Walker
It’s not enough, but I’ll take it. I want to slide my hand over hers. I want to do a whole lot more besides, most of it involving stroking my fingertips over every inch of her naked body, but I make do with this, our fingers barely touching, completely thrown by how this tiny bit of contact is holding every ounce of my attention.
I can’t focus on anything but Didi—the fact that she’s so close I can smell her shampoo, feel her breathing, yet so far away she’s unreachable. If only she really was my girlfriend, as that nurse thought, then there’d be nothing holding either of us back. If there were no barriers, I wonder what we’d be doing right now. I try not to think about it because I know in a minute I’m going to have to stand up.
When the movie’s over, Didi gets up off the bed. Disappointment rushes at me that it’s time for her to leave, but then she surprises me by switching off the TV and lying back down beside me. I’d been getting ready to get up, but now I sink back down against the cushions, wondering, waiting. My heart rate speeds up. I can’t tell what she’s thinking and it’s as frustrating as hell. I decide to wait it out.
“Do you ever think about what you’re going to do when you get out of here?” she asks.
“You mean besides go on a date with you?” I answer.
“No,” she says a little timidly. “I mean where you’ll live, what you might do?”
I shake my head. “What about you?” I ask, not wanting to focus on me. “You got plans?”
She takes a deep breath, let’s it out in a rush. “Get my PhD, start my own practice, buy a place in LA, somewhere near the water . . .”
“You’ve got it all mapped out.”
I can tell I’ve said the wrong thing, that she’s tensed up. “I used to,” I say quickly, “map things out, I mean. But now . . . I don’t know. Now I know how meaningless it all is, how it can all be ripped away in an instant, I just don’t see the point in it.”
There’s a long silence, but it’s one of the things I’m getting used to between us. It’s not uncomfortable but actually, weirdly, comforting.
“How’s the training going for the triathlon?” Didi asks after a while.
“Not bad,” I say. “Being tied to Sanchez isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, though.”
“Is it the being tied to someone you object to, or being tied to Sanchez?” she asks with a laugh.
I smile. “Well, you know, I’m down with a little bondage now and again. I would just rather it wasn’t with Sanchez.”
Didi laughs. I want to take that laugh and bottle it so I can pull it out and listen to it when she’s not there.
“Bondage, huh?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, wondering where I’m taking this conversation. It’s suddenly veering into territory that feels uncertain, and not being able to see her expression, I’m worried about saying the wrong thing. “You know, nothing too S&M,” I add in a joking tone. I don’t know why I’ve just made a joke like that. It’s not as if I’ve ever done it before. Miranda would probably have broken up with me for suggesting it.
“No paddles and whips, then?” Didi asks, laughing.
“No,” I say. “But tying someone up and blindfolding them? I could be down with that.”
“Oh?” There’s a hitch in her voice.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling the buzz between us suddenly increase a notch. “I can state with some expertise on the matter that blindness has one very clear benefit.”
“What?”
I pause, enjoying the slight breathlessness in her voice. “It heightens all your other senses.”
She swallows. I hear it. And then I hear her lips part.
“Touch, taste, hearing, smell,” I continue.
“Right,” Didi whispers.
Another pause.
“Walker?” she says, after a beat.
“Yeah?”
She hesitates. “I need to go home.”
“Oh.” Shit. Did I take it too far? I can feel the disappointment flooding onto my face. Suddenly her hand is against my cheek.
“I need to go home,” she says, “because I’m scared that if I don’t leave right now, then I’m never going to be able to leave at all.”
“Oh,” I say, and I have to fight hard to keep my arms by my sides and not pull her against me. She has no idea how much I want to hold her, trace her face and her lips with my fingertips, how much I want to get to know her in every single possible way.
“Good night,” she says.
I make to get up off the bed to see her to the door, but she pushes me back down. “No, don’t get up,” she whispers and then I feel her leaning over me, the soft sweep of her hair brushing my face. I have to hold my breath, clutch the covers to stop myself reaching for her. She kisses me softly on the cheek. Then she hovers over me, and I can sense her just an inch away from me, her breath warm against my lips. I hear her breathing quicken. Is she going to kiss me? It’s torture not knowing what’s coming, not being in control—having to relinquish the power to her. I can’t make a move because I can’t see what I’m doing, and that’s not a position I’ve ever been in before. With Miranda and every other girl I’ve always made the first move. Having said that, I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on, either. My own breathing has ratcheted up. My hands are gripping the sheets.
After a long, torturous moment, Didi gets up and crosses the room.
“Sleep well,” she says before she shuts the door.
I lie there, heart racing, trying to steady my breathing but getting nowhere. Sleep? I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping anytime soon.