Chapter 8 - Leslie

I run down the hallway in the dark, desperately trying to keep my shit together. My chest feels tight, and my hands are shaking as if I’m out naked on the mountain in midwinter.

Hurling myself into bed, I can feel the sobs starting to escape, so I bury my face in the pillow and try to muffle the sound. I try to hold it in, but my head starts to ache, and my chest feels like it’s going to burst. Finally, I let loose with a cry of sorrow, practically screaming into the pillow.

I wrap the blankets around myself, even over my head, and curl up as if it’s a cocoon. Hugging one pillow tightly against me, I bury my face in another one and let the sobs come.

He rejected me—again! And I was stupid enough to fall for it!

For a while, I can’t think. All I can do is cry. All the depression and sadness from the last year come roaring back, consuming me completely. It’s a whole year’s worth of pain, and now it’s hitting me all at once, with a fresh wound on top of it.

“Please,” I whisper into the pillow, not even knowing what I’m praying for. “Please, no.”

My breathing starts to settle, and I sit up a bit to find a tissue and blow my nose. The pillow is soaked with tears, so I flip it over, then burrow back down into my cocoon again.

The tears continue to trickle down my cheeks, and my chest still hurts, but the frenzy of hurt has subsided somewhat. I can finally make sense of my racing thoughts and begin to figure them out.

I don’t fucking want to. I don’t want any of this. I just want to wake up tomorrow and find that this was all a dream, Kyle is far away, and I can learn to live without him.

Even as I try to comfort myself with that thought, the ache in my chest twists sharply, as if my heart could break even when it’s already in shattered pieces.

I can’t live without love. I know that now. I was dying every day without him. I would have ended up cold and numb inside, with no capacity for joy left in me.

My mind slips back to Kyle, and I fall into the memory of his hands on me, his mouth on mine. I close my eyes and writhe against the pillows, immersing myself in the sensations. I knew that I’d missed him over the last year, but I never realized how much. Despite all the agony I’d suffered, I was protecting myself, holding myself back from remembering the true passion we shared.

I roll over onto my back, moaning softly. The way he gripped my ass and squeezed my hips, the moans of pleasure that slipped from his lips, the eager movements of his tongue…

He wants me. He must. No one could fake that.

So why? Why reject me again?

My lip trembles, and the sobs build in my chest again. I turn my face to the pillow, trying not to listen to my own sounds. The pain in my chest just keeps increasing, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to let it out.

He doesn’t want me. It’s his duty to be with me, and he’s just horny. It has nothing to do with me.

I shake my head against the pillow and run my hands over my soft body. It feels nice. Snuggly. Comforting. Most of the time, I like my body.

I just don’t like how it looks.

And I can’t take being rejected for being the fat girl!

I roll back over to the pillow and cry again, trying to let it all out. Even after the tears settle down, my chest still hurts. There is too much pain in me to be able to get it all out, even if my entire body is now exhausted from crying.

I can’t believe I gave myself to him again, just so he could reject me—again. I’m so fucking stupid!

The moments when he seemed to really enjoy torturing me. In those few minutes, I really felt desirable, needed, wanted.

But he didn’t want me.

Even the incident at the bar haunts me. Kyle didn’t give a fuck about me—he was just protecting his property. The guy flirting with me probably didn’t even like me, either. He just wanted an easy lay and thought I was a good mark.

Stretching out under the blankets, I try to relax so I can fall asleep. I know I don’t have much chance of that, but I should try. The memories won’t settle, so I focus on my breathing and think of better things.

I’m beginning to drift off, caught up in thoughts of a spring garden I’d like to plant and fabric I’d like to buy for clothes to make, when I hear a muffled sound. My mind and body are exhausted and try to pull me back down, but part of me tugs against the lull of sleep to drag me back to wakefulness.

For a second, the house is quiet, and I think I imagined the noise. I start drifting off again, trying to focus on sweet dreams and steer clear of the bad memories.

Then, the stillness of the house is shattered by a bloodcurdling scream.

I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering like a terrified rabbit’s. I can’t breathe, and I see white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Was that Kyle?

From the living room, I hear a low cry that is definitely from Kyle. I leap out of bed, wrapping a blanket around myself and hurrying down the hall.

Fearing the worst, I’m surprised to see him lying on the couch. After the sounds I heard, I was expecting to see him wrestling with bears or crocodiles.

I approach the lounge and take a closer look.

He’s definitely wrestling with something.

Kyle is lying on his back with the blanket wrapped tightly around him, leaving his top half bare. I can see his muscles straining as he tosses back and forth, fighting against the sheet. His eyes are screwed shut, and his mouth works as soft whispers explode from his throat.

“No,” he moans. “No!”

The sound of that cry is so mournful, it tears my heart. I have to comfort him. I can’t stand to see him in pain like this.

I creep over to the lounge and touch him on the shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Kyle, wake up,” I say. “You’re having a nightmare.”

He frowns and tosses, but he doesn’t wake up.

I lean down even closer and give him a shake. “Kyle!”

“No!” he screams. He sits up, then grabs my shoulders and flips us. I let out a little shriek of my own as my back hits the floor and Kyle falls on top of me.

“I can’t,” he moans. He’s still struggling with the dream. I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tightly as I can.

“Please, wake up,” I whisper against his cheek. “Kyle, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I feel a shudder run through him, and he tenses up on top of me. He groans softly, putting his hands on the floor to lift himself off me.

“Leslie?” he mutters.

“Yes, it’s me. You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. How did we get on the floor?”

“I was trying to wake you. You sat up a bit and fell off the couch, and I got stuck under you.”

“Oh,” he says again, sounding confused.

I’m suddenly very aware of his half-naked body on top of me. And the throbbing inside me that came back to life just a few hours ago when he kissed me.

The heat starts to grow, igniting my core and starting a hot, slow throbbing between my legs. My nipples harden against the soft fabric of my nightshirt, and my breathing speeds up a little.

Kyle’s lips are right above mine. He’s gone very still, and I’m sure he can sense my arousal. It takes every ounce of strength in me to stay still, when all I want to do is wrap my legs and arms around him and never let go.

My hips shift a little, I can’t help it. That’s when I feel the hardness of him pressed up against me. I almost moan with need.

I want this. I want it so bad!

The deep sadness inside me has not abated, though. My chest aches with the pain of his rejection, and I struggle against my base urges, determined not to get hurt again.

Kyle leans down, close enough that our lips are practically touching. It would take almost nothing to join us together.

The tension between us increases, and I can feel his need.

Does he really need me, or is he just horny? Maybe he wants to forget his nightmare.

A different kind of pain stabs me in the chest, then. I do feel bad for him, that he’s living with trauma so awful that it stays locked in his subconscious. No matter what else is between us, no one should have to suffer like that, and I want to help him in any way I can.

But I can’t let it destroy me. There are many ways to help him.

“Kyle?” I whisper.

He nods. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“I feel pretty okay, yeah.”

He moves against me, just a little, and I can tell he’s testing me. If I respond in any way, he’s going to kiss me, and then I’ll never be able to hold myself back.

The vivid image of us tearing off our clothes to roll across the floor in wild passion almost consumes me, but my pain holds me back. I’m also tempered by the knowledge that he is masking his pain, not facing it, and this will only get worse if he doesn’t do something about it.

“Kyle, what were you dreaming about?”

His entire body stiffens, and not in a good way. Even though I can’t see his face very well, I can tell he’s scowling.

“What?”

“Your nightmare. What was it about?”

He pushes himself up and sits on the couch, looking away from me. I sit up, putting my hand on his knee.

“You need to talk about it, Kyle. It was a pretty bad nightmare. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

He shakes his head, and I can tell he’s closing himself off again. The pain of his rejection cuts deep, and tears threaten my eyes again. He won’t let me into his heart, or his head.

I can’t focus on my own pain while he’s suffering so much, though.

“I’m sorry, Leslie. Just go to bed.”

I wait for a couple more seconds, but he doesn’t look at me, and he doesn’t speak. I stand up slowly and walk away, my mind full of questions.