the tattoo I had done years before I met him. He softly caressed the letters that were forever scarred on me.
“Are you still thinking of having this removed?” That was another lie I told him, that I was thinking of having it removed. I would never get rid of it. I didn’t want to. I wanted to see his name on me. I wanted to be reminded of everything. I wanted some part of him on my naked skin at all times, regardless of how sick and twisted it was. I needed it. But that’s not what David saw.
“Does it bother you?” It should. It should bother him to see another man’s name tattooed on his girlfriend. It wasn’t small either. It ran along my entire side. It was beautiful.
“I know he was your childhood friend and that you were traumatized by his death, but if you feel like you need the tattoo removed, I would understand and support you.” This was his niceness coming through again. He would never tell me how much it bothered him to see it on me. He would always say the right thing.
“I’m still thinking about it.” Lies.
Most of what I had with David was founded on lies, but they were necessary to make it work. According to the lies I told David, Asher was simply a childhood friend who died tragically in a car accident my sophomore year of college. According to my lies, Asher was my best friend and then was taken from me suddenly and unexpectedly. According to my lies, I never really recovered. So, the lies weren’t all lies. He was taken from me suddenly and unexpectedly, and I hadn’t ever recovered from it, but he wasn’t my friend. He was my everything, and I was fully aware the way I held on to him, even all these years later, was unhealthy and mostly sick. I didn’t care enough about myself though to fix anything.
David gently kissed my temple, trying to sooth me. I saw his eyes meet mine in the mirror of the vanity and I watched as his mouth kissed down the side of my face, over my cheek, behind my ear. I watched as his lips moved to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses along my neck. I closed my eyes and leaned back into him, and I knew what it looked like to him. I knew he thought I was giving myself over to him, letting him make love to me to make me feel better, to feel close to him. He thought I was closing my eyes from pleasure. Lies. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see him anymore. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want him to see me and I definitely didn’t want to feel anything. No pleasure. No joy. No love. Nothing.
His hands moved my bra straps off my shoulders and pushed them down to my elbows. I felt him pull the fabric down, releasing my breasts. His hands cupped me, squeezed me, and I pushed out the obligatory sigh that was expected of me. Lies. His hands moved over me, feeling my arms, my back, my ass, but as his hands floated over my belly I grabbed them and pushed them back to my breasts. I never let him touch my stomach. I never let anyone touch my stomach. I could never tell him why though; I didn’t have a good excuse. The truth was not something I wanted to share with him or anyone.
He spun me around and his hands grazed down my back, his fingers sliding between the material of my panties and my skin, pushing them over the roundness of my ass.
“What about the fundraiser?” I asked between his kisses, not really in the mood to pretend to enjoy myself.
“We can be fashionably late,” he mumbled between my breasts. I gave in, because I always gave in. It was easier to give in than to answer questions or make up excuses.
He pulled one of my nipples into his mouth and I knew I should feel something, but I didn’t. I heard my phone ringing across the room and moved to answer it. His fingers tightened their grasp on my hips. “Let it ring,” he said around my nipple in his mouth. I conceded and ran my fingers through his hair, going through the motions, hoping he’d buy it. When my phone started ringing again, I heard him sigh against my skin. He stepped away from me and I hurried to my phone, pretending to be affronted.
I didn’t recognize the number, but it’s local to Willow Falls so my heart rate peaked and I answered with a little break in my voice, wondering who it could be. “Hello?”