So Much It Hurts

by Dawn, Melanie

  He was wrong. I knew exactly what it was doing to him. I knew because I felt it pulsing against my thigh. “Mmmhmm.” I closed my eyes with a mischievous grin spreading across my face. If only he knew what it was doing to me; only I think he knew. The closer his hand got to the lower half of my body, the more I bucked my hips toward the gentle pressure of his fingers as they danced their way across my sensitive skin, causing seismic shock waves of sexual tension rippling their way down my core, screaming for a euphoric release. “I do know, and I like it.” I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. His stormy eyes were filled with heady appetite.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful. I just can’t take it.” He leaned down and kissed me again, pressing me hard against the pillow behind my head. I welcomed the feel of his deliciously soft lips on mine as we sucked and nipped at each other with sensual passion. I felt him thrust himself against me; the enticing sensation of his aching desire continued to throb against my hip.

  Pulling back, I panted, “I’ve waited so long for this. I need you, Chris.” With a faint smile on my lips, I closed my eyes, anticipating the moment—a moment for which I knew my body had yearned for every bit of eight years and five months, almost to the day.

  He rolled on top of me and kissed me again, breathing me in as if he were trying to connect our souls. I welcomed the taste of him, savoring the moment before our bodies united. His eyes were wide open, watching me kiss him back. We stared at each other, cherishing the beautiful moment our hearts had longed for all these years.

  He positioned himself, and I gasped as I felt him slide himself into me. I exhaled a sigh of both relief and pleasure while he released a low tantalizing moan that started deep within his chest. I welcomed the feeling of him as he gently thrust himself into me. Oh god, this feels so different. Everything about him felt so different. A brief moment of guilt zipped through my conscience. I didn’t know if I should panic and run, or clutch him tighter and appreciate the sensation of our linked bodies.

  I guess the look on my face gave it away, because Chris asked, “Are you okay, baby? Do you wanna stop?”

  I shook my head. My heart ached with intense passion for him as I focused on him watching me, acutely aware of every transient emotion that crossed my face. “I’m okay.” I smiled and wrapped my legs around him to prove it.

  He kissed me with a deep probing kiss that caused my stomach to quiver and ripple its way down my body, awakening the most sensitive areas. Never closing his eyes, he held my gaze as we continued to make love by the flickering candlelight. We enjoyed exploring each other’s bodies, appreciating every passing minute of our experience together. We took turns taking control, finding new and exciting positions neither of us had experienced before. Neither of us in a hurry, we savored every moment and welcomed every second of intensifying ecstasy that built up within us. I never wanted the feeling to end—the feeling of our connected souls through our linked bodies. After a while, the moment of pure intensity was upon us, and Chris pumped harder and faster in response to the tightening he felt from my body. Every nerve ending inside me ignited as he rocked his hips into me. I bucked against him and relished the sensitive tingling my body felt from each exhilarating thrust.

  “Oh Chris,” I moaned, in response to the quickening of my swollen bundle of nerves that threatened to burst with shuddering delight. I closed my eyes, anticipating the moment that was swiftly building inside me.

  “Look at me, baby,” Chris whispered. “I wanna watch you.”

  I opened my eyes as his final thrust caused the wave of euphoria to crest and topple inside me—a blissful quaking that took my breath away. Chris moaned, lost in his own mounting release. A moment later, he grunted and surged inside me, enjoying his own sublime undulation.

  Our bodies trembled with lingering aftershocks as we cuddled beneath the blankets, clinging to our delirium as long as possible. Chris cradled me in the crook of his arm while I rested my head on his chest. He gently stroked my arm, and our breaths synchronized.

  The silence spoke words neither of us was willing to say out loud. This was it. Goodbye. Again.

  Letting our bodies relax in each other’s arms, we both slowly drifted off to sleep.

  Before long, rays of sunshine peeked through the curtains and splashed onto my face.

  No! It can’t be morning already!

  I was alone in the bed. I opened my eyes and looked around the room, trying to get my bearings.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  I glanced toward the sound of his voice. Chris was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, dressed only in a pair of faded jeans, exposing his bare chest in the soft sunbeam that poured through the curtains.

  I bolted up and wrapped the sheets around me, feeling embarrassed in broad daylight and realizing that my clothes had been tossed somewhere on the floor the night before. “What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly aware of the inevitable rat’s nest that occurred overnight in my hair. I ran my fingers through it trying to smooth the crazy bed head.

  “Watching you sleep,” he admitted with a sexy grin. He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed and lifted the steaming hot mug of coffee to his lips, winking at me before taking a sip.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked, rubbing my sleepy eyes with the palms of my hands.

  “You looked so peaceful. Besides, you’re beautiful when you sleep.” He tilted the corner of his mouth up in a half-smile, then took another sip of coffee.

  I squinted my eyes at the piercing sliver of daylight that shone through the crack in the curtains. “It’s morning already,” I pouted. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

  Setting the coffee down on the floor, he strode over to my side of the bed. “I’m not ready for you to leave either.” He reached his hand out to me. Gently pulling me out of bed, he wrapped me up in his arms and hugged me tight. “I want you to stay. I really, really want you to stay.”

  “I can’t—”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t do that to Eli. He is my life.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m not asking you to stay. You have a family.”

  Tears had already pooled in my eyes and threatened to fall.

  “Promise me this,” he said. “When we’re old and gray and widowed, promise me you’ll look me up in the nursing home so we can finally be together.” He grinned at me.

  I couldn’t help but smile back, blinking back my tears.

  “I promise,” I affirmed, boldly trying to hold it together. “But, for now, I gotta find some mouthwash.”

  He laughed and kissed my forehead. “I’d take you, morning breath and all.”

  “Hush,” I teased and playfully pushed him away, making a quick getaway to the bathroom.

  Chris was sitting on the sofa flipping through the channels on the television when I stepped out of the bathroom. I quickly managed to swish my mouth with the complimentary mouthwash I’d found on the bathroom counter, run a comb through my hair, and apply a little lip gloss in record time. “Wow,” he said when I stepped into the living room. “Are you sure you have to leave now?” he asked with a wink.

  “Unfortunately,” I sighed.

  He stood up and walked over to me, reaching out for me. I let him encompass me with his warm embrace. “Kaitlyn, I will never forget you. I will never forget this moment, your beautiful face, or the love we made last night. Thank you for coming to see me. In some ways it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me, but saying goodbye to you—again—is the hardest thing I have ever done.” His voice cracked on his final word, just as the first tear fell.

  “Oh, Chris, I thought I’d never forgive myself if I came to see you last night. But honestly, I think if I had walked away without seeing you, I would have regretted it the rest of my life. I’m not sure how I will process all of this, especially since I’m going back home to my husband and my son. I can tell you this…I will never, ever forget you or the way I feel this very moment.”


  Chris kissed me gently on the lips, then softly kissed the tears away that slid down my cheeks. Holding me tightly, he rested his chin on top of my head. I buried my face into his chest while I clung desperately to him, breathing in the memory of his scent, singeing it into my brain. Both of our shoulders shook from the sobs that reverberated in our chests. We stood together, wallowing in our sorrow, for several minutes.

  That moment felt all too familiar to me. The memory of the night we stood in his driveway before he left for juvie again flashed through my mind. I was losing him—again! It was another goodbye that would send my depression into a tailspin. I felt so alive in his arms; I couldn’t let him go. I wanted so desperately to cling to him forever. A love I had tucked away so deeply into my soul was reignited eight years later by a single glance. I didn’t want to say goodbye again! Why, God? Why?! Finally, one of us had to pull away.

  “I gotta go,” I whispered.

  “I know,” he sighed, his eyes bloodshot from crying.

  He slowly walked me to the door, the sadness nearly palpable between us. Kissing one last time, our lips lingered a little longer than a peck as we both relished that very last moment.

  “Never forget me?” His lower lip quivered with repressed sorrow.

  “Never,” I promised. A final tear escaped my eye and slid down my cheek just as I turned to leave. I walked away feeling as though I had left my heart at the door of room 204. Oh, God, what have I done?

  When I stepped into my condo, the girls were busy packing up to head home. Tori saw me first. “Kaitlyn’s home,” she announced flatly, rolling her eyes. I didn’t think she would let my decision affect our friendship, but I could definitely sense her reproach to the matter.

  “Kaitlyn!” The other girls shouted simultaneously and came running at once.

  “Tell. Us. Everything!” Lisa cried.

  “Girls,” Shannon chided, “can’t a girl have a few private moments in her life?” Then she turned to look at me. “Let me ask you this, do you have any regrets?”

  “No,” I tried to say with a straight face.

  “Then that’s all we need to know,” she said with a smile. I could not have been more thankful for her friendship at that moment.

  Calling my mother was the first thing on my agenda the minute I dropped Shannon off at her house.

  “Mom,” I said anxiously when she picked up the phone. “Can I come over for a minute? I’ve been looking for something and can’t find it anywhere. Do you mind if I stop by and search the attic. I might have left it there when I moved out.”

  “Sure, sweetheart,” she replied. “What is it you’re looking for? I may be able to help you.”

  “It’s nothing you’d recognize. Just an old box of mementos I kept from high school.”

  She laughed. “Oh, okay. I pretty much just boxed everything up and carried it to the attic when you moved out. You should be able to find what you’re looking for up there.”

  “Thanks, mom,” I said quickly, trying to disguise my seething anger, and hung up the phone.

  I pulled into the driveway of my old house. Just sitting there in my car brought back so many memories…setting up my first lemonade stand, helping my dad wash the car, building snowmen in the front yard with mom that year it snowed almost a foot, my first kiss with Trevor, and the night I sneaked out to see Chris the last night before he left for juvie.

  My memory of that night reminded me of my mission, which was to find those letters–that is, if she even kept them. Knowing my mom, the hoarder, she had them boxed up somewhere in that attic. I was determined to find them.

  “Hi, honey,” my mom said when I walked into the kitchen.

  “Hi, mom. I’m in a hurry. I just need to check the attic, then I’ll be out of your hair. Michael and Eli are expecting me.”

  “Okay, just go ahead. I’m going to stay down here. That old attic messes with my allergies…all that dust.”

  I headed up to the attic, fearful and excited to find out the truth. The musty smell of the dark attic overwhelmed me as I stepped across wooden beams lining the floor. Boxes upon boxes were stacked against the walls. While my mother was a hoarder, she was also a very organized one. Every box was labeled. Kaitlyn’s baby clothes. Kaitlyn’s stuffed animals. Kaitlyn’s wedding dress. Photo albums. Vacation souvenirs. Christmas decorations. It didn’t take me long to figure out the box that didn’t have a label was the very one for which I had been searching. An old, round hat box sat in one corner of the attic, beckoning me to open it. I rushed to it, grabbing it up as if I were a child on Christmas morning reaching for that first big gift. Before opening it, I closed my eyes. Part of me prayed the box would contain exactly what I needed, but the other half of me prayed it wouldn’t, for fear I wouldn’t be able to handle the truth that my mother had kept from me all these years. My nerves quaked my stomach while my trembling hands lifted the lid. A thick manila envelope stuffed to its max was crammed inside. Carefully, I pulled the envelope out.

  About twenty white, letter sized envelopes dumped out into the box with each and every one of them addressed to me. Tears stung my eyes. Anger gripped me as I desperately tried to contain the roar in the back of my throat, threatening to escape.

  “Mother, how could you?” I growled under my breath, bitter thoughts and resentment built a fortress around my heart. “Un-fucking-believable,” I groaned, as I opened the first letter.

  Letter after letter with the same declarations of love, Chris pleaded for me to write him back, to no avail. In that moment, I was livid at my mother for what she had done, interfering in a way she had no right to interfere. It wasn’t until I opened the last letter that my heart had even an ounce of understanding. The last letter wasn’t from Chris. Instead, it was written by my mother’s hand.

  Tearfully, I folded the letters up and stuffed them all back into the hat box. A million thoughts ran through my mind at once. Was I angry? Yes. Was I hurt? Yes. Did I understand why my mom felt the need to protect me? Maybe. Would I do the same for Eli if it came down to it? Probably. Was I planning to say anything to her about it? Nope, not single a word.

  I’d made my mind up not to mention it to her. I stuffed the box back into the corner, and once again closed that chapter of my life. Wiping my tears on my sleeves, I stood back up and made my way across the wooden plank floor toward the attic door.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” My mom asked me over her newest Better Homes magazine. She eyed me suspiciously. Assuming my cheeks were streaked with tears, and my eyes were red and puffy, I didn’t really feel like stopping to chat.

  “Nah,” I said as I briskly walked toward the front door. “It’s no big deal, though. I’ve probably overlooked it in our garage at home. Thanks anyway, mom.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then,” she said as I stepped out the front door and practically ran to the safety of my car before the waterworks started again.

  “Mommy!” Eli cried when I walked in the door. He ran up to me and hugged my legs. “I missed you!” he shouted.

  “Awww, sweetie, I missed you too,” I said as I knelt down to return a hug.

  “Hey, honey,” Michael kissed me quickly as he grabbed for my suitcase. “We both missed you,” he added.

  Michael carried my suitcase to our bedroom while Eli ran around the room, stringing sentences together as quickly as he could, giving me the rundown of his weekend.

  “Son,” Michael called from down the hall, “why don’t we let Mommy get fully into the house and give her a minute to breathe first.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Eli said happily and bounded down the hall toward his room. He stopped when he reached his door. “Mommy!” he called to me.

  “What, baby?”

  “I’m really glad you’re home,” he grinned and then bounced into his room.

  My sweet little boy. My reason for breathing.

  “So, how was your trip?” Michael asked as he heaved the suitcase onto the bed to be sorted through later
.

  “It was good,” I said, trying my best to disguise my guilt.

  “What did you do?”

  “Oh, we just hung out by the pool and the ocean all day, and headed to the bar at night.”

  “Do you feel refreshed?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  But, I was too late in trying to gulp back the audible sigh that escaped my mouth because Michael asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No, why?”

  “I don’t know. You’re just not usually such a woman of few words.”

  “I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Are you sure you’re all right?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Really. I’ll be fine.” Tears threatened me, but I choked them back and dared them to fall. Not now! There are too many questions he could ask that I’m not prepared to answer!

  I had to let Chris go—move on. My life was here now with Michael and Eli. My chance with Chris had come and gone, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I just had to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and try to live the life I had created with my family. I knew, with a little time and separation, my moments spent with Chris would be another faded memory.

  Later that evening while I was unpacking, I found a plastic bag buried deep inside my purse. Curiously, I pulled the bag out to inspect it more closely.

  Affliction.

  I opened the bag and the black Henley fell out into my hands. Immediately, I held the shirt up to my face and took a deep staggering breath of that familiar musky cologne. Chris must have hidden it there while I was sleeping. I looked down at a CD and the note attached to it that had fallen out of the bag along with the shirt.

  Tears streamed down my face as I held the shirt up to my cheek. I inhaled the wonderfully cool and refreshing scent that still lingered on the soft cotton. Swaying back and forth, I remembered the feeling of my cheek as it pressed against the shirt while he wore it, with his warm arms wrapped around me as he hummed softly and gently ran his fingers through my hair. I desperately clung to the loose shirt, refusing to let the sound of his beating heart fade from my memory. Instinctively, I dug through my pockets, searching for a scrap of paper with his phone number written on it. That scrap of paper that had always been there when I needed it in high school. The scrap of paper that always kept me linked to Chris. My hands grappled with my vacant pockets and emerged empty. There was no scrap of paper—no phone number, and no link to Chris. That deep, sinking feeling felt heavy in the pit of my stomach. The knot tightened in my chest. So, I guess that’s it. He’s gone. I don’t think I can do this!