23. 7 Years Ago #3
I nodded, grabbing him by his backside and pulling him as far into me as I could handle.
I controlled the movements that way. Matt rolled me over so I was on top, freeing his hand to slide between us.
Both of us wanted it to last longer than it did, but it was impossible to hold back.
Having Matt touch me like that flooded me with memories, and when he came first, I quickly followed.
We held each other through the swells, eventually collapsing into a long, breathless embrace in a sea of tangled sheets.
Catching my breath, I laid my head on his bare chest. I ran my finger across the words inked on his ribcage. I couldn’t quite make them out; they were not in English.
“What’s this say?” I whispered.
“What?” he breathed.
“The tattoo here,” I explained.
“Oh. It says, ‘Quod nos non occidit nos fortiores facit.’”
“Translation?”
“That which does not kill me makes me stronger. It’s Latin.”
I took that in, understanding its implications. I imagined him lying in the tattoo chair, brokenhearted but resolute that he would move on from me. I hated knowing I’d hurt him like that.
I rolled on top of him, my naked body pressed against his, my face inches from his. His eyes were closed, resting.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked. He opened one eye and let out a half-yawn, spent.
“Sure.”
I threaded my fingers through Matt’s hair slowly, from his forehead along his scalp to the back of his head. “I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“Everything. I did it all wrong. I should never have left.”
“What do you mean?” He propped himself up, more awake now.
“Back then. When my dad—”
“Shh,” he quieted me. “It’s all in the past.”
“This tattoo tells a different story.”
“It was a long time ago, Taylor.”
“I just need you to hear that I’m sorry,” I insisted.
He placed a loose piece of my falling hair behind my ear. “I know.”
“I don’t think you understand,” I said, trying to verbalize the blooming ache in my chest. “I was so hurt and broken. But you were so… perfect. Parents who loved you. Nice house. Grades, sports, all of it.”
He traced his touch down my back, listening.
“I couldn’t handle anything back then.”
“No one could handle what you went through.”
“But you wanted to. You kept trying to be there for me.”
He shrugged. “I was just a dumb kid. I didn’t know what to do.”
“No, Matt. You were amazing. That’s what I’m trying to say. I was wrong. I should’ve let you—”
“Taylor. It’s done now.”
“Really? Look at us.” I gestured at our bodies, intertwined under his covers. “Is this what done looks like to you?”
He smiled.
“Please just hear me. Accept my apology.”
“Okay. I do.”
I let it go then. My hands searched his body naturally, thanking the universe for this perfect night, and without thinking about it, I proceeded to initiate a second round.
He responded slower this time, able to control his physical reflexes more.
I took my time on him, and he reciprocated in kind.
When we were done, wrecked in a sweaty heap, I whispered, “I love you.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Always.”
I drifted into a deep sleep, nestled in the safety of Matt’s arms.
The morning sun streamed through the dusty bedroom window, warming my uncovered leg, poking out from under Matt’s comforter.
I rolled over, stretching, remembering where I was and grinning with my eyes still closed.
I had to pee, so I grabbed his T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on.
It hit at the tops of my thighs, long enough to cover most of me.
I padded to the bathroom sleepily; after I was done, I stopped to take in the scene before lying back down in bed.
Matt was stretched out with one arm over his head, the ribcage tattoo on full display, his mouth open slightly, his face completely relaxed.
I looked beyond him at the room. Our clothing was strewn everywhere.
Two open condom wrappers were on the floor; a used washcloth on the nightstand held reminders of our night together.
The room was warm, baking in the early morning sun. An alarm clock read the time: 6:08 a.m.
He must have heard me moving around the room because he rolled over and opened an eye in my direction. “Come back to bed,” he said, through a sleepy grin.
Knowing I still had at least an hour until I had to get up and step into the official role of assistant camp director, I crawled under the covers and placed my ear to his chest. Matt’s heartbeat played a rhythmic song as his lips hummed with contentment against the top of my head.
The sense of fulfillment was so unfamiliar, it overwhelmed me.
Without warning, tears sprung to my eyes.
Matt felt the moisture drip onto his chest, and cocked his head to look down at me.
“You okay?” he murmured.
I nodded. “More than okay. I’m so happy to be here.”
He exhaled. “Me too.”
“It’s like…” I uttered, unable to find the words.
“Coming home?”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Well, welcome home, Taylor,” Matt replied, kissing my forehead. “I missed you.”