That Night Ten Years Ago
I was dreaming. Dreaming about playing the drums and Anthony was there, watching me. Looking like he wanted to eat me up. I shredded them and Anthony stared on, looking like he wanted to bend me over the kit and take me from behind. Maybe I wasn’t quite asleep. Maybe I was in the sweet spot between sleep and awake where you can still hear everything around you, but it seems like it’s all a part of your dreams.
A phone rang. Again and again until I popped my eyes open, the bright sunlight pouring through the windows and making me snap my eyes closed again. It was early, not terribly as the sun was pretty high in the sky.
The phone rang again and Anthony grumbled from beside me. We’d stayed up past late and into the wee hours of morning and not just having sex. We’d talked and talked. I’d sung for him. He’d told me his dreams. I’d told him mine.
I took in his sleeping face. I’d thought him beautiful at the club last night, but it in no way compared to his beauty now. Wasn’t beauty a funny thing? I learned in that moment that it really did start on the inside and radiate out because after a night with Anthony, he’d only become more gorgeous. More special. More everything. Just more.
His sleeping face looked especially boyish that morning. And sweet. We’d connected. I’d felt it deep in my skin, and I’d never felt a damn thing that deep. I was just a kid, but I knew something big when I felt it and me and Anthony, we were definitely something monumental.
The phone stopped ringing. I curled my body along the outside of his, the front of my naked thighs to the backs of his. I ran my hand through his soft blond hair. The sun was up. Was this it? Was this magical night over and so were we? I didn’t want that. I’d talk to him. He had to feel the same way. I didn’t know how he couldn’t. We’d shared so much in just one single night. I dreamed of all we’d manage to share in days, months, years to come. It made me smile.
When he woke we would sit down and figure it out. I’d be traveling but not forever. Long-distance relationships were hard, but for Anthony I was willing to give it a try. I hoped he was willing to as well.
The phone picked up ringing again and he stretched, his long legs eating up over half of the bed and covering my own. They were firm and strong with the faintest hint of blond hairs. Even the man’s legs were perfection.
He turned toward me, kissing my head. “Be back. I’ll get the phone.” His voice was deeper from sleep and it slid over me like thick molasses. I hoped he didn’t have plans today. I wanted him again already.
I lay here blissed out, feeling drunk on sex and intimacy. I spread my body out in the middle of the bed, stretching every muscle, feeling sore in a very good way. I didn’t think my body had ever been so thoroughly loved. I heard quiet murmurs of Anthony’s voice coming from the kitchen, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.
His footsteps thundered toward the bed and I turned, smiling. “That was quick.”
Picking my clothes up off the floor, he barked out, “You need to go.”
My clothes landed on the bed a foot from me. “What?”
I had to have misunderstood him. Was he throwing me out? A million questions bombarded my brain, but they all told me the same answer. I must have misunderstood him. Surely, he’d felt the same connection I had last night?
“You need to fucking go!” he shouted.
I flinched, grabbing my black dress to cover my breasts. He was scaring me.
He paced the room while I watched on, terrified. Running his hands through his hair roughly, he looked at me. I could only stare, completely stunned.
“Get your fucking clothes on and go.” His face was so pained. Something was wrong.
“Doc,” I said softly, reaching out a hand to him, but he flinched away like the palm of my hand might burn him.
He leaned over and into my face, his height and stature intimidating the hell out of me. “Get dressed and get the fuck out. Now,” he hissed at me and it hit me square in the chest. I felt the tears burn my eyes long before they fell as I frantically squeezed myself back into my tight black dress and scoured the apartment for my panties and shoes while Anthony stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door.
I heard the click of the lock and that was that. He’d shut me out indefinitely. Our night had ended just as it had begun, with a bang.
I collected my purse and as I walked by the bathroom door, I paused, laying my hand on the outside of the door, praying this was all some sort of nightmare. Maybe I was still asleep. Maybe I’d awaken and Anthony would be petting some part of my body like he’d done all night. I’d purr and he’d smile. We’d talk, make love, repeat. It had been the most magical night of my life. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.
“Anthony,” I said softly, my hand still pressed to the door.
A loud slam against the door that I assumed was his hand sent me reeling back.
“Just go!” he screamed and my insides hurt. His voice was anguished, crude, so fucking bleak.
Just like that. I was so expendable. What had happened? Why was he being this way? He frightened me, and I realized maybe I didn’t know him at all. It had only been one night. Still, my hurt was immeasurable.
I ran from the apartment and down the steps, tears leaking from the sides of my eyes and running into my hair. It was for the best. It would have never worked out. We were on two separate paths in life. We were too different. I told myself so many lies that morning when I finally got back to my friend’s house, I almost believed them. I’d be heading back to Tennessee soon, and I’d be touring with my band. I had dreams bigger than Anthony Jackson and his sparkling green eyes.
For years, I wondered what had happened that night. Who had called? Was it a girlfriend? Was he afraid of getting caught? What had made him so upset that he’d thrown me out? Screamed at me? I’d only known him a night, but it seemed so strangely uncharacteristic of him.
For years, I thought of him and sometimes it wasn’t of his screaming at me an inch from my face. No, sometimes I thought of my cheek pressed to his heart. Sometimes I thought of our young selves tangled up in the sheets, whispering to each other in the dark, and I would smile. Sometimes.