by Kelly Myers
For now, I need to resist.
I clean up from my lunch. Then I grab my phone and turn it off. No point in letting it distract me.
Chapter Thirteen
Cynthia
When I get back to my apartment, there’s dead silence from Nate’s house. I hate myself for even looking up at his windows as I lock my bike.
I dash up to my apartment as quick as I can.
Maybe this is how it’s going to be. He will pretend last night never happened. If that’s how he’s going to behave, I suppose I can act that way as well.
I was sure he would want to at least talk though. When he left last night, he told me we would talk later. Was it all just a lie? Is that just somehting men say after sex?
I wish there was some sort of rulebook. A guide to having sex with your much older landlord who gives you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced, but then is radio silent the next day.
Of course, I’ve been radio silent as well. I could easily be a mature person and reach out to him. But I can’t even figure out what I would say. I’m not going to suggest we repeat the event. I’m too nervous, and I’m starting to realize that this whole thing is taking a toll on my emotional health. I’ve been so distracted and out of it, and I don’t need that kind of distraction right now. If sex and relationships are this confusing, I’ve been right to steer clear of them for so long.
I never really thought of myself as a socially awkward person, but when it comes to Nate, I’m completely at sea. I have no idea what to say or how to act.
So I probably need to just disengage. Focus on my classes and graduating and getting ready for med school in the city.
He’s not worth the trouble and stress. As soon as I tell myself that, I know it’s a lie. I’m delusional if I think I could turn Nate down if he showed up at my door again and looked at me the way he did last night and asked me to call him daddy again. There’s no way I would say no to that.
So maybe he is worth the trouble, but I just don’t think it’s going to happen again. It was a one-off situation. A crazy hook-up that will someday just fade into a memory that I will look back on now and then when I reminisce about how I lost my virginity.
I go into my kitchen and think about cooking something, then immediately decide that tonight is the ideal time to order in.
I’m feeling moody when I think of how I’ll look back on Nate in the future. I’ll be with someone else. The person I’m supposed to be with. Maybe we’ll meet while I’m in medical school. We’ll have a nice wedding and a house and a family. Everything I’ve always wanted. And Nate will just be this older guy who fucked me once.
It doesn’t quite fit. I can’t imagine thinking of him like that. It does seem the most realistic future though, especially since Nate and I are at this weird impasse.
I order chinese food from my favorite place and decide to call my mom. There’s no way I’m going to tell her what happened. She’ll be too concerned. Knowing her, she’ll probably get in the car and drive out here to make sure I’m not having some sort of breakdown.
Instead, we spend a half hour chatting about her daily life and routines, and she gushes about how excited she is for my graduation.
I tell her about school, and I don’t make up a fake story like I did with Becca, but even so, when we hang up, I feel that by omitting the events of the previous evening, I still lied to her. I’ve told my mother everything in my life, every milestone, but I can’t bring myself to share this.
Even thinking about the details makes me cringe. I know what my mother would think if I told her how old Nate is and if I shared my desire to call him daddy. She would feel guilty and assume that her divorce from my father messed me up. She’ll think I have the dreaded “daddy issues.”
I don’t have daddy issues. I’m not looking for approval from older men, or acting on insecurities. I just liked to yield control in the bed. I just wanted to call him daddy, it doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.
My chinese food arrives, and I eat it alone while watching random videos online.
After a quick shower (during which I think way too much about what happened in my bathroom twenty-four hours ago), I climb into bed.
To my surprise, I don’t toss and turn and think about Nate for hours. Instead, I fall asleep right away.
Sometime in the night, I have a realistic dream.
In it, Nate stands in my doorway. I awaken and sit up in bed. His eyes seem to burn right through me, and I can hear my heart thumping against my rib cage. He moves across my room in two long strides and pulls the blanket off me.
He digs his fingers into my thighs, and I gasp in excitement. Then he kisses me, and I want to scream with pleasure and pent-up emotion. I clasp his shoulders, and he grips my breast, first one, then the other, with his firm hands.
Then his hands move between my legs, and I start to grind against his hand as my pleasure builds.
Nate growls in my ear: “What do you say?”
“Please, daddy,” I gasp. “Daddy, please.”
I wake up panting. I’m throbbing with desire, and I’ve shoved my own hand down my pants in the heat of my vivid dream.
The early morning light is peeking through my window.
It takes me a few minutes to even believe it was all a dream, that’s how intense it was. When I come to realize it wasn’t real, I feel like crying.
Then I want to yell at myself for being so emotional. I want to dive into my head and wrestle with my subconscious for sending me such a dream.
Usually I’m so good at maintaining control of my emotions and using my practical side. This is not practical. Crazy sex dreams featuring my landlord is not at all part of the plan.
I roll out of bed. It’s a Saturday, but now that I’m up, there’s no way I’m falling back to sleep. In fact, I’m scared that as soon as I close my eyes, another dream Nate will start to make torturous love to me.
Of course, the dream version didn’t even do him justice. In the flesh, he’s so much more spectacular.
I pull on a pair of leggings and a sports bra. I tug my windbreaker on top and dig through my closet for my running sneakers. I’m going to go to the gym and work out until I can’t think about him anymore. Then I’ll go to the library and study until my mind is an oblivion of facts about the human intestine.
I’m not a total fitness junkie, and I feel like riding my bike on a daily basis to and from campus is a good amount of exercise, but I like to get to the gym every now and then. I am pre-med after all, so I like to live a healthy lifestyle.
I throw a few books in my bag and dash out the door. I avert my eyes from Nate’s house as I hope on my bike and pedal as fast as I can to the campus gym.
I arrive around 6:30am. It’s practically empty this time of day. Only me and some of the school athletes are in the fitness room. I opt for the treadmill. I’ll run a few miles and then do a bit of strength exercises.
Once I start to work up a sweat, I feel better. I can’t beat myself up for feeling natural desires. It was just a dream, after all. I’ve had sex dreams before. It happens to everyone.
The one thing that is clear is that I need to take care of this situation. Having it be so unresolved and without closure is stressing me out.
I need to take the path of least resistance. That means making it clear to Nate that it was a one-time thing. If I leave the door open for future hook-ups, I’ll just get more confused and anxious.
Fundamentally, I’m a relationship girl. I’ve never been in a relationship, but I know I’m not looking for a hook-up. I’m looking for a partnership. I want to grow a life with someone. It makes zero sense to try and grow any sort of life with Nate.
If he’s not going to give me any information on where his head is at, I’ll do it. I need to take care of it today, before I waste any more time daydreaming or stressing.
It’s going to be an awkward few months, but I’ll get through it. I’ll graduate and move out, and then
I will in all likelihood never see Nate Ramsay again.
By the time I get off the treadmill, my back is soaked in sweat and my legs are all wobbly. Even so, I push myself to do a few rounds of squats and push-ups.
After I leave the gym, I swing by the cafeteria to grab breakfast. I don’t have a meal plan, but I have meal points so I can eat on campus every now and then. I usually prefer to just cook for myself, but I don’t want to go all the way back to my apartment, especially if it means the chance of a run-in with Nate.
I have a quiet breakfast of a muffin and coffee, and then I head to the library. I reflect on how familiar the campus has become. I’m so used to it, I’m almost bored. That’s why what happened with Nate was so bombastic. I took a giant leap out of the familiar and into the unknown.
Med school is going to be like that. A whole new city and a whole new set of people. I’m looking forward to it. Clearly, I need to shake things up a bit.
I’m excited to continue my studies and focus on a certain area of medicine. Most people don’t know going in and pick their specialty after the first year or so. I’ve thought about surgery of some sort, but I also am drawn to oncology because of my mom’s battle with cancer. It’s a tough profession though. Everyone says you have to possess mental fortitude to deal with such an intense thing like treating cancer and dealing with tumours.
My mom says she wants me to be a gynecologist or a pediatrician. She says she wants me to bring life into the world, and she talks about how I’m so good with kids. I do like children, I must admit. And I want some of my own someday. I’ve always valued my small family unit, just me and my mom, but I’ve also always dreamed of expanding it. I want to give my mom grandkids and have the two-parent household I never had.
That being said, I’m not sure I should be a pediatrician just because I like kids.
I know it’s a hard and emotionally draining career path, but I’m still leaning towards oncology. Once I get to medical school, I’ll be able to figure it out.
That’s what I need to keep telling myself. I can’t worry too much about Nate. My future is waiting for me. I’ve got to move onto bigger and better things.
I settle into a table at the library and open up my books.
I actually manage to study for several hours. Somehow, between the vivid dream and the hard workout, I’ve found clarity. Nate and I had a spontaneous moment of glory, but that’s all it was: a moment, based on raw physical instincts. I still have self-worth, and I still want the same things. I have a life to lead. And Nate doesn’t really have a place in that life.
It’s a little sad of course. I like Nate. I’m wildly attracted to him. But it is what it is.
By the time I’m ready to leave the library, I’m also prepared to compose a text for Nate. It will be my last bit of work for the day. Then I’ll go home and relax since it is the weekend, after all, and I’ve had a pretty intense few days.
I pull out my phone and write out the draft of the text in my notes application. I don’t want to accidentally send it to Nate. I spend a good thirty minutes writing and rewriting and making edits until I have what I want:
Hi Nate! I wanted to be clear about how I feel. I don’t regret what happened between us the other night at all, but I do think it should be a one-time thing. I know you’ll respect my boundaries, and I’m grateful for how you treated me. That being said, I don’t think we should try and continue since it was just a fun night and nothing more. Thank you for understanding.
It’s a little stiff, but I think that’s for the best. I want to be extra clear. I want to not delve into any grey area. Sure, I definitely have feelings for him beyond feeling like the sex was “fun.” However, there’s no use in blabbing on about nuanced stuff in a text. Yes, I have feelings, but I don’t want to have them, so I just need to deny them. Eventually, they will go away.
I also think the text makes it clear that I have no regrets and I do appreciate how kind he was. He’s an adult. He’s probably slept with loads of women. He’s used to one-night-stands. And he will just have to respect my wishes. I know Nate well enough to know he’ll do that. We will return to our landlord-tenant relationship, and if I sometimes have a vivid dream about him, that’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it on my own.
I copy and paste the message into a text for Nate. The last time we texted it was about the stupid water heater. That’s awkward.
I sigh as I read over the text once more. Becca will be disappointed. She is going to want updates on the online guy who has me so distracted, but I’ll have to tell her our chat fizzled out.
I nod once and hit send. Then I tuck my phone into my bag and resolve to get back to my regular life.
Chapter Fourteen
Nate
I’m in the grocery store when I receive the text from Cynthia.
Once I read it, I nearly shove my hand through the glass door in the frozen meals aisle. The text isn’t like from Cynthia. It’s not the way she talks, and it’s so aggressively untrue.
It was just a fun night? There’s no way she actually believes that. I saw her afterwards. I saw the way she was trying to come to terms with it and think it over. It was her first time crying out loud.
She’s trying to push me away. I get it. What happened between us is a lot to process. But I won’t let her push me away. I can’t.
I need to speak to her. I need to see her face to face. If she tells me in person that she doesn’t want anything to happen between us and she is totally fine with moving on as if the other night never happened, then I’ll accept it. But only then. I’m not going to just accept this text filled with stock statements that don’t even sound like her.
I want to make sure she’s ok, first and foremost. I don’t want her to deny her emotions and push them beneath the surface. They will come back to haunt her, I know it.
And once I make sure she’s ok, I want to show her, once and for all, that we are not just “fun.” Our physical connection is so much more than that. What we share should not be a one-time thing.
Standing still in the grocery aisle, I read over the text once more. At least I can take comfort in the fact that she is saying she doesn’t regret what happened. It doesn’t mean it’s the truth. A disgusted feeling slides through my chest. I hope it’s the truth. I hope she’s not locked in her apartment in some sort of deep sadness and sending this text to try and cover it up.
I was wrong to not reach out. She needed space, but she also needed to know that I was there for her. I’m not a one-night-stand.
I shove my phone away and prowl through the grocery store, mulling over my next move. My cart is already half-full, so I might as well finish what I’m doing. I throw items into my cart without paying much attention. I’m used to shopping for myself, I’ve been doing it for so long.
A woman in the bread aisle tries to catch my eye, but I studiously ignore her.
I can only think of Cynthia, no one else.
I have to be careful though. I don’t want to bombard her with an answering text, demanding that we meet up. I also don’t want to call her. She probably won’t pick up.
It’s almost a bit comical, how she actually thought this text would just end things. She must not realize how much I want her. I’ll have to make that perfectly clear at the very next opportunity.
I roll my cart to the registers and check out. Once I’m back in my car, I put it into gear and stew over the issue as I drive home.
I don’t want to barge in on her. It’s actually illegal. A landlord has to give warning before visiting a tenant. So I need to either invite her to my place or somehow set up a meeting. I’m happy to take her out to dinner or meet her at a coffee shop in town, whatever makes her most comfortable.
One way or another, I’m going to have to answer the text. I hate to even acknowledge it, and I don’t want to have too much conversation over text, but it feels like the best way to communicate while respecting her.
I feel confident that Cynthia is trying to di
sengage out of fear that she feels too much, but there is a small knot of doubt inside me. Maybe she actually is uninterested in me. Maybe there’s another guy, and now that she’s no longer a virgin, she feels more confident going after him.
Well, if that’s the truth, I need to know. If she truly has no feelings for me, I can respect that.
I can’t just sit down and take it if she’s lying or covering her real emotions. I won’t let her do that to me, and I won’t let her do that to herself.
I know I’m not the rational choice. I’m not the guy she expected to be with at this point in her life. But I’m here, and I know I can treat her right. She even admits that in this absurd text. She just doesn’t know how willing I am to be the guy for her.
When I pull into my driveway, I scan the house next door. I note that her bike is outside. She could be out without the bike, but I’m willing to bet it means she’s at home. After all, I noticed the bike was gone this morning when I left.
I grab my groceries and carry them into my house, wondering if she’s peeking out from her window. Since it’s daylight out, I can’t see if any lights are on within her apartment.
Now isn’t the time for spying in any case. I need to figure out how to best approach her.
Once I’ve put away all my groceries, I pick up my phone. I think it’s best to keep it straight and to the point. No grand speech or big declarations.
I type out a couple of short sentences: I would like to talk to you in person. When can we meet up?
I send it right away. I have no doubt that my response will push her into a flurry of over-analyzing and panic, and I wish I could just go see her and tell her how I feel, but I know it wouldn’t be cool to invade her privacy.
I don’t expect her to respond right away, but as the minutes tick by, I grow frustrated.
I pace around the first floor of my house and peer over at her place every time I pass the window facing it.
I’m a man deranged. I know it, but I can’t stop it. I’ve learned that denying your feelings don’t make them go away. Clearly Cynthia is too young. She hasn’t gained that valuable lesson yet.