Oh, the Choices I've Made!

Bat shit crazy means I love you

(Listen to Just Breathe by Pearl Jam)

He’s forbidden. He has a history of debauchery and bad choices. He makes me lose all reason. He’s beautiful and sensual and there’s something, maybe a glimmer of sorts, in his dazzling coffee colored eyes when he looks at me that makes him utterly tempting and completely enthralling.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, our talk is getting exasperating. He’s made a stupid mistake in judgment and I’ve decided it’s time to let him go; for real this time. Except I can’t. It only takes one look from him to set my knees quaking and my stomach soaring. Leaning forward to kiss me I move my head slightly to the side, avoiding the touch. “Why?” he whispers sadly. “You’re bad for me,” I whisper back. Every other reason eludes me at this moment. I fall gently to my bed, positioned on my side, so I still have a view of him, and lean my head on the pillow. He lies beside me, moving a piece of my hair off my forehead with a gentle sleight of hand. I can’t help but let him touch me. He moves his face to within centimeters of mine, careful not to touch me. “You love me.” He says it as if this fact would never be in question. I do love him. I love him passionately. Repositioning himself just slightly above my body and somehow guiding me to follow his shift, his lips float over mine. Gliding. Outlining the shape of my lips with his. If there wasn’t a slight tingling I would have no idea he was actually touching my skin. It is a whispered kiss full of everything he wants me to know. I don’t close my eyes. We look right into each other’s souls. Speaking volumes, but saying nothing; lips slightly parted, breathing each other’s breath. His fingers gently interlace with mine. This lingering almost-kiss lasts for what feels like an eternity, and as the heat and passion between us builds his grip on my fingers tenses. I know what he is trying to say to me, as he knows what I don’t want to admit. I have to let him go, but he’ll linger in my body always; loitering in my mind, unwanted, but unable to leave.

I met Brian in a bar. Not as bad as it sounds. He worked there as a sous chef. The hotel across the street from my house had a great lounge that my friends and I would frequent on the weekends. Not usually scouting for men, but definitely not passing up the opportunity to dance with a cute guy if one happened by. One Friday night, Brian wandered into the bar after his shift to say hi to the bartender /his roommate Kevin and I couldn’t help but smile and couldn’t resist making eye contact. It wasn’t long before he chatted me up. Complete with a rock star name, Thomas Brian Rotter, and a shining smile, I was an easy mark.

A few days later, I happened into the lounge. I was hoping to see him again. Right on queue he was there asking me if I wanted to go for a walk on the beach with him. He led me to the beach access elevator. No sooner had the doors slid shut than he grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall and planted an electric kiss full on my mouth. Feeling the elevator come to a stop to let a new couple on board he stepped back, stood idle with a sly look about him, bid them a good evening when they met their intended floor, and grabbed me again. Let the wooing commence. He was sweet and funny and almost more passionate about love than I was. I couldn’t tell you how long we were on the beach talking and kissing that night. He was lovely and had eyes I could die inside; big dark brown eyes that stood out amongst his other features. Eyes that win over strong lips are a powerful tool. Brian knew how to use his entire arsenal.

It hadn’t occurred to me that we would become exclusive. I had just gotten out of a volatile marriage and garnered more trust issues than one person should bear. I had hoped to try dating and living for the first time in my adult life. At only 22, I was full of hope that relationships could be what I had read about in books as a young girl. Looking back, I know now that Danielle Steel is the worst person to take relationship advice from, unless of course you thrive on adversity, pain and heartbreak, which apparently I always have. What was also apparent was that my foray into dating was nothing more than heavy petting and losing interest after a few conversations. That seemed to be the case with everyone I met except Brian. He was there in the background of my mind. He was still in my eyesight. He kept himself positioned perfectly. I didn’t know at that time that he was going to have a profound effect on my life.

While I was weighing prospects and actually started seeing someone named Wayne, who I later found out from his ex was one of those crazy back hills Montana Ruby Ridge type people, Brian started inching his way little by little into my daily routine; one of those sideline friends that should be more. He made one glaring error. One night he decided enough was enough. He broke into my house while I lay in bed with Wayne. I woke with a start to find him standing over us. He told Wayne to get out, that he didn’t belong there and asked me what the hell I was thinking. I had no answer. Befuddled by the shear act he had committed, but overtaken by the gesture, I welcomed him into my heart completely.

It took about twelve hours for my friends to deem him “Psycho Brian” and start their attempt at getting him away from me. They believed I was destined for yet another bad relationship with a controlling man. Not completely agreeing with the latter, I was terrified if I entered into a new exclusive relationship it would be destined for disaster. While I didn’t think of him as controlling, he was in control of his life. He had made bad choices in his past, he had obstacles and bad relationships, but he was amazing at creating opportunities for himself.  Knowing it was impossible to gain favor with the people I was closest with, Brian created opportunities for us to date off premises. Horseback riding at his family’s countryside property, long drives to restaurants out of town and intimate dinners at home.

Things moved quite quickly for Brian and me. His roommate needed him to move out so his girlfriend could move in, my roommate had thrown a party while I was out of town with Brian causing me an eviction, so we moved in together. It all seemed perfect. We found a beachfront condo; we were basking in passion, falling in love at a breakneck pace and learning to live with each other’s idiosyncrasies. I remember waking up one night about 4am, looking out the window at this huge moon on the horizon, set just above the ocean and thinking I was exactly where I was supposed to be. About 3 months later I learned that perfect doesn’t last. I should have remembered that from those damn romance novels.

As my divorce became stressful and I got wrapped up in something other than us, Brian found himself not the center of my world and started becoming agitated and short tempered. He was no longer careful with his words and we found ourselves at odds more and more often. Life happens. Circumstances change. Perfect shrivels. I needed to get away and “borrowed” his car for a bit longer than he expected, about a week, when I left town to go see my mom. When I returned we decided we should cool it a bit. Neither of us was getting any nicer toward the other, so I moved into the spare room and he slept mostly on the couch. As things became decidedly worse, I began to look for a different place to live. One night I wanted to sleep in my own bed, since he wasn’t making use of it. I got in bed, closed the pocket door and went to sleep. A few hours of sleep passed before I woke to feel him lying upon me, hand between my legs, taking what wasn’t his to take. “Psycho Brian” had returned. I’m not sure what triggered this action and I didn’t stick around to find out. I moved into my best friend’s house the next day. I left my stuff behind, figured I could get it when he wasn’t around to make things a bit easier. Easy is not what I got. What I got was someone who wouldn’t let me go. I got a guy who wouldn’t give up on us.

I distanced myself as much as I could. We lived in the same small town and had the same circle of friends. Eventually, he moved in with a friend of ours and I moved into my own place. We didn’t see each other much, but when we did it was obvious the electricity between us hadn’t subsided.

I began seeing him less and started seeing another man. Brian asked to see me so we could talk things out. He wasn’t happy that I was seeing someone else and he wanted me back. I was scared to death of the side of him I had seen. It didn’t mean my feelings for him had diminished, it just meant I couldn’t be his. Pulling out his arsenal of charisma and a smile I couldn’t say no to, we ended up in bed together. That was the last time I was close to him.

A week later he began following me. He became angry when I ignored him. I found him sitting on the hood of my car when I left the grocery store. He was causing a verbal commotion about the new person I was seeing.

Two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. It didn’t occur to me to question the paternity of my unborn child. I grew to passionately hate this person who caused a scene every time I saw him now. That was the one constant about my relationship with Brian, passion. It was neither here nor there if it was negative or positive in nature; this passion was fueled by fire from start to finish.