20. PainPleasure

20

PAIN OR PLEASURE

LLORAR, JESSE he’s more of a casual dater, like me I suppose.

“Yeah, let me call you back, okay? Good luck with the outdoors and… whatever.” He hangs up the phone abruptly, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The day is bright ahead of me. I change into workout clothes, leave the hotel room, and hit the gym. I haven’t exercised since the trip began, which isn’t a big deal with how much hiking and walking we’ve done. I still feel restless and the best way to clear my head is sweating. Especially since I can’t stop thinking about Cara and how I’m going to resist kissing her again—when I can’t stop remembering how her lips felt against mine and how she fit perfectly in my arms.

The run was exactly what I needed. There’s nothing like listening to my favorite music while getting my heart rate up. I told Cara I’d check with her around ten, since she mentioned wanting to sleep in. I want to respect her space, but my mind is unraveling wondering what is going on in her head. I know she’s probably spiraling about our kiss and I do need to bring it up at some point so Allie doesn’t kill me. She might be losing it, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she kissed me. She wanted to kiss me.

I’m giddy at the possibility of this becoming more—or at least, of her letting me in her heart a little bit more. After having that conversation with both Allie and Gus, I actually realize how much I’m enjoying this trip and how I think about work less and less every day. That’s never been possible before and I kind of like it—a lot. There are so many memories of good times but very little are actually in adulthood, most of them are from when I was young and coincidentally, Cara is in most of them too.

I can’t shake the memory of the first time Cara showed me her heart. I was five and she was seven, and we were running around inside the house during one of our family vacations. Our families stayed in touch over the years, often vacationing together, whether at busy amusement parks or quiet beach houses. My favorite memories were the times we spent at the lake, playing games, and enjoying family time. There was this one beach house I vividly remember because it was the first time I felt seen and I was just a little boy. Our moms set up an ice cream bar at the kitchen table and yelled for us to come inside.

Cara had been swimming for what felt like hours, and so was I, but at five years old, who could keep track of time? I bumped into her when she ran inside the house, and fell to the ground, trying my hardest not to cry. My parents had always told me to be tough, not to cry—to be a rock so I kept repeating those words over and over in my head.

Cara, however, looked at me like I was a fragile little thing. She looked so apologetic, and said, “Oh no! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She gave me a big hug and when I sniffled, she told me, “It’s okay to cry if I hurt you or scared you. It’s okay, Manny.” Her angelic voice and the sincerity of her concern left an imprint on my heart.

We were just kids, and it was an accident, but that moment marked the beginning of something special. That entire interaction helped me understand that it was okay to have big feelings and to express them if needed. I could tell even then that I was drawn to her glow, and I always knew that my life would be intertwined with hers in some way. Even if it was from afar as I watched her glow. Except now I’m not sure she was actually as happy as she let on.

I walk up the stairs, bypassing the elevator entirely, still needing the physical effort to ground myself. Making my way up, I mentally prepared to check on her—wondering if she needs anything, if she’s eaten today, and to check on our schedule for the rest of the day.

My skin is slick with sweat, and I wipe my forehead as I approach Cara’s door. Just as I raise my hand to knock, I hesitate. I hear faint sounds from inside. At first I think she’s hurt but then I hear it—a soft, unmistakable moan. My heart races, and I can’t help but feel like that sound is rooted deep within my soul. It’s not a sound of pain but one of pleasure, and I know it’s wrong to stand out here, listening to whatever is unfolding behind that door.

Yet, a primal part of me wonders—is she touching herself, lost in thoughts of me? Is she thinking about what could’ve happened last night? Is she thinking about our kiss? The idea sends a jolt through me, and my entire body reacts to those sweet sounds cementing the fact that we’re both so in tune with her, my dick and I of course. I stand frozen in place, caught between wanting to respect her privacy and the overwhelming urge to know what is happening inside. But before I can hear more, I make myself walk away and into my room to take another cold shower and leave her alone in her private moment.

1 ? It’s a colloquial way of saying Hi brother in the Dominican Republic