The Function to Breathe

Eight

2015

I open the front door to my cottage, my hand shaking a little as I try to get the key into the lock. Ricky is right behind me as I go into the little entrance hall and through into the lounge. So much for my decision that I'm not going to let him see where I live.

It's dark; I was so on edge that I forgot to leave a light on when I went out earlier. I wrack my brains trying to remember if I've left the place tidy, crossing my fingers that I have. Taking off my jacket I cross the room and switch on a table lamp next to the sofa, breathing a sigh of relief when the light revealed that yes, the lounge at least is tidy. Ricky is standing by the door watching me, his hand on the frame. I wondered what's going through his mind, I wonder if it is racing as much as mine.

"I think I need a drink." I say, heading towards the kitchen door. The kitchen is small and leads right off the lounge. I select a bottle of red wine from the small wine rack on the counter and pick up two glasses. Ricky hasn't moved when I return a few seconds later; he's standing in exactly the same place, looking at me as if I'm the most wonderful thing he's ever seen.

"Sit down," I motion towards the sofa and try to smile. It's hard though; the look on Ricky's face is bringing back more memories, memories of how he used to look at me all those years ago. They're both pleasurable and painful to recall.

I'd relaxed a bit earlier, but all of a sudden I feel awkward and formal again. The room feels too small for the two of us, like there isn't enough air for us both to breathe. I wonder briefly if I'm going to have a panic attack; that would be all I need now. I force the thought out of my mind; thinking about having a panic attack can sometimes bring one on. I focus instead on the bottle of wine in my hand. "Would you like a drink?"

Ricky sits down on the edge of the sofa, his shoulders hunched, his hands pressed between his knees. He looks as nervous as I feel. "I'll have a coffee, I've got to drive."

Hovering in the kitchen doorway I say softly "You could stay... if you wanted to...?"

"Is that what you want Cat?" He looks apprehensive, glancing at me then down at his hands, biting his lip.

I know things are going to get complicated and that I'm opening myself up to all kinds of trouble if I say yes, but I look at him sitting there, all gorgeous and unsure of himself and nod. "I think so."

Ricky stands and walks over to me. Taking the wine bottle and glasses from me he puts them back on the kitchen counter and then taking my face in his hands he kisses me again. As our lips meet I sigh softly and lift my hands to rest one on the curve of his neck, the other on his chest. I can feel his heart beating rapidly through the denim of his shirt, beating as rapidly as mine is.

Slowly the kiss deepens as we gain confidence. It feels like the first time he ever kissed me on the bus all those years ago, but better, so much better; and so much more terrifying. Then I'd felt like I had nothing to lose; now I feel like I have everything to lose. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of an abyss; a sudden movement in the wrong direction or at the wrong time will set me plunging into the never ending darkness below.

Panicking slightly I pull away, press my hand to the centre of my chest to try and calm my pounding heart. Again, I seemed to have lost the function to breathe.

"Sorry," I say, letting my hands fall to my sides and looking at the floor. This is much harder than the first time we ever kissed. Then I hadn't known what it would be like to lose him, now I do. I must be mad to be even contemplating doing this. "This is a bit intense."

"Do you want me to leave?" Ricky frowns and touches my cheek.

Do I want him to leave? Part of me does and part of me doesn't. The part that doesn't wins; I shake my head, "No, please stay. I... I just need to take things a bit more slowly. Sorry."