Chapter 3 #3
He must see something in my face that convinces him, because his hands come to the hem of my shirt, fingers trembling slightly as he peels it up and over my head.
His eyes track over my body as if he’s seeing it for the first time, even though he saw all of it that night I can’t remember.
My bra follows.
Then his hands are at the button of my jeans.
I help him, kicking off my jeans and underwear until I’m naked on our shitty mattress with its worn sheets and lumpy pillow. The room is too bright and still too hot with the afternoon sun streaming through the window. It’s not exactly candlelight and soulful R&B.
Z strips quickly and efficiently. His body is lean, all sharp angles and ropey muscle. Beautiful in its own way.
He lays me back, hovering over me, and for just a second his face is backlit by the window and I can almost pretend—
No. Don’t do that. Don’t go there.
“I love you,” Z whispers, and his voice cracks with the honesty of it. “God, Harper, I’ve loved you since I was twelve years old.”
I should say it back. The words are right there. Three simple syllables that would mean everything to him.
But they won’t come.
They’re trapped behind the memory of Caleb’s voice saying those exact words in his bed, in the dark, with his arms around me like he could protect me from the world.
Z notices my silence but doesn’t push.
He just kisses me again, slower this time. His hand trails down my side, over my hip and then between my legs.
I try to focus on the sensation. On the fact that someone is touching me. Wanting me.
This should feel good. This does feel good, technically.
But I can’t stop comparing.
Caleb’s hands were bigger. They always moved with this careful precision, like he’d studied the mechanics of pleasure the way he studied everything else.
Z’s touch is unpracticed. Eager. He’s doing his best, but it’s not—
Stop. Stop comparing. Just be here.
I close my eyes.
Mistake.
Because with my eyes closed, I can nearly imagine Caleb’s breath hot against my neck.
“Look at me,” Z says, and I snap my eyes open to find him staring down at me with devastating intensity. “Stay with me, Harp. Be here. With me.”
He knows. Somehow he fucking knows where my head went.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
He positions himself and pushes inside in one smooth motion, and I gasp.
I wasn’t fully wet yet. It doesn’t hurt a lot, but it hurts a little.
And it’s so freaking weird—Z’s cock is inside me.
I’m having sex with Z.
I shift out of instinct, trying to relax. It doesn’t help much, and it hurts when he pulls out, too. Jesus fuck.
Everything about this is different from the handful of times Caleb and I—
“You okay?” Z freezes, searching my face.
“Yeah. Just been a while.” True enough. Three months, apparently. What was it like that first night between us? Apparently, I should have gotten wasted before trying this again. But damn it, I can’t now that there’s a fetus.
Z starts to move, slow and careful, watching my face.
The pain eases as my body does its thing to provide a little lubrication. But there’s a strange disconnect, like I’m floating above my body watching some other girl have sex with her childhood best friend.
I try to be present. I try to arch into him and make the right sounds and touch him the way a girlfriend should.
But my body is just going through the motions.
Z speeds up, chasing his own release, and I wrap my legs around him like I’m supposed to. I let him bury his face in my neck as his breathing gets haggard against my skin.
When he comes, he moans my name like a prayer. “Harper. Fuck, Harper.”
I hold him through it, massaging my hands down his back.
Playing the part.
He collapses on top of me, breathing hard, and for a long moment we just lie there in the sticky heat of the July afternoon.
“That was…” he starts.
“Yeah,” I cut him off again.
I don’t want to hear him say it was amazing or perfect or whatever lie men tell themselves after mediocre sex.
He rolls off me, immediately pulling me against his sweaty side. His arm comes around my shoulders, holding me close.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” he says after a minute with a quick kiss against my temple.
Thank God.
Relief sweeps through me as I pull away from him.
“You want to come?”
Shit.
“In a minute. I’m just gonna…” I gesture vaguely.
He nods, pulling on his boxers and heading out the door to the bathroom. I hear the water start running.
And then I’m alone.
I stare at the water stain in the corner of the ceiling that looks like a malformed hand reaching for something it can’t grasp.
I just had sex with Z.
Consciously, deliberately, and stone-cold sober.
There’s no Jack Daniels to blame this time. No blackout to hide behind.
This was my choice. I’ve truly chosen this future.
This path.
… But all I can think about is Caleb’s face the morning after our first time—the way he looked at me like I was precious. Like I was something worth keeping. The careful way he touched me, like he was afraid I’d break.
I should get up and join Z in the shower. It’s time to start acting like the girlfriend he deserves instead of the ghost I actually am.
But I can’t move.
Because somewhere in Dallas, Caleb is living his life without me. Taking care of his mom. He would’ve just finished senior year. He’s probably getting ready to move to Cambridge for Harvard, already moving on like he ought to.
And he has no idea that four hours south, I just slept with another man while carrying a baby that isn’t his.
The tears come then, hot and silent, sliding down my temples into my hair.
This is what moving on feels like, I guess.
It feels a little bit like dying.