× 2:42AM ×
Jenson shifted on the bed to take a look at the woman beside him. She was so quiet. It struck him as odd that she stayed in bed with him all night. While his thoughts raced, he patiently waited.
She seemed relaxed now; her lean shoulders had stopped trembling.
Was she done crying? Probably. The thought momentarily relieved him of some guilt. He moved closer and looped his arm around her small waist.
She flinched, but then she pulled the covers over them. Her porcelain—smooth skin felt a bit warm, but he sensed she was still feeling cold, so he drew her nearer.
He had to dare himself to talk to her again, considering the hot mess that just happened. Desperate to hear her voice again, he lightly kissed her shoulder to try to wheedle her into a conversation.
She ignored him. For a minute or two, he just watched her stare at something on the wall. She must be trying to forget or rationalize what just happened.
The disappointment turned into immediate regret. Jenson sighed to himself. Although intoxicated, he was fully aware of what he just did to her.
If someone had filmed it the whole time, he would know exactly when one part led to the other, and how he had drunkenly but deliberately coaxed her into it. To begin with, he wasn't even that drunk last night to use it as an excuse. Even now he could easily narrate how everything happened.
He didn't expect it to go this far. Neither did she expect any of it—at least that much he knew.
The complete silence in the room dragged on for another minute. Her back was to him, while her damp hair remained slightly tousled. Jessi kept so still he thought she had dozed off. In the dark, her skin looked as flawless and soft as the pillows, and he almost cussed out loud for wanting to make love to her again.
He would probably kill himself in the morning. If he woke up from this mess, that is.
Problem was: he didn't feel like this was a mess. Not at all. Not one bit.
Maybe it was the decade—old whiskey, and then the best ice cold beer he'd had afterwards. Alcohol. Yep. Sure. Pretty good excuse.
However, at the moment, with Jessi just inches away from him and with the way her hair smelled, the painful memories lingered in his mind. He couldn't help but recall the many times she avoided him in the past weeks. He hadn't hung out with her in a while, and it felt like torture. Pure, harsh, mental and emotional torture.
But now that he'd finally had the chance to spend time with her again, he could only think of how natural it felt to be in this bed with her.
It was so wrong—but right now, everything just seemed…dreamlike. It just felt right.
To him, at least. He felt like this had to happen. Or else they wouldn't have known they could break the wall. The fucking wall. The barrier that seemed to be too stiff. Always kept him at a safe, neutral distance for as long as he could remember.
Her gentle touch brought him back to the present almost immediately.
Jenson sat up quickly, realizing she had removed his arm around her. He watched as Jessi moved closer to the edge of the bed. Then he heard her heave a sigh.
Still nude, Jenson scowled and got off of the bed to find something thick to cover both of them up.
Bathroom. Right. Towel. Robe.
He inspected the cabinet beside the sink. In seconds, he grabbed two robes, both clean and thick. He was about to step back inside the bedroom when he felt like he needed a splash of freezing cold water to snap himself out of it. He couldn't show her he was having a hard time dealing with it all. He had to keep up the cool and calm façade.
He washed his face, uttered a quick prayer under his breath, and then stared at himself in the mirror. He stayed rooted there for a moment.
Why couldn't he come up with a good reason? If she asked, he wouldn't be able to explain why he still didn't want to leave and end the night with a sorry speech. Jenson splashed cold water all over his face again. It wasn't a while before he ended up staring at the ring on his finger.
He pursed his lips and straightened. Jenson swore to himself, failing to justify why he wanted to get that drunk in the first place. He never drank that much. Never a heavy drinker. Maybe he was just that worn out. Stressed beyond words.
That last fight he had with Charmaine had been replaying in his mind all month long. He was never the one who started arguments. Lately, he felt like she was blaming his job for everything. That it was the reason they couldn't completely settle down, buy a nice, bigger house, start a family and all that. She didn't want to have kids anytime soon; but maybe he could change her mind one of these days.
Except, now he felt it was entirely his fault they'd kept butting heads. If not arguing, they'd be ignoring each other for days. Their last breakup was when she went away for three months on vacation with her sister in London, while he worked his ass off all around Canada, traveling from city to city and just feeling done in every single day.
Who helped him feel better and stick it out during those times?