Let's Waste Time

For the first time in a very long time, I didn't feel like I'd just been used. Chris was always generous in the bedroom. He never let me go without being satisfied. But it was always with the knowledge that he was doing this for his own gratification. This time, however, it didn't feel like sex. It felt like—I don't know—lovemaking.

He didn't let me go right away after we finished. Usually, one of us would quickly leave, or we'd go watch movies or something and act like it was perfectly normal. We weren't really in the business of aftercare. But I'd never wanted it from him. It felt too emotional. Too vulnerable. But now he was just holding me. And I held him back. I had my face in his neck, my lips against his shoulders. I kept my eyes shut, my arms and legs around him. And I almost didn't want him to let go. I could feel his thumb tracing pictures on my shoulder. He didn't even move until our breathing went back to normal. Then he let me go and laid down beside me.

"Shit," he whispered.

"What was that?" I asked. He lifted his hands to rub his own eyes.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"That was really personal, Chris."

"I know. You just looked so fucking sad. I wanted to make you feel better."

"We had an agreement. We're not supposed to make love. Not in a romantic way. We just fuck and then go on with our lives."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you like that."

I didn't know how to respond. He wasn't supposed to care. I knew we were friends, and maybe that's where we messed up. Friends undoubtedly cared. And we were friends who were attracted to each other. It was a recipe for a clusterfuck.

"I think I should leave," I said. But before I could, he reached out to take my hand. His expression was sincere. He didn't want me to leave, and I didn't want to leave either. I was just frozen.

"Don't—don't go? Please? Let's watch a movie or something. Look, I recorded…." He reached for the remote on his nightstand and nearly knocked it off in his haste to get it. "I recorded Batman. The one you like. The Tim Burton one." I was still frozen. He turned on the TV and then looked at me again. "Please?"

This was a bad idea. But I felt wounded and vulnerable, and he was offering me comfort. I didn't want to love Chris, and I was pretty sure he didn't want to love me either. So maybe he just wanted to comfort me like a friend.

"Come here," he said quietly. He got the movie on and dropped the remote. He motioned for me to come closer.

I did. I didn't even hesitate. I laid back down beside him. He pulled me in closer. I rested my head on his chest. I set my hand on it. He was warm and safe. I could feel his heartbeat in my ear. One of his hands moved up and down my back. The other wrapped around me to tangle in my hair.

I wanted this, I realized. Not just sex and then leaving. Not just sex and then sleeping. I wanted someone to hold me. To play with my hair and hold me against his chest. Just to make me feel like I mattered. To ease the discomfort out of letting someone see you so vulnerable and open.

I began to feel drowsy. I'd had a long sad night. And now someone was holding me. I couldn't move. I liked how his body felt against mine. I liked the gentle sound of the TV and his heart beating in my ear. The soft sound of his breath. His fingers on my bare skin.

I woke in the morning a little bit confused. I was lying partially on top of Chris. I had my head on his shoulder, half on my stomach. My nose against his neck and his cheek on my forehead. One of his arms was under me, sticking straight out to the other side. I had my leg wrapped around him like I was clutching him for life.

It wouldn't have been so bad. I would have been just a little embarrassed if that's all it was. But his other hand was touching my arm. He was pressed against me like he'd fallen asleep cuddling me. One of his legs was purposely angled toward me so I could latch onto it. The TV was off. Which meant he had enough forethought to turn it off himself, knowing I was sleeping on him. Knowing we'd wake in the morning and realize we'd crossed a line. We were never supposed to spend the night together. Never supposed to cuddle and clutch each other in our sleep.

My eyes shot open, and I realized I'd also forgotten to take my contacts out. And then I simultaneously realized the worst part of it all. Chris was awake. His body tensed, his fingers moved on my arm. Which meant he'd been holding me on purpose this whole time.

"You're going to take off now, aren't you?" he whispered.

"I'm considering it."

"You can stay a little longer."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Well, it's not a bad idea." That was a different tune. Usually, his response was always that it was a terrible idea and we should do it anyway. Not that it was—I don't know—good.

"Are you just trying to get morning sex out of me?" I wondered. He paused as if he was thinking this through.

"Maybe," he decided.

I was always a big fan of morning sex. Not necessarily sex before noon. But that kind of sex when you just wake up and your body is still sensitive. Not to mention, he was already ready to go, and I didn't even have to do anything.

I could lie and claim that it was just that. I'd woken up in his bed, and he was always a good lay, and we'd never had morning sex like this before. Why not? It could be fun. But that wasn't the case. The truth was just that the night had been magical. I knew as soon as I got out of that bed, the magic would shatter, and it would be over, and we'd have to go back to the way things were before when all we did was fuck each other senseless and then bounce.

So I moved my hand up his chest to the side of his neck. Then I kissed his skin. He moved to his side, traced his lips over my shoulder. His other hand moved down my arm and beneath the blanket. But I'd kept my leg up over him, so he took advantage of that position. I dug my fingers into his shoulder. My breathing hitched. And he watched me. I could see him looking at my lips, my eyes, the way I bit my lip.

Then he gently pushed me onto my back, guided my legs apart, and he—made love to me. It was different than the night before. A little faster. A little more urgent. But it was different than what we usually did too. It was hands touching. Fingers digging into the sheets and pinning mine beneath his. It was kisses on hot skin, me rocking my hips up against his, and that low groan he made in his throat.

I ran my fingers through his sandy hair when he released my hands. I moved them down his back, gripped him, and pulled him to me. I kissed his chin, and he nudged my head to kiss my temple. He held me like I was the only person he wanted to be doing this with. Not like I was a quick means to an end. An agreement over pizza and beer. He was good in bed, good at sex, but he knew how to make love. How to make me feel like I was the only woman who mattered to him. And also how to do that while simultaneously getting me off. A rare skill. And when I did it, when I couldn't hold it back, he lifted his head back to watch me. I was too caught up in it to care. And when I began to come down from it, he buried his face in my neck, took my hand, and pinned it to the bed again.

I'd felt lust. And I'd felt what I thought was love. But I'd never felt anything like this. Like—passion, for lack of better words. And I didn't think there were better words. It was precisely that. But what was passion? Was it always like this? Had I just gone my entire life thinking I knew what it was but not really having the slightest clue? Not until Chris was rocking his hips against me and holding me like he never wanted to let me go?

When we finished, we didn't move right away. Again. His hand released mine, but he kept his head buried in my neck. I dropped my legs to the bed, letting the feeling fade away with the intensity. Then he slowly lifted his head and looked down at me. Like he was studying me again. Seeing me differently than he did before.

I wanted to lie there with him all day. Cuddle like we did the night before. I wanted him to trace patterns on my back, watch a movie with me, make breakfast together and cuddle on the couch and talk about our plans for the day.

I wasn't supposed to want that.

I'd fucked up.

Big time.

"I have to go," I said. He nodded slowly. As if he was thinking the same thing.

I shoved him off of me and jumped out of his bed to gather up my clothes. I shimmied back into my dress, grabbed my underwear and my shoes, and I bolted. I was in such a rush to get away from him that I forgot where I left my bag. I ended up on the front steps, barefoot, dress barely zipped up in the back, hair an absolute mess. And then I froze.

Trent was standing out front. He had a bouquet of flowers, and it looked like he'd been ringing my doorbell for at least a few minutes. We locked eyes, and there was no way he could see me like this and not know what I'd just done.

"What the fuck?" he said.

The door opened behind me. I bumped back into Chris. His hand came to rest on my shoulder. Familiar, comforting, maybe even protectively.

"Hey, you forgot your bag," he said.

But I didn't move. I was frozen, and my eyes were wide with absolute terror. Trent looked past my shoulder at Chris. Maybe Chris didn't notice him at first. But he undoubtedly did now. His hand tightened on my shoulder. The flowers dropped from Trent's hand to the ground. He didn't say a single thing as he turned and headed down the steps. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I leaped out.

"Trent, wait," I said. But he didn't listen. He got to the sidewalk and stormed off toward the busy street where he could hail a cab.

"Fucking hypocrite," Chris muttered from behind me. I was sure Trent heard it too. But he disappeared, and all my anger swelled up and overwhelmed me. I turned to take it out on the only person I had left to blame besides myself.

"This is all your fault," I said, ripping my bag from Chris's hand. I stumbled for my keys and hurried into my apartment, where I slammed the door. Then I stood there waiting for the knock that was sure to come. I heard his knuckles tap against the wood.

"Marley," he said.

"I have nothing to say to you!" I shouted back.

"Please just talk to me?"

"Go away!" There was silence for a few seconds before his door slammed shut. Then I dropped to the floor and burst into tears.