Let's Waste Time

The first time Trent came to visit after I started this thing with Chris, I felt weirdly—uncomfortable. I had a strange nagging ache in my chest. It was a metaphorical one. I didn’t know if it was because I felt guilty about sneaking around behind Trent’s back. Or if it was because Chris was in his apartment by himself while I shared my bed with someone else.

I’d never done anything like this before. Never considered trying to balance two relationships at once. But, of course, Chris knew about it, and we had no intention of loving each other. So that eased some of the discomforts on his end. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk to Trent about it. Probably because I know he’d put an end to it. And even though it felt wrong and filled me with guilt—I didn’t want it to be over.

It was different. I felt it almost instantly. The nagging lack of something. It should have been a sign. But I was naïve and stubborn and purposely blinding myself to something that should have been obvious. Trent and I didn’t spend a whole lot of time flirting before we ended up in my bedroom. And then I just laid there staring at my ceiling, wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

He didn’t spend a whole lot of time focusing on me. I’d never been selfish in the bedroom. I never wanted it to be only about me. But that didn’t mean I wanted it to be all about him either. I’d just spent so much time worrying about being good enough that it never occurred to me that Trent didn’t really care much about what I got out of it. It was selfishness that I mistook for passion. For so long, I thought he’d just been overwhelmed by it. And I allowed myself to believe this was a good thing. He loved me so much that he just couldn’t wait. Couldn’t try harder to make sure my needs were met.

When I was with Chris, it was more. Just more. Maybe it wasn’t passion in a romantic sense. But he tried harder. He never let the night end without me being satisfied. Even if he finished before me. But that was rare because his goal from the start was always to make sure I was ready, to begin with. So maybe it wasn’t passion, but it felt like we were both enjoying ourselves. With Trent—it felt like he was just having sex with me, and I was just kind of there.

The worst part is that he didn’t even seem to notice something was wrong. At least not until much later. After. When the adrenaline had already died down, and I was staring at the ceiling deep in thought. I thought he’d fallen asleep because he usually did.

“You okay?” he asked. He was lying beside me, watching this journey I must be going through.

“I’m all right.”

“You seem a bit out of it.”

“It’s nothing. Just been really busy lately. A lot going on.”

And there was another problem. He had no idea what was going on. Because he’d never bothered to ask. Even Chris, who didn’t seem to want me romantically, always took the time to ask me how my day was. It was partially because we’d built a friendship first. Maybe that’s all it was. Because we were so used to talking while we watched movies that it was just second nature for him to ask me how I was doing.

“Well, I have to leave early. But I’ll call you, and we’ll talk about it, okay?” I smiled at him.

“Sure, just get some rest.”

He did. He rolled over and went right to sleep while I lay there trying to keep my mind off Chris. But it was hopeless. It wasn’t that I was in love with him or anything. The entire situation just felt wrong. So while Trent slept, I climbed out of bed and put my sweatpants on. Then I went to sit on the stoop out front of our apartments. I sighed and shut my eyes. Maybe I just needed fresh air or the comfort I used to get when I’d sit outside on the front steps alone. It was how I gathered my thoughts now. The fortunate result of my mother’s indifference toward me.

But then the door beside mine opened, and Chris looked out.

“You alright?” he asked. I sighed and breathed out heavily.

“I don’t know, actually,” I admitted. He motioned toward his apartment.

“Come in for a minute, and we can talk.”

I stood up and followed him in. I sat on the couch while he went to make me a drink. Apple juice and whiskey. It wasn’t a very pleasant mixture, but it seemed to bring him the same kind of comfort sitting outside on the stop brought me. When he came back, he set the glass in my hands and took a seat on the coffee table in front of me. Giving me his full attention.

“So, what’s up?” he asked.

“Do you feel like we’re doing something wrong?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” I shut my eyes again. “And I kind of expected this to happen when you told me he was coming to see you.”

“I just feel terrible. And not just because I’m keeping something from him but like—how do I know that he’s telling the truth about his wife, you know? He’s told me numerous times that she knows and she sees other people too, and they’re just together so she can get his benefits, but—what if he’s lying?” He bit the inside of his lip.

“I don’t want to answer that question because I don’t want to push you away.” I sighed. I knew what that meant.

“I just feel so—immoral. And I’m not even religious. Something just feels—wrong.”

“We can stop anytime you want, Marley. I’d never ask you to keep doing this if you’re unhappy.”

“I know. That’s—part of the problem, I think. I don’t want to stop doing this.” I didn’t tell him that my relationship with him wasn’t the part that felt wrong. He set his glass down on the table beside him.

“What do you want to do about it then?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just—need some time to figure things out, please?”

“I’ll give you as much time as you need. You know where to find me.” I gave him a nervous smile.

“Thanks, Chris. You’re—you’re a really good friend, you know that?” He smiled back.

“Don’t mention it.”

“And thanks for the drink. I should head back over there before he wakes up.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” I stood and headed for the door. I waved and hurried out, but he didn’t wave back.

Trent left early the next morning. I was still sleeping when he gave me one kiss on the lips and then was gone. I couldn’t get back to sleep after he left. I laid there and watched the sunrise through the windows. But then I got bored. So I got out of bed and left my apartment.

Chris had given me a key to his place. His claim was that it would be helpful if he ever locked himself out. I’d never used it. But it was painted bright orange, and every time I held my keys, I immediately zeroed in on it. I knew what it meant. Not just so he’d have a spare if he ever got locked out.

I slid the key into the lock in the black door, and it clicked open. His apartment was quiet, and it was still early. He usually woke early to run anyway. But he was asleep now. I dropped my keys on the coffee table and went to his bedroom, where I found him on his side, hugging a pillow to his chest. I pulled the blankets back and climbed in next to him. He woke and then pulled me against him. I pressed my lips to his bare chest.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Trent just left.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just thought about it for a long moment. Probably wondering why I felt the need to crawl into bed with him immediately after my boyfriend left. I was sure he was thinking about it or dwelling on how much he hated Trent. But then he moved my hair out of my face and kissed my temple, right beneath the arm of my glasses.

I loved Trent with all my heart. But Chris always held me differently. His arms felt welcoming and warm. Maybe it was because he didn’t have a wife and kids somewhere. He had a girlfriend, but that was different. And she apparently knew that he was seeing other people. Maybe she didn’t know me by name, but she knew enough. And when he told me this, I actually believed him. Perhaps it was my own naivety again. But he seemed so sincere. I wanted to believe him. And there was really no reason for me to care so much about it.

He continued kissing my face, and then he moved closer to my lips. I tensed, and he moved my face like he was going to kiss me on the lips. But he didn’t. He just held me there, just barely out of reach.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Some people think the buildup is better than the kiss itself,” he said.

Maybe he was right. My heart was pounding. I had my fingers digging into his arms. And I wanted him to kiss me. That should have been a sign too. I’d made that rule to keep it from getting too personal. Too soft and tender. If we only had sex, only kissed each other for the purpose of sex, then it would never lead to love. But at that moment, I just wanted him to kiss me. To hold me. To make up for all the things Trent hadn’t done when he was the one who was supposed to love me.

“The buildup to what?” I asked.

“A kiss.”

“Do you—want—to kiss me?” He paused for a long moment, blue eyes staring into mine.

“Yes,” he said. But then he moved away and kissed my neck. He didn’t elaborate, and I was too afraid to ask him to. So I just shut my eyes and relished in the feeling of being with someone who cared about what I got from his touch.