HeatMarie

He was standing outside his black Audie R8 that gleamed beneath the awning light. The heels from my shoes against the dry pavement called his attention as he looked up from his phone. I wasn’t sure how to greet him. I wasn’t even sure if what I was doing was right. But there I was, at half past seven, walking up to him.

“Hi.” He said, looking down at me.

“Hi.” I replied. My heart was racing as his arms wrapped around me and it tripled in speed as his lips met mine. I could stay lost in that moment forever. Everything about it felt as though we had done this a million and one times; even though this was the first. Was it him and the fact that he must have done this so many times before make that moment perfect? Or was it us, together, and the stars slowly making their way into the darkening sky that made this feel as though we were both meant for each other.  

“I’m glad you’re here, Ashling.”

I smiled, “Me too.” And I was, even more so in the moment he opened the passenger side door. Is this really happening? He opened the door.

He promised a night I would never forget, with that came a condition; there was one night only, he asked me to respect that wish. The writer’s curiosity got the best of me. My heart -which is so commonly held out on my sleeve- told me I was being foolish. But my mind craved the knowing of what this one night could be.

I got in the car feeling slightly disoriented. There was something about getting into a vehicle and never touching the inside of the door handle that made me feel a little off, but in a good way. I watched him as he closed the door and wondered what the next few hours would hold. It’s all we had. It’s all I was going to get. I knew that going in.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry. I probably shouldn’t eat as much as I do, but…” my brain told me to stop talking. It can be a habit when I am nervous. My hands usually do that fidgeting thing, but he stopped them before I could even start. He grabbed my hand with his and held onto it.

He told me where we were going. I didn’t listen. I tried to, but I was stuck in this happy place; with his hand in mine, driving fast down the freeway in a sports car I never thought I would sit, next to a man more than way out of my league. There was something about the anticipation and adrenaline filling my entire being that tried to suck up the moment. I wanted to remember it all. From start to finish. I wanted to remember every word he said, how I felt, what I smelled, his touch. It’s hard to take it all in. But there I was trying to do it, anyway.

We pulled up to a tall building. Bastian parked the car. I went to open the door.

“No, stay.” He said. It was short, but not in a rude sense. I did as he said. I waited.

He got out of the car, and my door opened. He gave his keys to the valet, then wrapped his arm around my waist as he guided me into the building. We went straight to the elevator and up to the 14^th floor. We stepped off. A larger man in a black suit pointed us towards the elevator in front of us where we went up another two floors.

The restaurant was dimly lit. He gave the hostess his last name. I played with the zipper on my jacket, feeling out of place. I wondered if the dress I was wearing was too short. It’s the shortest I have ever worn. Bastian unzipped my jacket and helped me take it off.

“There, that’s better.” He said.

The hostess called his name, and we followed her out onto the patio. You could see the entire city. The surrounding lights created a different ambiance than that of which I was used to.  The menu in front of me gave me anxiety. The price was outrageous and perhaps the most expensive I have ever seen.

I had to analyze everything. I had to know what my stomach would handle. Dates like these usually lead to more intimate encounters and I couldn’t have my body acting up when he finally laid me down in his bed. He suggested the rabbit. The Little Bunny Frou Frou to be exact. I wanted to try it, but I couldn’t bring myself to order it. That and I hadn’t had red meat in months. Instead, I order the Filet Mignon. It wasn’t until after I ordered that I felt bad.

I ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. And yes, the man sitting before me might drive a nice car and live downtown in the city. That doesn’t mean he is made of money. It was terrible of me to assume so. Perhaps, he was suggesting the rabbit so he could better budget his money and did so in a way that I wouldn’t realize what he was doing. Not until it was too late. Regardless of why, I still don’t know the true answer. If it worried him, he never led on about it.

“You are beautiful.” He said, after the waiter left.

“Thank you.”

There was something about the way he worded it. Something with the statement that made it more meaningful. There was no, “you look” in front of it. There was clarity in the way he spoke it. More than that, he somehow made me believe it. He only said it once; that was the first time and the last time. And yet, I can still hear his voice and I still believe it. I smiled at the look in his eyes. He reached across the table and held his hands out for mine and we stayed like that until our dinner came.

We talked, we laughed, we enjoyed our conversation and the dinner. My anxieties left me as I stared out into the city. I must have looked at him a certain way because it was then that he said, “Don’t you go thinking I’m a nice guy.”

I fumbled over my words. I am a terrible liar. He wasn’t wrong on my thoughts, not in the least bit. Regardless of what was to come, it wouldn’t change my mind. In fact, everything from that point on would confirm what I believed in that moment. It wasn’t a belief but a fact. Why he was so inclined on dismissing who he was, I will never know. I could throw out rationalized, over-analyzed reasons and I’m sure I would never get the right one. For all that Bastian is, he is still a mystery.

After dinner we headed to his place. Before going inside, we took a small walk down the street to get some ice cream. I love ice cream, but my body hates it. Seeming as I’m oh, slightly lactose. I figured in a place Downtown the portion sizes would be smaller than usual. I ordered a small waffle cone. More so for the cone than the ice cream. I just so happen to enjoy the sogginess of the cone as the flavors mush together. I ate all that I could before my stomach was screaming at me.

“You don’t have to eat all that.”

Thank god. I still felt bad for tossing it away, but I couldn’t handle much more than what I ate.

One of my favorite things in all of this is how he always had his arms around me, or his hand in mine, how he always wanted to be as close to me as he could. I have never in my life felt so wanted. He was like that again from the time we left the ice cream shop until we reached the door of his apartment.

It was a small studio that showed more of a man who wanted to earn his way in life rather than have it handed to him. The bookshelf, that sat between the tv and the window, was full of books and created its own charming appeal.

“Where are you going?” He asked as I walked towards it.

“I uh.”

“I didn’t tell you; you could do that.”

His cynical, charming smile -which is so contradictory even in thoughts, is still the best way I can describe it- made me stop where I was. I smiled back and watched the hunger and thrill within his own. The passion and gentleness never left his eyes, though. Anytime I felt nervous I could find the calm serenity there. He pressed my back up against the wall and ravished me with his kiss. For all it’s worth, he perfected it.

It was easy to see where this was going, so I went to unbutton his pants.

“No,” he told me. “We don’t need that tonight.”

Did I do something wrong? It’s all I could think of. The way he touched me, the way he kissed me was perfect. Did I fall short? Was I not enough in that moment? I have heard the stories of who this man was, the collars, and the whips, the handcuffs. Was I not enough? I felt a pinch, a sting. And I told him, “But I’ll feel like I did something wrong.”

“There is more than just sex, you can get that anywhere. Get comfortable and just lay with me.” It wasn’t a question, or a simple statement, but more of a demand; one I was more than willing to go along with. I did as he said. I got comfortable, and I crawled into bed next to him. We shared the passionate kisses once more, then I laid my head on his chest and listened to his heart beat, it carried a slow steady rhythm. He was comfortable.

I heard him sigh. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing is wrong, I’m happy.” That is the first and only time I have ever heard a good comment come after a sigh. For a moment, curiosity filled me. Why sigh if you are happy? Is it a bad thing to be?

 I shook the thought from my head, and instead, I followed with the only thing I knew, “So am I.” I closed my eyes tight as though that would cure all questions that might come, It’s only for tonight, and you promised. So, no, you can not fall in-love.

I lay awake with my head on his chest, his arm around me. I smiled as I heard him snore; he sounded like a baby lion. I would never tell him that, of course, but it was cute. I didn’t want to sleep. It felt as though I was wasting time. But in the same sense I never wanted to leave. I was, just as he was, happy.

When the following day came, I heard him sigh again. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He said, “You are leaving.”

It confused me. My heart broke. I wanted to stay, but first, I made a promise. Second, I don’t know if what he said is really what he felt; or if this was him trying to make the best of what he was giving, for only my own pure satisfaction.

 I kissed him for the last time on the street corner before we parted ways. Don’t say it, I told myself. And before I knew it, the words came like vomit right out of my mouth, “I’ll miss you,” I said, there was a moment of silence, and I was happy that at least I didn’t spill the words I wanted to.

“I’ll miss you, too.” He finally said before he turned and walked away.

And inside of my head, I thought, if only I could tell you, I love you.  

---

Many of us, or at least I, have been in a situation not too far from this one. Yes, the time frame maybe longer than one day; and perhaps, conditions are not stated prior to engaging in any relationship, but we have all been there.

The what ifs in life distract us from the realities. Let’s say for a minute that I was Ashling. I watched Bastian leave, knowing exactly how I felt, but never asked him what that one day meant to him, or if I impacted his life. I would want to know. Perhaps that’s a people thing; perhaps that’s a writer thing. I could easily dwell for hours over the what ifs. What if I had ordered the rabbit, what if I would have asked him after he sighed if being happy with me was such a bad thing?

I would constantly question where I went wrong in the bedroom, or just ponder over the insecurities of not being good enough, as Ashling felt when Bastian denied her sex. There are so many feelings and emotions that can come from just one night with someone. More so, if that someone is so willing to put all their effort into making that one night the greatest experience you will ever have. We can dwell, we can question all the things. But do they really matter?

I have a hard time with this, because I want to know. I want to know that I make someone just as happy as they make me. I want to know that it is real. I have a lot of insecurities. I’ve denied myself happiness plenty of times because I felt unworthy of it. Usually, that is where my problems begin. They begin with the worrying and the need to know everything. Then I usually get drunk one night and say some pretty mean things to compensate for my insecurities. Which cause more.

I’ve even said, at least as of late, that no relationship is worth it. But do I really mean that? No. It’s a way to cope with the pain of having lost something so great, so amazing, something or someone who has made me feel alive. Someone who has made me -at least in a moment- feel worthy of everything I was getting. In the good way too. Not having that anymore means I must go back to just me. To building myself up all on my own without someone to be my distraction.

Holding onto ends bitterness is easy, because very few ends are good. So, we can easily claim. But if we can leave well enough alone. If we can be content, no happy, if we can be happy with just living the moments for what they are, we can get a lot more out of life than forever holding onto the things we don’t know and don’t understand.

Stop holding on to the bad memories and make the good ones last for a lifetime. When you relive your experience stop asking what if and let your memories of happiness be just as they were when you were in that moment. Because nothing else truly matters.

In the end, is it worth it? Is one night feeling completely and entirely loved, wanted and needed worth the emotional loss when you know you might never feel that way again?               

I believe it is. For all it’s worth, it is better to have that fantasy, and it makes it worth so much more when you know that it truly exists.