Delicate Hearts | a Collection of Short Stories

Wrong Kind of Love

I stood glued on the floor pondering on what to order. I stared blankly on the menu board, calmly and at ease knowing there's no one on the line behind me. I breathe deep sighs as the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers. 

Tension slowly lurked in at the same time the bell hanging on the door rang; a sign someone came in. Out of pressure I blurted out my order. 

"Caramel Macchiato please", 

"Celine?", a manly croaky and familiar voice sounded just over my shoulder.

Of course I was nervous, too nervous to have placed my card on a wrong pocket; being an OCD it will definitely be a problem later on. I turned around to see who it was. Sweat build up on top of my upper lip. 

"Chris...", it was the man I used to love. 

"Has it been 10 years? You look great; since when have you been in town?", as anxious as I was, he displayed the exact opposite. He still has this fiery look in his eyes, the look that has kept me on my toes for years, the very look that triggers my most innocent desires. I knew this was no uncanny encounter, I always knew I'd bump into him, but never in my life did I anticipated it to happen at the day I arrived. 

He proceeded with his order while I'm still struggling to grasp the moment.  I'm only finding it difficult because my body has its own way of reacting to the sound of his voice, to how he looks at me, to his very existence. 

"Yes, it has been that long. I just arrived actually, I got relocated back here. What about you? have you always been here?", I tried to sound as calm as I could as we grabbed a seat together. As always, my body warms up whenever he speaks, its how much I was drawn to him, and its how exactly my body reacts to him, just him. He never fails to bring out the feminine side of me, even at this age, even when I'm already married. I held onto my cup, worried that I might give out unnecessary signals; water dripping on the side as the ice melts from my palm's warmth against the cup, while my other hand rest on my lap, fidgeting endlessly on my wedding ring. I thought of removing it, but I don't know exactly why. He continued talking, telling stories, I was not even paying attention, I only pretended I was because it was an excuse to stare at his lips. 

"Don't even think of denying, I saw a ring. How long have you been married?", he asked. I was immediately nudged back to my senses. My heart started beating rapidly, as if its about to burst out from my chest. I don't understand why I have the need to deny it; it's not that I'm ashamed, it's just--I don't know why either. 

"2 years", I had no choice, I had to answer. 

"That's very recent. Is he in town too?", 

"No. But what about you? Are you married?", I came to realize after asking that it's what has been bothering me. 

"I am. 5 years, we're actually expecting. If you might ask, no, I don't wear my ring to work", defensively he answered, as if he was clearly drawing a boundary. 

Chris and I dated back in College, we broke up after graduating because he cheated. Months after we broke up, they started dating and another couple of months later, he cheated on her with me, and I didn't mind. It happened once, it was clearly for fun, but then it happened again, and again, and again. I was not a side chick; its just that, its my body he longed for, and so did I; I knew there were still feelings involved, its clearly easy to resolve, I know we could have just gotten back together, but I couldn't bring myself to trust him again. Is it love? Is it lust? I don't know, is there in between? If there was, its what we had. We agreed to have no strings attached, once feelings get in the way, we'd stop. Night after night, I kept my heart silent when it loudly cries for his name. And night after night, I tried to dry my pillow from the tears whenever he says the words I love you to another woman as he clung onto me. Then I left town, because I came to realize that I still loved him, that every sex we had were moments I cherished the most, that I needed him to stop coming to me when he's only horny, that I needed to be the only one he says I love you to.  I had to leave because I know he does not feel the same way I do. I had to leave because the only common feelings we have left is only when we're on bed.