Is This Love?

I barely slept that night, switching between curling up to the body next to me seeking out for his comfort, to rolling away and putting as much distance between the two of us that I could manage. Around four in the morning it must have gotten on Ezra’s nerves, because he sat up with an exaggerated sigh and turned on the light.

“Right. Talk,” he said quickly, obviously leaving no room for discussion.

“What?” I repeated, sitting up as well and fixing my gaze on him. Maybe if I could fake innocence he could let it drop.

“You know what. You’re stopping me from sleeping so you’re talking.”

I rolled my eyes, he could be such a little bitch at times. “I don’t talk about my problems to anyone, let alone someone I’ve slept with twice…” I started before Ezra cut me off.

“Four times, actually.” He corrected.

“What?” No it couldn’t have been, I’m pretty sure I would have remembered.

“This time, Sunday night and two times before then. Although both those times you were completely off your face and I had to return you somewhere, so I doubt you would have remembered. I didn’t know where you lived so I just returned you to Connor’s, he said he would keep it between us and clearly he has.”

Well fuck me; I do forget more than I thought when I go out with Tom. The thought was unsettling to me; sure I forgot how the night went I was pretty sure if I went home with someone or at least to the bathroom I would remember it. Now it’s making me wonder how long my list is.

“You have a bit of a reputation…” he says, almost like he was feeling sorry for me. I don’t need his pity, I already knew of my reputation. In clubs they call me an easy lay and let’s face it, I am. I go there to forget my troubles and have a good time and the only way I know how to do that is by drinking and having sex. It just so happens, apparently, the first makes the latter happen a lot more.

“I know what they call me Ez, it doesn’t bother me. I know who I am; I know what I’m doing…”

“Do you?” he asks the question in such a simple way it throws me off. Do I? Do I actually know what I want from my life or was all of this just some big rebellion to my family and now that I’ve made it this far I don’t know how to turn back?

“Of course,” I lie, but for some reason to him, in this moment, it’s no longer convincing. Maybe it’s the fact I’m tired. Maybe it’s the fact that I already felt vulnerable and too open. Maybe it was the fact I was sitting naked in his bed and I have nothing to fall behind, no façade, just honesty and it terrifies me.

“Really? Given your past, how you act, people talk.”

“My past? And what past is that? The true past or the way my family manipulated my image so it wouldn’t come crushing back to them? I know your family is close with mine and let me guess the story you’ve heard. Is it the one where I go off the rails? Where I rebel too much that my family finally come to their wits end and finally begrudgingly kick out their baby boy in to the cruel world? The world where I do anything to besmirch my family name by involving myself in drink, faceless bodies and exploiting my own?

Or did you hear the real story? The one where my family never really accepted me? The one where I got sick of trying to please them and constantly getting abuse and belittled for each tiny screw up I made? So I left because I couldn’t deal with it anymore, I left because I wanted to be my own person and not have this constant guilt over me? So after I got cut off I did anything I could do to make sure I continued with my education and if that meant stripping to achieve that, then yes I did. I have no shame in that, the people treated me well, I got good money and it paid my way through university. Sure I may have acted out but it’s a trait that runs in my family, my brother is exactly the same but I bet you they didn’t tell you that? Or the fact I know my dad has had about… seven mistresses since his marriage to my mum.

No? Oh that’s surprising. You know why Mr. Miller? No? Well that’s because every family needs their scapegoat and let’s face it I was never going to inherit since I have a dashing older brother, so placing it on their youngest was bond to happen.” I didn’t know how long I ranted for, or why it happened, just afterwards Ezra was staring hard at me and sometime during my rant had gripped my hand and stopped my nails from digging into my palms.

“Fe,” he said softly, “I had no idea.”

I just shrugged and looked away; I couldn’t face looking at him. Not at all. He didn’t know me; he just had the brief outline. My story was grittier then that, the people in the strip club didn’t always look after me; sometimes I was forced into things I didn’t want to do but that was a story for another time. Or never, which was more likely.

He cupped my face gently and brought me back to looking at him, I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t say anything. I just stared back into his grey eyes and waited for him to do something, anything. He just closed the distance and pressed his lips to mine, the kiss wasn’t heated, it was primal or full of need like our normal ones, or at least the ones I could remember. No it was soft, kind and almost like he was saying I don’t care what you did, you’re not that person now and I accept you.

When we parted, his thumb stroked me cheek and pulled me down so I was resting with my head on his chest. It was intimate and almost like he was there protecting me. I have this sinking feeling that now I’ve shared a part of my past with him, he’ll want more. I know our relationship has changed, but to what I don’t know.