That Was Then

31-Now

The length of Caleb's body is pressed against mine and it's making it hard to think straight. One of his arms is under the pillow we are sharing, the pillow that smells like him. I want to bury my face in it. His other arm is looped around my back, twirling a strand of my hair. His face is only inches from mine and I can't stop staring at his mouth. His lips are full, they look soft and kissable. He's saying something but I can't focus, can't hear him over the sound of my heart thump, thump, thumping. I take a deep, shaky breath.

"What?"

He pulls me even closer, "I'm glad you're back," he whispers and when his lips move they brush ever so slightly against mine.

"Me too," all I have to do is tilt my head forward a fraction of an inch and we will be kissing. This was a bad idea. I want to kiss him so badly that it actually hurts, but not now. Not while he is so drunk that he might not even remember. Or worse, he might regret it. It takes every ounce of willpower that I have to untangle myself from Caleb. "I need to go," I am telling myself as much as I am telling him. I manage to pull myself into a sitting position but Caleb isn't letting me go so easily. His arms wrap around my waist, my shirt is riding up and his stubbly cheek presses against bare flesh. Goose bumps race across my skin from scalp to toes.

"Stay. Just a little longer," he says against my belly as he snuggles against me. My brain, my heart and my body are not in agreement right now. While I am stuck in this limbo of indecision Caleb's breathing slows and his body relaxes. He is asleep. I sigh and lean back against the headboard. I stare at his profile in the tiny patch of moonlight shining in through the gaps in the blinds, wishing there was more light. I tentatively run my fingers through his hair and he lets out a soft snore.

I wait until I am sure he is totally out and then I unwrap his arms from around my waist and slip out of his bed. I don't think this quite counts as "hankie pankie" but I definitely don't want to be caught sneaking out of Caleb's room in the middle of the night. I listen to make sure that the house is quiet before tip toeing out of the room and quietly closing the door behind me. I lean up against the wall and try to compose myself. It's all I can do not to turn around and go right back in there.

The combined effect of caffeine and sugar and Caleb buzzes like electricity under my skin. There's no way I'm going to be sleeping any time soon. I'm momentarily envious of Caleb, snoring in his bed. But I won't be jealous of the hangover he is sure to have in the morning.  The way I'm left feeling has me contemplating a cold shower but instead, my frustration leads me down the hallway into the gym. I get on the elliptical and turn up the resistance, trying to trade in one physical ache for another.

Forty five minutes later I head up to my room, breathless and sweaty but not in the way I could have been had I kissed Caleb like I wanted to. I turn the shower on hot and peel off my clothes, staring at my body in the mirror. Some days I still look at myself and hear their voices in my head telling me that I'm not good enough. It took a lot of work, both mentally and physically, to like what I see looking back at me: pale skin, soft curves, hard muscles. I wanted to be thin, became so obsessed that it became another problem to work on at treatment. Lonna taught me to focus on power instead of pounds, to look for muscles instead of bones. It's about what your body can do, not what it looks like. I'm still working on it. The mirror fogs up and I step into the shower. Searing hot pins stab at my skin, stinging and turning every inch of flesh an angry pink. I finally acclimate to the temperature and I rest my head against the tiled wall, letting the water work at my tense shoulder muscles and wait for the inevitable crash. From the sugar, from the caffeine, from Caleb.

When I finally crawl into bed I can still feel every point of contact where Caleb's body touched mine, like a brand seared into my skin. In spite of the late hour, sleep does not come easily. I toss and turn, tangling myself in silky yellow sheets, but I don't drift off to sleep until the sun starts to rise.