Dear Diary

Chapter 21

Dear Diary,

I don't know whether this has been the worst or best weekend of my life.  Ever since Friday, my brain has just had to deal with a whirlwind of emotions.  And I think I just made it worse.  All Danny was trying to do was protect me, which he did.  And I'm grateful.  Son of bitch got one hell of a black eye for me.  Crazy bastard.  And then, my stupid ass falls off my step stool and I sprained my ankle.  At least, I hope it's just a sprain.  It still hurts like a mother.  But all he was doing was putting me to bed, and my stupid ass had to go and ruin it.  But fuck!  He knows him stroking my hair is my switch.  He knows I can't help myself when he does that.  Why the hell would he start doing that if he had NO intention of defiling me.  And then, to make me feel awful.  Asshole. 

Okay, so maybe he didn't mean to make me feel bad.  But here's the deal.  He was stroking my hair, I asked him to stop.  And he did.  He's never stopped when I've asked him to.  Why this time?  And then, I had to go and kiss him.  But fuck it felt so good.  Our tongues dancing together, his hand running up and down my back, until I pulled him down on top of me.  My God, did it feel amazing having him laying on top of me. I haven't had time with him in eight years.  This felt comfortable and new, all at the same time.  I couldn't stop myself.  I found the hem of his shirt, his damn tight white shirt that outlined his upper body so perfectly.  Just seeing the phrase describing it is making me feel moisture pool between my legs.  As I was saying, I found the hem of his shirt, and ran my hands up him, feeling his hardened pecs that would drive any woman nuts with desire.  I even started to push his shirt up with one hand, and with the other that I pulled out from under his shirt, I grabbed his left hand and put it between my legs so he knew I wanted more.  It was at that point everything just went to shit.

Danny broke our kiss, looked me dead in the face and asked, "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?  Do I really have to tell you?"  And I tried to kiss him again, but he moved away.

"Leia."

"Danny, I want you.  Don't you want me?"

"Leia, you know I do.  But not like this," and he pushed himself off of me, and sat up with his legs over the side of the bed.

"What do you mean not like this?  What other way is there?  For fuck's sake Danny.  I'm giving in.  How can you not take me?"

"That's just it Leia.  I don't want you because you're giving in.  I want you because you want me as much as I want you."

"Okay, fine, I do."  I was saying anything to get him inside me.  I know what he has hiding in those jeans.  And I wanted it.

"Lei, no."

My emotions started creeping up on me and took over.  "Ya know Danny, what the fuck?  You come back into my life completely unasked, and then you spend the weekend practically stalking me.  You keep telling me that you fucked up, and that you love me.  But the moment I show you the slightest bit of interest or attention, you decide it's better to cast me aside.  After you do the ONE THING that you know will make me do whatever you want."

"Leia.  It's not that I don't want you. Heaven knows I do.  I just don't want to do something so serious, so fast, that we'll end up regretting it."

"You'd regret being with me?!"

"No, Leia. I could never regret being with you.  I regret NOT being with you all this time."

"Ya know, whatever.  I can't believe I even thought about letting you sleep with me.  Just fucking go downstairs and go to sleep."

"Leia. . ."

"GO!"

I watched him get up off my bed and walk out my bedroom door.  Jesus Christ, wasn't that sight familiar.  I don't know what made me cry more.  The fact that this scene was familiar, or the fact that this time, he didn't deserve me screaming at him.  He was actually right for stopping what I was trying to start.  I've been sitting here crabbing that he's been out of my life for eight years, that we don't know each other anymore, and at the same time, I tried to hook up with him like the damn jackass I met on my dating app.

Damn, that's something I should do.  I haven't checked that thing in a while.  I don't know if I want to though.  I have the one man that I've always wanted right in front of me, and all I have to do is sit down and talk to him.  Instead, here I am at my breakfast counter, writing down the failure that is my love and sex life because I tried to nail my ex-boyfriend, and he refused me.  For fuck's sake he's right in my living room.  Why am I sitting here writing in you and thinking about my dating app, when I could just get my ass up and and do something about it.  Well, it's not quite that simple.  My ankle still hurts like hell, and the only way I got downstairs was by sliding down the stairs on my ass.  But at least I was greeted with a wonderful picture.

As I was sliding down the stairs (thank God I had shorts on or I'd have a serious rug burn on my ass) and I got to the mid-way landing, I could see down into my living room.  I could see Danny asleep.  Oh. My. God.  As always, he slept with no shirt, and the blanket he took from my closet pulled up to just his waist.  Those pecs of his that I ran my hands over last night, fuck.  When he's on his back, they are gorgeous human pillows.  And they used to be my pillows!  Uh, I just want to lay on one.  But I threw him out - last night - eight years ago.  He's never going to want me back after last night.

Oh my God.  I want him back.  Of course I do.  I always have.  I can't be without him.  I need him.  I love him.  I have to get him back, somehow.  Uh oh, I hear him stirring.  I know what I can do. . .