autobiography // h.s. au (sequel to the writer)

chapter 2

Alexis

His hand is resting on my knee as he drives. His thumb smooths along the jean material. His touch doesn't feel like it used to. Every time his a hand would press against mine, or each time our lips would kiss, my body would tingle. My love for him then was so invigorating. God, I always wanted him near me, with me. We would fuck like wild bunnies. Every day, every place. But that was so long ago now. Everything we do together is lost of love. It's like all we do is follow each other like ghosts. His body passes through mine, and nine passes through his.

"What do you want for dinner?" Harry asks. I snap out of my stare and move to meet his eyes. Every time I look into them I see the love he feels for me and there's this feeling that comes over me - I don't know what it is. Resentment? Sadness? Regret? What ever the feeling is, it's not love.

"I don't mind. Not fish, though," I reply. It's monotone and sad the way I sound when I'm taking to him.

The house is cold when we step inside. I move straight to the thermostat and turn it on before walking up the stairs to the bedroom. Harry goes to the kitchen to start cooking. A few months ago, whenever we'd get home, we would crash into each other immediately and kiss, take each other's clothes off and fuck. Oh, man, would we fuck. Most of the time we wouldn't even make it to the bed.

His arms held me so close to his body. He wouldn't stop kissing me, touching me. He couldn't get enough and it was hot. He pressed himself against me. This was going to slow. I don't need foreplay. He knew the whole time we were at that reading I was staring at him thinking about all the things we did last night, how hot it was, how hard I came. He was being a tease and I didn't like it.

"Quicker," I rasped.

"I want to take my time," he says as his hands run hot lines down my sides.

"You know" - his lips are on mine for a moment, stopping my sentence - "that idea, the whole taking it slow thing, will be out the door the second you get my bra off."

"True," he says hotly into my ear. His lips press across my neck, soft yet rusher. He pushes my skirt higher and higher up my thighs, making his way to where he wants to be.

"Get my bra off, then," I say.

"Yes, ma'am."

I push the white covers from my side of the bed. I'm just going to slip in, take a quick nap before Harry jolts me awake and brings me downstairs to sit silently with him at the kitchen bench as we eat. I'll close my eyes, imagine somewhere other than where I am right now - watching the Thames from a bench, or in my old flat drinking wine and watching trashy TV. Simple things that I took for granted each time I did them. I can't sit and watch TV without Harry complaining of the little necessity of reality TV shows, and I can't sit by the Thames without Harry wanting to tag along and ruining the whole silent-company ideal.

Before I can step into a light sleep, when my thoughts aren't really mine and my worries are redundant, Harry presses lightly to my shoulder. He shakes me lightly, with a delicacy that implies he cares.

"Lex," he whispers. "Lex, dinner's ready."

I roll to my back, my thoughts muddled and my mind groggy. He's close, so close his breath lightly touches my face. Just kiss me, tender like you used to, or rough like it had once been. Remind me of the spark and love that we seem to have lost.

"Are you okay, Lex?" His eyes are worried now. There's a little crease in between his eyebrows, the shape of a T.

His hands move over my body on top of the duvet. My eyes flutter shut. There's a feeling of flaming familiarity. This touch is not like any other from the past few months; this is the touch he had when we were new and the sex was hot. But I'm lead astray as his hands were only running teasingly across my body to reach the top and pull the covers off my warm body.

"I made that stir fry you used to like." Used to implies he doesn't know me anymore.

"Okay."