Silence is agonizing.
With every call that goes unanswered, another knot yanks, taking up residence in my gut.
I’m an asshole.
I took my own frustrations and embarrassment out on Adaline when I stormed out the other night. There she was, doing everything perfectly, about to hand herself over to me entirely, and I threw it in her face when I couldn’t keep my shit together. I was so wrapped up in my own head—so unbelievably pissed off that my body wouldn’t allow me to be with her—that I lost it.
The fucked-up thing is that I had no problem getting hard a few hours later once I had calmed down. I jerked off that night numerous times, feeling like a total piece of shit and wondering how much I had hurt her. I couldn’t call her, though. There was too much shame and confusion roiling through me. It took a solid day for me to pick up the phone, only to be sent straight to voice mail. I’ve been calling daily, but she declines every single one of them. I would’ve gone over to her house, but if she refused to talk to me on the phone, I knew I’d be crossing a boundary with her if I showed up on her doorstep.
So here I am, sitting in my car that’s parked next to hers in the school’s lot while storms plague the city and beat down on metal and glass. It’s our first day back after Christmas break, and it’s been three days since the night I walked out on Adaline. I hate that the first time we are going to see each other again is going to be so public, and it’s terrifying to think about how she’s going to react to me.
Trent slams his hand down onto the hood of my car, knocking me out of my daze.
“What the hell’s your problem?” I snap a bit too harshly when I sling the door open and get out.
“Dude, chill. Don’t get all hormonal with me. Save that shit for your girl.”
I shrug my backpack over my shoulder and silently brace myself as we walk inside. I scan the halls, looking for her as I make my way to first period, but she’s nowhere to be found. We don’t have class together until third hour, so I suffer in panging regret and worry through my first two classes.
I walk in right before the bell rings, but her desk, which sits next to mine, is empty. As I go to take my seat, she catches my eye from across the room, and my heart free falls, hitting every rib on the way down.
Her eyes find mine for only a second before she turns away, as if the pain of seeing me is too much for her to bear. In a new desk on the opposite side of the room, she might as well be on the opposite side of the planet. I watch her, I can’t take my eyes off her, but she uses her long hair to shield herself from me. Everything on the inside is screaming for me to go to her, to rip her from her seat, to hold her, and to tell her how sorry I am. I don’t. Instead, I’m paralyzed by my own misery of being the self-aware culprit I am.
How could I be so selfish to walk out on her the way I did?
The bell hasn’t even finished ringing when she’s out of her seat.
“Miss Rees,” the teacher calls after her, but she’s already gone, and I’m next to follow.
She’s out of sight when I step into the hall, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day like this. We’ve been so close for so long, inseparable, and now I walk the halls feeling more alone than I ever have before. Knowing I need to get out of here and figure out how to resolve this with her, I stash my stuff in my locker and head out to my car.
With dark clouds sunk low in the sky, I duck my head against the rain as I make my way through the parking lot. I stop short when I find her sitting in her car, which is still parked next to mine. Her head is down against the steering wheel, and I tap gently against the passenger side window. She looks at me through the rain-slicked glass and then clicks the lock, giving me permission to slide in next to her.
I can tell she’s been crying by the red in her eyes. All I want to do is make her feel better, but I’m scared to talk as she stares blankly out the windshield. There’s a heaviness in my chest, and a big part of me is terrified that this may all be over. I fist my hand through my wet hair as I struggle to figure out what I could possibly say to her when I land on a tormenting, “I’m so sorry.”
Her face pains before she hides it away from me when she looks out her side window.
“Adaline, please.”
Slowly, she turns to face me, and it feels like a boulder slamming down on my lungs. When sadness slips down her cheeks, she strains to speak. “Is it me? Because it really feels like it’s me.”
“God, babe, no.”
“Then why?”
I wish I could give her an answer, but I can’t because I’m just as confused as she is. And with confusion comes monumental embarrassment to admit what I’ve been hiding from her.
Balling my hands against my forehead, I battle with exposing the lewd impulses that have taken control of me. If she knew about this, she’d be sickened, so I drop my hands and give her a cowardly shake of my head.
“So that’s it? You don’t know why you can give yourself to other girls but not me?”
“I don’t know what to say. I was a total dick to you the other night, but I never meant to hurt you, I swear.”
“None of this makes sense to me.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks and fixes her eyes straight ahead as the rain hammers down on the car. “I thought you wanted this with me.”
“I do,” I stress, wanting to tell her the truth, but I can’t—I don’t know how.
She’s quiet, unmoving, unspeaking, but by the look in her eyes, I know insecurities are mocking her.
“You don’t think I notice, but I do,” she says cryptically before adding, “All the times you won’t let me touch you because I don’t turn you on.”
“Adaline, don’t. You’re perfect, I swear to you. You’re everything to me.”
But my words aren’t enough for her as she stares down into her lap and weeps, “I just want to be left alone.”
The last thing I want to do is step out of this car and away from her, but I give her the space she’s asking for even though every move I make comes with the painstaking worry that it’ll be the wrong one.
Standing in the rain, silently screaming my regrets as they claw at me from every corner of my body. I grit my teeth when she drives away, pissed beyond measure at myself, replaying in my head all the ways I should’ve handled the other night. But I can’t go back. I can’t change how horribly I treated her when she was at her most vulnerable with me. I took something so precious and shit all over it.
That night spits its ugly venom through my veins, and I slam my palm against my car. I swear to God, I’ll do anything to fix whatever the hell is going on with me. It kills me to know she thinks my not getting hard has anything to do with her, but I can’t tell her that I’m the one with the issue.
I shut myself in my car, barraged with a million and one thoughts of how to remedy myself, when the realization that maybe this is due to the fact that I’ve been robbing myself of what my body truly fiends for. I automatically hate myself for thinking of doing what I’m considering. But I never had this issue until I started depriving myself of sex. I used to be able to get an erection at the drop of a dime.
Throwing my car in drive, I tell myself I’m doing this for Adaline. Because if I don’t fix this, then I’m scared this issue will only drive her further away if it continues.
I love Adaline, and I never want to do anything to hurt her, but the emotional fulfillment she gives me is extrinsically disjointed from my physical contentment. Movies and books would have you believe the two go hand in hand, but they don’t for me. They never have. I’ve always been able to be sexual with a girl without any interference of emotions. They never came into play because they never existed for me.
Until now.
The confliction is sometimes unbearable because of how much I’ve fallen in love with Adaline.
I’ve gone without sex for eight months, and I feel lost and out of control. Most hours of my day are spent wading in the waters of anxiousness. It’s as if I’m constantly trying to fight against impulses that won’t leave me alone. It’s the idea that if I starve myself, eventually the urgency will lessen. I push and push until I can’t anymore. And when I give in, it only makes everything worse. All I seem to be doing is encouraging the craving instead of stifling it into dormancy.
I pull up to the apartment, but her car is gone, so I keep driving to where I know she’ll be. Every muscle wrapped around my bones ache for what I’m about to do. The anticipation alone has my dick coming to life. Maniacal adrenaline swims through my veins, causing a cold sheen of sweat to break out all over me.
Thoughts cloud into a dense fog when I turn in to the grocery store parking lot, and when I spot her car, a frenzy breaks through my pores. I can already feel the rush tingling to the surface as I walk inside the nearly empty store.
Lane three—lucky number three—poisonous redemption three.
“Kason, what are you doing here?” she asks before her face falls. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good.”
“I need ten minutes.” I shake my head in an attempt to clear the haze, my voice not sounding quite right.
She takes a quick look around the barren space, and gives me a nod with a flick of a smile. Grabbing my hand, she leads me down an aisle to a set of double doors. Passing through the break room, Krista pulls me into the single-stall employee bathroom, and I can’t grab the condom from my wallet or rip my pants off fast enough. She shoves down her panties with a giggle and lets me lift her onto the rusted sink. When I slam inside her, everything fades into blackness as I give myself away to the toxicity I pray will cure.
She clings to me, but hers are the wrong arms.
She moans with the wrong voice.
She smells of the wrong perfume.
Stop fucking thinking, Kason.
My eyes clench shut, I flex my jaw, and I screw away any goodness I thought I possessed.
“Harder.”
“Don’t talk.” I nearly hiss the words while giving into her request.
She hangs on, and I come quickly.
I can’t even look at her as I yank the condom off, toss it in the toilet, and pull my pants up.
“I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed that,” she says as she tries to catch her breath, but her acidic voice kills the smokescreen I came in here with.
What the fuck just happened?
Realization of what I just did crystalizes and shatters all around me, and I’m out the door before she can put her pants on.
I fly through the store and bolt into the rain that should cleanse, but there’s no hope for my rotten soul. My heart pounds through ribs, splintering them with every debilitating pump, reminding me over and over and over that I just cheated on Adaline.
“Fuck!”
When I walk into the apartment, I can’t even recall the drive that got me here as I tear off my clothes and throw on a fresh pair of gym shorts. My skin is clammy to the touch, my vision flickers in a wave of lightheadedness, and I fall onto my mattress.
Like a weak little boy, my eyes water when my lungs fill with the scent of Adaline, which lingers on my sheets. I shove my face into the pillow her head last rested on, and my stomach convulses. Tucking my knees under my chest, I grind my teeth so hard they just might break under the pressure, and I release the most agonizing wail as I scream.
Vocal cords strain, bleeding around the jagged knives that force their way up my throat, and I cry out for some sort of relief. But I don’t deserve relief, and I don’t deserve Adaline. I’m a goddamn scumbag, and it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out for herself. But at the same time, I can’t lose her. I’m a selfish bastard, but fuck it, I need her because I know I’ll never find a love as pure and virtuous as hers. She’s perfection, and I pissed all over everything we shared.
Tears come, and I don’t have the strength to fight them off. I’m sick to my stomach, needing to purge the sins I know will pollute everything.
In a break between my suffering cries, I hear knocking, which is followed by her frantic voice.
“Kason, open the door.”
No part of me can deny her when I rush to let her in, but she takes one look at me and is horror-stricken.
“My god, what’s wrong?”
The answer comes too quickly, too clearly, too fucking painfully, and I crack, dropping my head and backing away from her. She meets me step for step, refusing the distance she’ll be begging for the moment she finds out. God damn, I can’t even look at her, and when my back meets the wall, she reaches for me before I drop to my knees.
“Kason, you’re scaring me,” she cries and then lowers herself to the floor in front of me.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
Her hand touches my skin like a lick of fire, and as much as I want to take this to my grave, I love her too much to ever deceive her. I look into her eyes, and like a cleaver to my ashen heart, I persist in desperation, “I love you. You have to believe me. Tell me you believe me.”
“What’s going on.”
“Tell me you believe me.”
She trembles under tear-streaked cheeks. “I believe you, Kason. I know you love me. I love you, too.”
She takes my hands in hers, and the touch is so undeserved. Bending into myself with the dagger of the truth on the tip of my tongue, I tighten my hands around hers, choking on the bitterness of my words. “I’m fucked up, Adaline.”
“What do you mean?”
And in a single breath, I strip away all the faith she ever had in me when I make my confession.
“I cheated on you.”