Chapter 7
All my emotions hit me at once. I'm not even sure what I'm feeling.
Do I feel betrayed?
Do I feel used?
Do I feel deceived?
My head is pressed against the door. The cool material feels pretty good against my sweaty forehead. Too many thoughts are running through my mind and too many feelings are invading my senses. I am fully aware that my breathing has become ragged. I am not completely sure what the fuck just happened. My mind is giving me pieces of the last hour, fragments of reality mixed with my own imagination that I can't set apart. All I know is that I need them to go away.
Trying to get rid of those thoughts, I hit my head against the door. One time unintentionally. The numbness that follows is extremely welcomed. I do it again, enjoying how the physical pain overtakes the emotional. Then I go for a third, harder this time, just to follow the machochist pattern.
Right after the loud bang, I'm being pushed back, the door swinging open roughly. I see him on the other side of the threshold. One of Brian's hands hold the knob, the other forms a tight fist, as he angrily puffs air out from his nose.
In a fast move he's standing right in front of me. As I'm comparing him with a rotted cartoon, I don't even see him walking towards me. His hands are by now holding my face, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. Eyes that seem to be holding on to mine for dear life. They are surely a literal window of the chaos raigning in his mind. There's pain and anger, and sadness, and many other conflicts that I don't know how to identify.
"If you are going to hurt me just remember, this is my place, I know where all the knives are."
"Shut up, you idiot."
The small gap separating us is closed in a fraction of a second. His lips take over mine and my eyes close to the touch. In the midst of the surprise and shock, I feel his hands sliding down from face, finding my waist. Having a life of their own, my arms go up and wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer to me. I can feel every inch of his body pressed against mine. The heath exuding from his skin is tickling my naked arms as we become a tangled mess of limps. Even when I can feel him whole, at the same time, there's nothing else that fully registers in my brain but his lips devouring mine. The kiss is not soft or gentle, it's not innocent or playful, he is claiming my mouth as his own, he's claiming me as his.
His tongue doesn't even ask permission, he roughly pushes it between my lips, and runs it against my teeth, before it finds mine.
I feel so powerless, melting under his touch. But, as much as I like this notion of being dominated. My head is screaming at me that this doesn't make any sense. The inner battle against myself starts. Body and flesh against reasoning and logic.
On one hand, my body is turning into butter. My mouth is attacking his with complete abandon. I fully enjoy the way his nails dig into my skin through the shirt. On the other hand, I can feel my feet planted to the ground, preventing him from pushing me on top of the couch. My mind is pointing out all the reasons why this is wrong, all the ways this can absolutely fuck up our lives.
This is literally all I've wanted for years and years, to simply have him all to myself, to at least have him acknowledging me as anything other than a friend. Now that it is happening, now that I can sense him wanting me as much as I've wanted him, it feels all types of wrong.
My body wins, it always does. Because, at the end of the day, I'm nothing but a slut.
Air is lacking and that is the only reason why our lips part. Our foreheads press against each other as we heavily try to catch our breath. Lazily, and with his eyes still closed, he chases after my lips yet again, giving me a sweet peck with a small smile. Something at the bottom of my stomach sets on fire. The burning is stupidly annoying and distracting. Is this what people mean when they talk about butterflies in their stomach? This is more like bats from hell causing havoc in my intestine.
"I'm sorry." His voice lands me back into reality. "I didn't mean to be a stupid cunt."
His arms snake around my torso and he pulls me into a tight hug, and I let him. He kisses me on the neck. It's quick and innocent.
"Ask me truth or dare?" He asks me, pushing me to stand a few steps away from him.
There is no way that shock is not written all over my face. I'm sure my lower jaw is slightly hanging and my eyes are wide opened. "Bitch, we are completely over that stupid game."
"No no no no, please, ask me truth or dare?"
"But I have nothing to ask you, right now. I have no fucking idea what is going on."
"Okay, I pick truth. Come." He sits down on the couch, pulling my arm so I can do the same. "The truth is that I'm scared."
Just the mention of fear gains him my full attention. "Scared of what?"
He looks down at his hands, his fingers interwinding and untangling at an imaginary rhythm. "Of not being good enough for you." My finger goes up to protests but he stops me. "Hear me out, first. You are so hot, so so hot. You are always telling stories about your hooking days, how proud you are of your seductive skills, and how much you enjoy having sex. I'm not like that. It's not like I'm a fucking virgin but, I don't have your... experience. I could never be good enough for you. I think that's the main reason why I never allowed anything to happen between us, what if you don't like it? What if I'm not good enough for you... in bed?"
"Brian." His name leaves my lips barely above a whisper. "I dare you to fuck me."
