The week went by in a blur, I felt as in a haze. The two gigs we performed were incredible, we were excited to play there and the audiences were really enthusiastic. The only word I could think of to describe the time spent at home between gigs was transitional. It was quite quiet, I spent a considerable amount of it on my own, trying to figure things out, trying to understand. Chris was always nearby, his mind on his own things. We weren’t actually mad at each other, we talked, went shopping, had dinner, but the spark was gone, something seemed to be missing. We were really good friends, best friends even, but I needed more, I needed a partner.
I was admittedly partly responsible for it, I had withdrawn into myself, I had not reached out to him. I had realised I had been the one initiating most of our loving interactions, most of the kisses, most of the hugs, the sex, the cuddling. It was fine. In every relationship, it was normal for one of the partners to be the initiator for a time and then the roles were reversed. Sometimes one needed a little bit more of support or affection than the other, it was part of the dynamic of a relationship and I understood that. It might last for a day, a few weeks or even months. It was natural, balanced, healthy even. God knew Chris had done most of the work at the beginning of our romance to get me out of my shell, but then we had sort of balanced out. However, I had felt him a bit distant, a bit distracted for quite some time.
I wanted to know what would happen if I backed away for a while. Would he come for me? Would he notice? I needed to find out and so I was determined to let him come to me. I would not initiate it, no matter how much I needed it.
It was hard, there were times I was dying to get close, to hug him or kiss him, but I restrained myself. It was his turn. Was I testing him? Probably. It was easier to be crazy about each other when we were on holidays on a paradisiacal beach with no worries in our minds, but at home, with our routine, in the middle of the tour and with a big project like the Paralympics ahead of us, it was complicated to make room for romance, especially if one of the two was upset and the other one horny with someone else.
So, following the advice of an article I had recently read in an on-line psychology magazine, which explained how some couples with intimacy problems benefited from this approach, I took a step back, or that’s what I intended. If I did not readily give Chris all my love and attention, he would miss it and thus, he would be the one bridging the gap between us and he would be more affectionate. That was the theory, at least.
I wasn’t strong enough to follow it strictly, though. I found myself leaning into him, searching for a hug, kissing him good morning. It was part of our routine; I could not stop showing him how much I loved him. He would always respond, he wasn’t cold, not at all, but this had definitely not been our most affectionate week.
By Thursday Chris had started making comments about Rihanna again. We had gone up to the Olympic stadium to rehearse and she had been there. My irritation grew with every passing minute, insecurity was looming nearby, but by then, I was less inclined to make excuses for Chris’ lustful attitude.
On Saturday we had a day off, but we were both too nervous about the following day to fully enjoy it.
A kick on my leg shook me awake that morning. “Oww,” I cried in shock and pain, “What’s going on?” I asked groggily, disoriented.
“Sorry, Jay,” Chris said, “I was dreaming, babe. Sorry.”
“It’s ok,” I mumbled and got comfortable once more. I was about to slip back into slumber when Chris shifted.
I relaxed.
He shifted again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
