The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

There was a time when I was afraid to look at him too closely. Afraid of how beautiful his body was, afraid of the things he could do, the ways he could hurt me with it.

But not now, not anymore. Right now I’m not afraid of anything. I can’t stop watching his face as I touch him. His eyes are closed like they were earlier, with the bite of gelato melting on his tongue.

“Eden . . . ,” he says, breathless, as he pulls my hand away and places it on his chest instead.

“Sorry, was that not—”

“Oh my God, no.” He smooths my hair back and touches my lips. “That was . . .” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and I can feel his heart racing under my hand. “I just need a second. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. And . . . I just need to slow down for a second.”

“Oh,” I say awkwardly, “okay.” I back away from him and try to cover myself with my arms as I sit down on the edge of the bed. But then he’s right there with me a moment later, like it’s a choreographed dance, suddenly kneeling on the floor in front of me so we’re at eye level. He kisses my knees and lets out a long sigh, laying his head on my lap. It feels so strange and sweet and vulnerable, I reach out and run my hands down his back, through his hair, still damp.

He raises his head slowly and kisses my thighs, running his hands up and down my legs, moving forward as I part them, wanting to let him come closer. I lie back on the bed and pull him down on top of me. I can feel my pulse everywhere, all at once. He places his arm behind my back—if he tells me to hold on to him again, I might go into cardiac arrest—but he doesn’t; he somehow manages to gracefully scoot us up on the bed so that my head is resting on the pillow.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

We start this sort of slow kiss, rocking our bodies together, and it feels so good to be this close to him. I’m holding my breath as his hand travels down my body until he’s touching me over my underwear. “Is this okay?” he whispers, kissing my neck right under my ear.

I manage to gather enough air in my lungs to say, “Yes.”

And then his hand, so warm against my stomach, dips down beneath my underwear, and I switch from barely breathing to breathing too fast. My heart races while he takes his time. Moving down my body slowly kissing, kissing everywhere, and when he rakes his teeth along my hip bone, I don’t even know what involuntary sound it is that I make. He gets to my underwear, and I don’t know what more I can possibly take. I have to close my eyes.

“Can I?” he asks, his fingers curling under the elastic band. I nod, and he must be looking at my face because he breathes, “Okay,” and starts sliding my underwear down. I open my eyes again, and he’s there kneeling between my legs, kissing my ankles, then my calves and knees. When he gets to my inner thighs, his mouth trailing closer and closer, I start to lose track of myself. He lowers himself to his stomach and wraps his arms around my legs, hands pressing down on my hips. Every part of me wants this, but the better it feels, the more I’m slipping away.

We’ve done this all before, though, I remind myself. It’s safe with him, safe to let it feel good. It’s safe to stay in this place.

I reach down to find some part of him to hold on to—his hair, the back of his neck, his arms, his wrists—and when his hands meet mine, it’s like an anchor, our fingers interlacing, pulling me back. He’s pushing me right up to the edge, but I can’t let myself go. Because I’m looking up at my ceiling, and it looks too much like too many other unfamiliar ceilings I’ve been under, and even though it’s him, us, it’s different now than it was back then.

I’ve had so much practice keeping Kevin out of my head in these moments, and I mostly succeed. It’s the others, though, this time. The nameless, faceless ones, dragging me away from here. I close my eyes again, trying to focus on how good this feels, his mouth, his tongue, the warmth, the rush of it all, but—

I let go of his hands. “Josh . . . ?”

“Yeah?” He crawls back up to me. “What is it, are you okay?”

I nod and try my best to smile. “I’m okay, I just—”

“That was too much, too fast, wasn’t it?” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t. It felt so good, really; I was just starting to get in my head a little. It’s, um, been a while since I’ve done this too.”

“Oh,” he breathes, looking at me like he hadn’t considered this. “Okay. Well, just tell me what you need.”

“Can you just stay here with me, close to me, I mean?”

“Yeah, of course.” He lies down next to me, kisses my shoulder, and says, “I’m staying right here. Do you want to stop? We can. I promise I won’t mind.”

I shake my head and take his hand, sliding it down my body again, guiding him to where I want him. “I don’t want to stop,” I tell him. I want to be here for this—all of it. I want to feel everything. I don’t want to let these fucking ghosts in my head win.

I’d forgotten the way he pays attention, as if nothing exists but us. I pull him close, so I can feel his weight against me. There’s no fear or impatience or self-consciousness in his touch. He holds steady, watching my face, keeping me with him. I feel my breath coming faster, trembling as he tips me over the edge in a way I’ve never known before, feeling it somehow beyond my body, even. And then he’s kissing my lips, my neck, my chest.

“You are amazing,” he’s whispering, breathing heavily now like he’d been holding his breath that whole time. “God, I want you so bad—sorry, can I say that?”

“Yes,” I answer, trying to catch my breath while stopping myself from smiling at his words. I open my eyes, not even realizing I’d closed them. “But you have something, right?”

He looks over at our clothes on the floor. “I do. You want me to get it now?”

I nod.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. I watch as he walks over and fishes the condom out of the pocket of his shorts. The way he’s looking at me as he climbs back into bed—like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen—I could just die. “Just tell me if we need to stop at all, okay?”

“I will.”

He’s going slow, being careful. The way he’s watching me so closely, his eyes dark and deep and warm, has me sort of hypnotized. I have a montage running in the background of my mind of all the times he’s looked at me like this—making me feel weak and strong, all at the same time. He moves gently, his breath even and paced now, and I can tell he’s trying to restrain himself.

“I love you so much,” he says quietly, his mouth against mine. “You know that, right?”

I nod because I do know. But I can’t speak because I feel the walls of my throat suddenly caving in, heavy with too many competing emotions, and words sitting there waiting, trying to figure out how to get out of me. I clutch his shoulders as we move faster, together, breathing each other in.

It’s kind. Delicate. This giving and taking.

I’ve never been so present. Never this connected to anyone, not even him. I’m holding on to him so tight and I have to bury my face in his neck because, I realize, I’m crying. Crying because I’ve never felt this way before. About him, about myself. I don’t even know what it is, but I feel it in my body, my heart, my mind, everywhere—it’s everything.

And then I know, all at once: This feeling is freedom.

Even as he finishes, he’s still being so gentle with me. We pant against each other for a few moments before he tries to raise himself up off my body. But I hold on, keep him close. “No, stay,” I tell him.

“Look at me, Eden,” he whispers, brushing my hair aside. I turn my face away because I don’t know how to explain. “You’re crying.”This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

“No, I’m not,” I try to say, but I hear my own voice, all wet and raspy.

“Yes, you are.” His hands are on my face now, his eyes searching mine. “Talk to me. Did I . . . ?” He pauses. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I gasp, and the tears are coming faster now. “No, I’m crying because I’ve just never felt like this. Ever. I’ve never felt so . . .” So happy, cared for, respected, even. But then I say what all those things really mean: “So loved.”

“Oh,” he exhales, relieved, seeming to understand. “You are. I mean, I do. I love you,” he says again. “And I—I’ve never felt this way before either.”

I let him wipe the tears from my cheeks, and as he looks down at me, even his eyes turn shiny. He smiles and blinks fast. “Jesus, you’re gonna make me cry now.”

“Sorry.” I sniffle, almost laughing at myself.

He releases a breath of a laugh too. “It’s okay.”

We readjust our positions, and when he gets up to throw the condom away, he asks if I want him to leave the lamp on—I don’t, I won’t need it if he’s here. He climbs into bed and covers us with the sheet, laying his head on my chest while we hold each other.

“Josh?” I hear myself say into the darkness.

“Hmm?” he says, his voice all loose and sleepy.

“I love you too.”

He raises his head and looks down at me, squinting slightly like he’s confused or didn’t quite hear me, but then he kisses my lips softly and says, “I know how hard that was for you to say.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t.”