Chapter 18
E verything was perfect. Or it should be. I rolled my heated forehead against the cool kitchen counter. I was still trembling and my legs were unsteady. I felt Trevor’s hands soothing my back, his callouses rasping against the skin.
Being with Trevor again had been amazing. Perfect. I’d seen stars. So why did I feel like I was going to burst into tears? Why was Paul’s face the one I was seeing behind my closed eyes? I felt like I had just cheated on my husband, even though I knew that wasn’t the case.
My breathing was starting to hitch as I straightened my body, my skin meeting Trevor’s hard chest behind me, as his arms came around me holding me gently.
“You okay?” He asked against my ear, sounding concerned.
“Yep.” My voice sounded off, even to myself. I needed to get to the bathroom and pull myself together. Trevor didn’t need this and I felt ready to shatter apart.
“I gotta run to the restroom, just give me a second.” I said, voice thin with false bravado. I avoided his eyes as I turned, scooping my clothes up, and rushing over to the bathroom. My breath was starting to come in bursts and I felt like my chest was caving in.
I’d never had a panic attack but this is what I imagined one felt like. Closing and locking the door behind me, I thrust my hand into the shower, turning the water on to create noise right before I hit my knees outside of the bathtub. The clothes I’d scooped up fell to the floor and I started wheezing.
I hadn’t cheated on Paul. It had been a year and a half since he’d passed. Why was my mind reacting this way? I’d been in the moment with Trevor. I’d had one of the best orgasms of my life. Then the come down had hit me. Everything had hit me again.
I heard myself start sobbing just as the first tears hit my hands.
Pull it together. God, please.
Everything felt like it was tunneling out and I laid on my side, curled into a ball. The cool tiles of the bathroom floor jarred against the steam enveloping the bathroom from the water running.
I was going to break.
Distantly, I heard knocking on the door and Trevor’s voice, but I was so panicked I couldn’t register what he was saying. I had never been this delicate flower. I felt guilty about Paul and guilty I had run right after Trevor and I had sex.
There was pounding now and near panicked shouting. He had to hear me sobbing but I couldn’t breathe. The bathroom door banged open, slamming against the wall, cool air rushing in to cover my body that was draped in steamy condensation from the heated shower.
“Fuck, Mon.”
I felt Trevor step over me, crouching, then sliding behind me to sit on the floor. Then he was pulling me up as I was trying to pull away, pull myself together for him. So he didn’t think it was because of him. But he fought me.
My back came against his bare chest as he held each of my wrists, crossing mine and his arms over my chest and holding me tight against him.
“Breathe.” His voice was rough. “Feel my chest moving against you and match my breaths.” He ordered, holding me even tighter. He hadn’t even turned the water off. Just focusing on getting to me, holding himself against me, and providing a port in this storm.
“I’m sorry,” I started, my voice shaky, thin and breathless.
“Shut the fuck up and breathe, Monica,” he demanded. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Absolutely nothing. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling after your first…after having sex for the first time…” even he kept breaking off.
He seemed unsure of what to say, what to bring up, that wouldn't cause me to spiral further into the panic, instead of settling into the calm he was trying to provide.
“I’m here for it all. You can’t keep running from me. I thought I’d hurt you or something.” He was speaking softly now, as my breaths stopped racing and I gradually relaxed against him. He moved a hand up, releasing one of my wrists, and soothed it against my hair.
“I’d be shocked if you hadn’t had some kind of emotions after this.” He continued, “Fuck. I’m having emotions. He was my friend too, Monica. He was like a brother. He helped save me…”, his voice broke.
I turned to face him and wrapped my arms around him, drawing him closer to me.
“Just don’t keep running from me. Let me help, baby. Let me walk through this with you. When you can’t walk anymore, let me carry you. Let me fight the pain with you.”
I pressed my face against his neck, he was still naked. There was something very primal about this kind of grief. Both of us without clothes, wrapped around each other, healing.
“I don’t know what happened,” I tried to explain, my voice trembling. “It wasn’t you or what we did. It was amazing. It just hit me…” I continued.
His hands moved up, pulling me back and cradling my face gently, green eyes scorching into mine. He looked fierce.
“And when that happens you don’t shove me out. My love for you isn’t fragile, Monica. I know you loved Paul. I know this was a huge step. I’d have held you on the kitchen floor, the middle of the street, a crowded restaurant. Fuck, baby. Whenever you need me and wherever it hits you. I’m there. I’d walk through fire to get to you if you were hurting and needed me.”
I hiccuped a soft sob, more tears escaping my eyes, as he brought his forehead against mine and we breathed each other’s oxygen.
“I know,” I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Stop fucking apologizing to me for things I’m supposed to help with.” He growled, fingers tangling in my hair.
“I fucking love you, Monica. That will never change. That has never changed.”
“I love you too,” I spoke softly, bringing my hands to rest on his chest.
“Come here,” he said, standing and bringing me up with him, holding me steady. Stepping into the shower, he pulled me in gently behind him.
“Let me take care of you,” he continued, guiding me under the water and running his fingers through my hair. “Let yourself be taken care of. You don’t have to be so strong all the goddamn time.”
So I let him. I willed my body to relax and let him gently wash my hair. Shampooing and rinsing it with more care than I did myself every day. He worked conditioner through the strands with gentleness instead of the harsh tugs I gave myself in the mornings.
As his hands roamed over my body with soap I felt myself coming down from the emotions of everything.
The nerves of coming here tonight.
Having sex with someone new for the first time in fourteen years.
The panic attack.
As he rinsed me off and held me, I laid my head against his chest, weary and drained. I felt like a vase that could be tipped over and broken at any moment. Bare and exposed. Groggy.
He turned the water off and stepped out, guiding me again. He wrapped a towel that smelled like him around me and used another to dry my hair gently before combing it. It was like he could sense I needed his presence but no words.
His eyes kept meeting mine in the bathroom mirror and all I could see there was love and concern. I felt safer and more taken care of than I had in a long time. He’d grown into an amazing man.
He took my hand and gently pulled me through the apartment to his bedroom. The king-size bed took up the majority of the room, and pulled the covers back.
He took the wet towels off of me and guided me to lay down and crawled in behind me. Covering us both he pulled me back, so that I was tight against him, wrapping me in his arms.
“Rest, Mon,” he soothed, kissing the back of my head, “I’ve got you.”