I was up a good two hours before her; the sun was still hidden behind the buildings. I couldn’t sleep worth a shit; I just kept tossing and turning. There was no rest for the weary. I stayed in bed watching her sleep and occasionally getting up to go to the bathroom or smoke. She slept deeper than anyone I had ever stayed with before. I could have jumped on the bed and not woken her.
I went out on her balcony and lit a cigarette, thought about last night…and the terrible headache I had. The morning after a night like Saturday night is a very sobering event. Typically I go through a hangover curing regimen of throwing up, getting high, beating myself up and apologizing/making excuses for my stupid behavior. This morning was different.
The pavement was cold on my bare feet and the cigarette hurt my lungs. My head pounded and my stomach ached from my abuse. I looked in on her on the way to the bathroom, seeing she was still asleep, ever so peaceful. What had I done?
I got back into bed and realized that it was today or never.
I had never dreaded a Sunday so much in years. She rolled over and smiled at me a little after 8:00, I had twelve hours to fix this. No whining, crying (like a little bitch), excuse making or lying, just telling her that I am stupid as all hell and that I was sorry. What else could I do? Her eyes held a lot less hurt than last night, mine apparently had gotten worse.
“Staring at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen.”
I slowly began to slide my fingers between her legs. Her hips thrust toward me, telling me that she needed it as much as I did. I climbed on top of her and made up for my failure last night. We stared at each other, unblinking. The intensity was incredible, I felt like it was much more than sex. We released all the tension of the night before under her duvet as she wrapped her legs around my hips. She would not let me pull out; her moans were half pleasure and half relief (mine were all relief) and her smile grew as I grinded against her. I held myself inside of her, feeling her twitch and quiver under me, kissing her forehead and whispering in her ear.
Our sweat mingled as I felt my redemption. I watched my fear slip away; she had fucked it out of me. I pulled out of her and came on her stomach and breasts before falling back down on her and rubbing my mess into us, she laughed. I’ll be perfectly honest in saying that hearing her laugh felt better than coming on her. Relief swelled through me. A got a towel and we cleaned up before laying back down to fuck again.
Maybe there is rest for the weary.
We walked to Soho and had brunch in the late morning. We sat outside and stared at each other, occasionally talking (mostly listening to the stupid women next to us talk about men and their uncircumcised penises) and eating our breakfast. She held my hand as we walked back to her apartment. I sat outside smoking while she went into the pharmacy. I thought about how hard it was going to be to leave in a few short hours. I thought about how everything I had in Cincinnati was nothing that I wanted. I thought about missing my flight. I thought about a lot of things that I should not have. I just thought.
She walked out and began telling me a story about a shitty waitress. Things seemed like they were ok again. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at me for what seemed like an hour.
“I love you,” she finally said.
I will never forget hearing that.
Maybe there is rest for the weary.