6 comments/ 19624 views/ 5 favorites Choosing a Second Chance By: ScreamngInfidelities Well everyone, this will be the last story I write about Ryan—there are three total, if you would like to check them out. I'll have to look elsewhere for inspiration if I wish to write more; all these memories of him are starting to get to me a bit. All that girly stuff aside, I hope you enjoy this one. It's a little slow to start off, but it's got the heartache you wanted to read about. Send feedback! The strangest thing was the fact that I had been dreaming about him when he called me. Ryan and I had been broken up for almost 2 months, and the less I saw or heard from him, the better. Truth be told, my heart was broken (as usual), and distance served me well in mending it again. Distance was exactly what had broken us up, ironically. Ryan had transferred from my college to one clear across the state, and neither of us wanted a long distance relationship to maintain. Thus was the end of us. I hate to say that I was bitter, but it's the truth. He broke it off with me a month before the end of the school year, making the situation between us for that last month tricky at best. Every time I saw him I wanted to run into his arms and kiss him with fervor, the way I used to do when we were together. Things became awkward between us, and we more or less stopped talking for that month. He came to say goodbye to me before he left town for the summer, and I felt broken for weeks afterward. No one could console me or understand why he was so hard to get over. I shrugged everyone off, usually murmuring something about this being for the best. Either way, it was out of my hands now, and so was he. I hadn't even thought about him in the last four or five weeks, and this was progress in every sense of the word. I was finally feeling like myself again--and even stronger than I was before Ryan and I started seeing each other. At last I began to feel whole again--I could sleep at night, I was eating better, and my friends were glad to have the old me back. This is why it was strange that I had just lain down to take a mid-day nap before class and found myself dreaming of him. Alas, truth is stranger than fiction--I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing beside me, and it was Ryan calling me. "Look, is there a reason why you called me or not? I have to go to class in a few minutes." I was being short with him as I paced around my apartment. I didn't really care what he had to say, but then again I never could say 'no' to him. "Yeah," he said with sincerity on the other end of the line. "I'm actually on my way into town right now, and I wanted to come see you." "You're what?" I said, making sure my annoyance was distinguished in my tone. "When did you think we were going to get together? I have class all night." I pulled my book bag over my shoulders and started to head for the door, when someone knocked. I slouched at the sound of it, because I already knew who was on the other side. I hung up the phone and opened the door. There he was, in the flesh, and twice as handsome as I remembered him being. He took my breath away, but I hid it well with the flash of anger in my eyes. He was wearing a collared shirt over a plain white t-shirt, and had it buttoned half way up. He was also wearing blue jeans, and for a moment it felt like he had never left. His eyes were the same deep dark blue, and his dirty blond hair hadn't changed much at all. "Hey, kiddo," he half-smiled at me, but his happiness was unreturned. I wanted to brush past him and walk away when he called me 'kiddo'... it was his nickname for me. I hated it, but he loved to joke with me about it because I was a year younger than him. I saw in his eyes that he had called me by that nickname by mistake, perhaps out of habit, so I let it slide. "Hey. I'm going to be late for class." I said, with no feeling in my voice. "What class?" "Arthurian literature," I mumbled. "Sounds like fun," he chided, and I scoffed. "Do you have a place to stay?" I had slipped out my apartment door and was just closing it behind me while I asked him this. He shook his head, and I sighed in exasperation. "Take my keys," I said as I rolled my eyes. "You can sleep here on the couch tonight and head back tomorrow. I have class til 9; will you be here to let me in?" "Of course," he answered. I nodded, and walked past him down the hall to the elevator. I didn't look back until I heard him go inside and shut the door. Then I headed to class. I sat through four hours of classes and didn't learn a thing because I was so distracted. At nine o'clock, I dragged my ass back home slowly; I was dreading stepping into my apartment and knowing he was there waiting for me. I got to my apartment and knocked on the door. "Who is it," he answered in a falsetto voice. I had to grin, because he knew it was me. "Hey, it's me," I said, and he opened the door. Before I could see him or anything else, two dozen red roses were shoved in my face as soon as he opened the door. The sight of them made me want to cry, and the gentle scent of them floated out into the hallway where I was standing. He put them down so I could see his face. "Hey there, cutie," he smiled as he stepped aside to let me in. I choked back emotion and went inside. All the lights were off, and every candle I had in the room was lit. He was sending me pretty clear signals, and if that was all he wanted from me, he had another thing coming. "What's all this," I asked, blowing out the candle nearest to me and fanning the smoke away. "Do you mean to burn the place down?" "Yep, I'm an arsonist now. That's actually why I transferred—they don't have a good arsonist program here." I stood in the semi-darkness and stared back at him. The slight grin left his face, and he handed the flowers to me. "Here; these are for you." "Thanks," I murmured, taking them from him and heading into the kitchen to put them in water. What he didn't know was that no man had ever given me flowers before—no one besides my own dad, when he brought them to the closing night of my high school plays. The sight of them stirred something deep inside of me, but I suppressed it with all my might. After putting the flowers in water, I went around to blow out the rest of the candles. This was my subtle way of telling him that nothing was going to happen here tonight. I would be more direct if I needed to. "I need to talk to you," he said. "So talk. It's a very small apartment, you know... I can hear you just fine." I blew out another candle. "The phone works, too," I mumbled. "Okay," he said, but he just stood and watched me go around and blow out the candles and fan the smoke away. "Could we sit down?" Without answering him, I turned on the lights and sat down on the couch, leaving space for him. He came over and sat next to me. "You look good," he said. I knew he was just trying to break the ice, but this was not the way to do it. I stared back at him, waiting for him to come to it. "Okay, okay, here goes," he said, and mustered up his courage. "I miss you." I snapped my eyes up to meet his. "I don't know what to say, really... I thought things would be different once I transferred and we didn't see each other every day, but... it's not how I thought it would be." He waited for my response. My voice sounded small and meek, but was not trembling yet. "Well... You've only been there a few months; you need to give yourself time to adjust." "I don't think anything's going to get better, though," he said. "I don't think it matters where I am; just who I'm with." I caught a glimmer in his eye, and shook my head. "No, no, no, Ryan," I countered. "You can't be serious." "Okay now, just hear me out." There was such anger in my eyes; I don't know how he could bear to go on. "Look, I just... I can't stop thinking about you. I thought I would be over it by now, but I'm just not. And the scary thing is, I've never been this hung up on a girl before. I've always been the one who rebounds quickly and who can move on. But even though you're five hours away from me, I still yearn to hold you in my arms at night, to wake up to your smile, and to just sit and talk with you like we always used to do." "Ryan—" "No, let me finish. Just listen to me. I'm laying it all out on the line, I know. But I drove all the way down here just to talk to you." I looked away. The anger had faded from my eyes, and I needed to regroup it before I could look into his eyes again. "I really think we had the potential for something great, and I don't want to lose that." "Lose it?!" At last, the anger was back, and it was bursting from me. "Lose what! There's nothing here for you! You're the one that left in the first place!" "I know; I know I did. People make mistakes—" "There's no such thing as a mistake," I countered. "How can you—I don't understand—are you CRAZY?" "Well I must be, after going through all that work to transfer my classes, getting settled in a new school, and still wanting to be with you." I dropped my shoulders; the anger was fading quickly again, but I did not look away. "You hated it here," I practically glared at him. "You were never happy here! Why the hell would you ever come back!? You have no good reason—" "I'm looking at my reason right now," he looked me straight in the eye, and it took all the nerve I had not to throw him out of my apartment right that second. "Look, this is ridiculous, Ryan," I replied coldly. "Stop with all the romantic bullshit and tell me what you want." "I want you," he said simply. That was enough to finally force me to my feet. I walked away from him, trying to put aside my anger long enough to form a sentence to throw at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Sadly, these were the words I came up with. "You can't just stroll into town, barge in here, and ask me to take you back! Do you think of no one but yourself?!" He got up and crossed the room to come over to me. "I just wanted to know if there was still a place for me in your heart," he attempted. "Does it matter either way?!" "I think it does," he said, and then let silence sink in. "Baby, just say the word and I'll drop everything to be with you. You mean that much to me. I swear to you." I threw up my hands and walked over to the door with tears hanging heavily in my eyes. "I think you need to leave," I snapped at him. "Wait, don't just—" "Don't just what, Ryan?! Let's say I did still love you; what then? You drop everything and move back here. And then what if it doesn't work out? Jesus, Ryan, you can't put that much pressure on me!" I opened the door and held it open while he let my words sink in. "Do you still love me?" His eyes burned into mine, but I could barely see him through my own tears, which I refused to let fall down my face. I could not answer him. He walked over to me and stood dangerously close to me. I did not cry until he put his hands on me; one on my waist and one on my shoulder as I was holding the door open for him. "Tell me, please... Do you?" His face inched closer to mine, and I trembled beneath his touch. I was about to stutter an answer of some kind, but before I could, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. My eyes fluttered shut, and I left them closed. His lips lingered near mine for a moment, and I could not breathe. He kissed me again, and even though my torturous anger still shook me, I kissed him back. My emotions flared up again, and I turned my head away from him. "What are you doing," I asked, but it was barely above a whisper. I was still holding the door open for him. I was also becoming keenly aware that he had no intention of leaving. He brought a hand to the nape of my neck and bent down to kiss me again. My shoulders dropped and I became dizzy at his touch. Without thinking, I let go of the door, stepped closer to him, and put my arms around his neck. Fire shot through every fiber in my body, and it frightened me how much I enjoyed his kiss after all this time. It was cruelty the way he kissed me—it wasn't lustful or urgent, but soft, slow, and devastatingly sweet. For a split second, the feel of his lips against mine made me want to hold onto him and never let him go again. My mind argued with my body, and no matter how wrong it was to be with him again, I could not tear myself from that moment we shared. There came a dull but provoking pain in my chest, and I stifled a sob. I broke away from him at last, and looked away with tears filling my eyes. "I don't—" My breath caught in my chest and I tried to blink away the tears. "I don't think I can do this, Ryan..." I looked up into his eyes, and he stroked my cheek gently. "I don't think I can leave you," he answered. I opened my mouth to say something in protest, but he stopped me. "Please don't ask me to." I pressed my body gently against his and kissed him again. He was like a drug to me; when I didn't have him, I could convince myself I didn't need him. But when he was there, in my arms, kissing me like that, I didn't think I could ever stop my need for him. He put his arms around my waist and picked me up slightly off my feet for a moment, and I cursed him for it slightly in my head. I loved when he did that! Why did he have to do it now—of all times? I couldn't help myself—we stayed locked together, kissing as though we were making up for lost time. I broke the kiss again and felt like I couldn't breathe as he stood there holding me. I held his face in my hands and looked into his eyes sadly. "You missed me," he grinned and gave me a look of silly innocence. At last, he made me laugh, but more tears fell from my eyes. "You missed me more," I countered. "You bet I did," he answered, and that endless sincerity was in his eyes again. He searched my face for a moment, and then leaned down to kiss away my tears. I hugged him, not wanting him to leave me for a moment. He tried to stand back up, because he was taller than I was, but I held on tight to him. He laughed and pretended to struggle for a moment. "Well I can't make a five-hour drive with you hanging on my neck like that," he chided. I giggled in his ear. "You can stay here tonight," I whispered. I didn't want him to drive back so late. "That doesn't solve my problem—I really seem to be stuck, here." He made a goofy face and acted like he was attached to me, but trying to struggle away. Without warning, he scooped me up in his arms, like a knight in shining armor would do. I looked at him pathetically. "That was a cop out," I grinned. He kissed me slowly again, and my mind went completely blank. I had forgotten what it was like to be entirely immersed in a moment with him, and let some of my feelings flood back into my heart. I didn't even notice he had been walking until he laid me gently upon my bed, still kissing me all the way. My eyes snapped open in protest, and I let go of him. "Ryan," I shook my head seriously and looked him right in the eye. "Relax," he protested. "I know you're tired, and it's getting late. I'll sleep on the couch, if that's okay with you." Here came another one of those moments that were trademark to me. I wanted him to sleep with me so badly I could already feel his arms around me. But I knew that was not the right decision to make, especially because I planned to send him home the next morning with a different answer than the one he wanted. I could never ask him to change his life to be with me, and I would not do it now. He was going to be so disappointed. It was better to distance myself from him now, to make it easier. "You can sleep here, with me." Did I just say that?! Oh good lord, I am such an idiot! Couldn't I, for once, see past my lust for him and realize the decision I should have made? Stupid, stupid, stupid!! "Okay," he answered. "I'll go get my pajamas. Don't wait up," he joked. I feigned a chuckle, but inside I was still screaming at myself for being a stupid needy girl. With a groan, I raised myself from my bed and slipped into my nightgown—a simple satin nighty that ended just above my knee. I turned down the blankets and tossed the extra pillows on a nearby chair, then slid in between the cold sheets and pulled my blankets up around me. "Geeze, I could barely see you underneath all those blankets," he commented as he came back in. He was wearing the same old pajama pants and a white t-shirt, just like I remembered. "Ya cold?" I shook my head, hoping he wouldn't come over and 'warm me up.' I was most definitely on edge, and didn't know how far I would let him go before I told him 'no.' He came around to the other side of the bed and slid in between the sheets. He reached over me and turned off the light on the nightstand. "Holy crap," he said all of a sudden, sounding shocked. "Your feet are ice cold!" I clinched my eyes shut, cursing my bad circulation. "Come here," he said gently. I laid facing away from him, curled up because I was so cold. I edged my way toward him, still not looking at him or speaking to him. I felt his body come up to lay against mine, and immediately felt warmer. He rubbed my arm gently, trying to warm me up. "Thank you," I said, feeling more relaxed. Then I felt his arm find its way to my hip, and he slowly slid it down across my waist. I don't know how long I held my breath, but it wasn't long enough. My eyes were shut tightly, and I could not wait for sleep to come. Just his touch filled my soul up to the brim, and I could not remember I time when I had felt more whole. "Better?" He asked, and I nodded. He was just trying to warm me up, I was certain. It would come to no more than that. I rolled onto my back to look at him, and smiled. Yes, I was definitely still holding my breath as his hand massaged my stomach gently. Through the satin nighty, it felt even more welcome than I had expected it to. I had just started to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen when he whispered, "Just breathe." I let the air out of my lungs with a sheepish look on my face, and snuggled up closer to him. I knew him so well, and he knew me better than I knew myself most days—why should I be uncomfortable around him? He held me tighter and got that soft-hearted, loving look in his eyes. I figured I should tell him here and now that I did not want us to be together again. "I want you to know how much I missed you," I whispered, barely on the edge of sound. "But you need to understand that saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do." He stroked my hair away from my face and ran his fingertips up and down my cheek and neck as I spoke. "And even though I wish we were still together, I cannot bear to say goodbye to you again." He smiled warmly at this, clearly not understanding. "You don't have to," he replied. "I don't want you to come back," I blurted out. Could that have been less graceful? "It just wouldn't be right, Ryan. I'm sorry." He nodded, and I could scarcely believe I didn't need to say more—he understood exactly what I was thinking. I looked away from his eyes. "Don't be," he said. "I understand. I'm the one who should be sorry." The silence that followed was almost too awkward to bear. It was thick and heavy, and we were both aware that we were in bed together, and essentially saying goodbye. "Gosh," he whispered, looking into my eyes and draping his arm over my stomach again. "Whoever you end up with is a very lucky guy, and he doesn't even know it yet." I sighed and brought my hand to his face and kissed him sweetly. "I'm glad you're here with me tonight," I said. "It's enough for me." I kissed him again, turning to face him. His arm slid over my hip and down my back, holding me close to him. I became blatantly aware that we were making out in my bed, and that this would be the last night I would see him in a while—if I ever saw him again. We both knew that staying apart was better for us; I wouldn't have been surprised if I never heard from him again. Choosing a Second Chance I ran my toe up and down his calf and hugged him close to me as we kissed. I slid my hand up his shirt and caressed his back and shoulders. My stomach flipped as I felt his hand move slowly down my hip to my thigh. He was touching my bare skin, as my nighty had gathered slightly and was up much higher than it would be if I were standing. He felt me tugging gently at his shirt, and I helped him slowly peel it over his head. I ran my hands along his chest—oh God, how I missed him! It suddenly felt like there had never been a rift between us, and that we were simply enjoying our time together like we always used to do. I was certain we wouldn't go much farther than we had already—we were just fooling around a bit; nothing more. I draped my leg over his and kept kissing him; if he ever stopped kissing me it would be too soon. My hand found its way to his hair, and I played with it gently, lovingly, remembering how much he enjoyed it. His hands were slowly moving over my body, but I sensed no urgency from him, and so did not stop him. It wasn't until we broke away from our kiss and I realized how badly I was out of breath that I thought we might take things too far. I knew we would take things too far, however, when he began to kiss my neck. I've been with other guys who enjoyed kissing my neck, but I never loved it as much as when Ryan did it. He didn't suck on my flesh; he merely massaged it with his lips and tongue so gently that I could not stifle a low moan when he did it. Apparently he remembered exactly what I liked, as well. My hands were in his hair while he kissed my neck and chest, and if nothing else I was certain my heaving chest was enough to spur him on. He continued on, thank God, to kiss along my collarbone over to the thin strap of my nighty. He moved so slowly and gently that I did not care when my strap fell off my shoulder. It was a harmless side effect, I decided, compared to what he was doing to me simply by kissing my neck. He took his time in everything he did. He moved so agonizingly slow over my chest that I silently begged him never to stop. I had never known him to take things so slowly—usually I sped things along faster than they should have gone simply because he drove me wild. Tonight was so different, but I loved it just the same. If I could keep myself from rushing him along, I was certain this was going to be an amazing night to remember. My nighty seemed smaller than it was when I put it on, and I realized that the hem of it had inched up nearly to my hips, and the low neckline was dipping lower than usual, because my strap had fallen off. I surely would have pulled that strap back up onto my shoulder, but my mind went blank again when I felt Ryan's weight shift as he came to lie on top of me. Oh, how I adored the feel of him on top of me. He continued to kiss his way lower and lower down my chest, so slow and timed. I continually had to fight my urge to hurry him along, but I was so ready for him already that I started to wonder if I would survive the night. I brought my legs up and let him lie in between them; I could barely stand to wait any longer as it was, but I knew he was going to take everything slower than I wanted him to. I ran my hands along his strong arms and whispered his name without realizing it. I closed my eyes and at last felt his lips on my breast, still taking his sweet time as he worked his way down my body. My nighty wasn't doing itself justice any longer; it was hiked up to my waist at the bottom and pulled down to expose my breasts at the top. I hadn't even noticed that my straps had both fallen down and he was inching the fabric off my body as though he were unwrapping a delicate gift. Just to move things along—I couldn't help myself—I sat up and gently pulled the soft fabric over my head and dropped it onto the floor. I was now wearing only my panties, and he put a hand behind my head to lay me back down onto the bed. My skin seemed to tremble when it touched his, and I would have been cold had Ryan not been on top of me. Seeing me tremble, however, he reached back to pull my comforter up around us before continuing to kiss his way down my body. I closed my eyes in agony as he licked around my belly button; he always had a thing for my belly button, I now remembered. I felt a little silly that he was underneath the covers as I lay there. I didn't like that his face was so far from mine, for I longed to kiss him again. I almost stared strangely at him when he resurfaced; it was as though he had read my thoughts. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him slowly. When I finally felt him harden against my leg, I was tempted to strip him down and finish it right then and there, but I held myself back. I knew he wanted to take it slow, and, as hard as that was for me, I wanted to do it. I started to tug at the elastic on his pajama pants lightly, just to let him know where my mind was going. Yes, I had doubts in my mind about pushing things along even farther, given our history together. Maybe I was just rationalizing in thinking that this was the best way for us to say goodbye on out last night together. I inched his pants down his hips, and he didn't stop me. He was being so sweet, I almost hated to move things along, but I couldn't wait much longer. I could guess we had already been together for over an hour in my bed, and that was long enough for me. I never understood how quickly time passed with I was with him. I slowly brought his pants as far down his body as I could, and it wasn't until he shifted his weight to take them off that I realized that I never wanted to leave his touch. I pushed back the doubtful thoughts that flooded my mind at that moment, and pulled his warm body back down onto mine. Things were certainly heating up now; I was no longer cold, but could feel the blush in my cheeks and the heat rising from beneath my blankets. At last, I felt his fingers slip inside my panties and massage my clitoris gently. My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn't believe how close I was already. He was still kissing me, as I would have it no other way, and rubbing me slowly. I could barely breathe hard enough through my nose as we kissed, and started to moan quietly. I felt it coming on fast now, and broke our kiss with a moan as I arched my head back and closed my eyes. He watched me as I moaned when the orgasm finally hit me. It was longer than most other orgasms I had ever had with him, or with anyone for that matter. Apparently, good things really do come to those who wait. He kept rubbing me while I moaned and panted and shook gently. I came down from the peak of the orgasm slowly, feeling shivers run across my skin as the pleasure faded almost as quickly as it had come. As soon as I could breathe again, I pulled him close to me and kissed him warmly. He ran his hands all over my body and I suppressed another urge to pin him down and finish him off. He slid his hands down under my panties and guided them slowly down my legs. I could feel him trail his fingertips back up the inside of my thighs, so slowly that I froze, afraid to move and deter him from anything he wanted to do. Shivers broke across my body again, only to be warmed by his kiss once again. I could finally feel that Ryan had just begun to break a sweat as I ran my hands through his hair and down his back. My hands found their way to his boxers, and in a dizzying moment, I edged them over his hips and down his legs with my feet. I lifted my legs to finally let him rest in between my legs again, and the feel of his skin on mine made me wet all over again. I was glad that doubt had left my mind, but wasn't surprised—his touch made my mind go blank. I was lucky I could even remember my own name at this point. I could tell he was working hard to slow himself down now, even though he didn't show it at all. I could feel it in his familiar touch, see it in his breathtaking eyes, hear it in his breath. I closed my eyes and stifled a pain that tiptoed through my chest—Oh, how I would miss him tomorrow when he left me. I opened my eyes a second later, and the feeling was gone as Ryan was reaching down to massage my clitoris once again. I was more than ready, even though I hadn't expected to be so soon again. Did he know my body better than I did, as well? He already understood my thoughts and my soul better than anyone ever had before. Clearly there was no detail of me that was unknown to him. The next orgasm was even more intense than the last one, even though it was a bit shorter. As the buildup tantalizingly increased, I threw my arms around his neck tightly and held on for dear life. I was so taken aback by the thrill of this second orgasm that I couldn't even catch my breath long enough to moan or call out his name, like I usually do. I shook even more than I did the last time, and when it was over my entire body went limp with exhaustion. Ryan ran his hand over my chest and down my arm, where he entwined his fingers with his. I hadn't caught my breath yet, but kissed him long and hard anyway. I must have moaned, then, because he broke apart to look down at me. "You alright," he asked, with a smile behind his eyes. I nodded, and I guessed he could probably read the sadness in my eyes. To be honest, I had stifled a sob by moaning, and now blinked away tears. He ran his fingers along my jaw line again, and searched my face as though he were trying to remember every detail. He shook his head slowly, and whispered, "You're so beautiful." I thought for a moment that he was trying to win me over and change my mind about his leaving tomorrow. Whether this was what he was trying to do or not, I don't know—but had I been a single heartbeat closer to missing him than I already was, it most definitely would have worked. And there he was kissing me again, stealing my thoughts and pain and confusion. Nothing mattered while I was with him, even if it was for the last time. I urged him on by sliding my hands down his steamy body and gently stroking his hard penis, which throbbed in my hand. The breath rushed from his lungs as I did so, as though he had not expected me to be so forward, but really he knew me better than that. He knew I was dying inside and needed to be joined to him at last. Self-control was never my strong suit, and the fact that I had made it this long without rushing him merited some kind of award as far as I was concerned. I guided him into me, but he did not enter right away—it was cruelty in every sense of the word. His eyes met mine when he finally slid in, inch by inch. I know it sounds girly and over-sentimental, but I have never physically and emotionally connected with him the way that I did that night. I was usually in such frenzy by the time we rolled around to this part that I never paid much attention to it. There was something between us this time—something painful and bright, burning and tearful all at the same time. He brought his forehead down to meet mine while he slid back out again, then in. This all happened so slowly that I barely even knew where I was anymore. "I love you," I heard him whisper. "I love you," I answered. It may have been a lie. It may have been truer than I would ever realize, especially since I had decided to cut him out of my life. It may just have been a silly girl caught up in the moment of the most amazing and heart-wrenching night of her life. Maybe I did still love him. Or maybe I had simply told him what he wanted to hear. He did not pick up his pace as quickly as I usually begged him to do; he moved slow and lovingly. It took my breath away, just as much as the pleasure building up again inside me did. I closed my eyes, but it was no use—he knew my eyes were flushed with tears. I suppressed most of them, but one single tear ran down my cheek as he gained momentum inside me. He kissed it away gently, and he finally began to pick up speed. I was glad it was almost over; the thought of being so drunk with love for him was tearing at my heart, and I wanted everything to be over so I could begin to force myself to believe that this was for the best again. A thousand memories flooded my mind when I came to orgasm again, and I blew them all away with my last labored breath as he held me in his arms for the last time. After he came, he collapsed onto me in exhaustion and tried to catch his breath. I wrapped my arms around him and lightly kissed his forehead. I hesitate to say I went numb when it was all over because it makes it seem like I didn't enjoy that night with him. I was merely numbing my emotions, to the best of my ability. He eventually slid off me and I came to rest my head in the nook of his arm with my hand on his chest. He held me close, and I wished, for a blink of an eye, that he did not have to go. But I knew he did. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear—words I still remember to this day—and made me smile because he couldn't bear to see me so sad on his behalf. An hour or so later, I moved slightly to look up at him and found him asleep. I leaned up to kiss him gently on the lips, and then I curled up in his arms and drifted to sleep. When I awoke late the next morning, he was gone. I felt the familiar heaviness in my heart, the numbness of my senses. I looked over to where he had been sleeping. On the nightstand, he left his transfer papers. They were filled out and ready to be mailed. I didn't know what he wanted me to do with them, but the aching pain deep in my heart told me. I threw them away.