That night, we lay together once more, but this time, we didn’t just sleep. We cuddled on the sofa, watching a sombre episode of a television program together. I still craved kissing him; it had been a while since we kissed. We had last kissed unexpectedly, while intoxicated – after breaking up, it was in a dark, loud club, yet I couldn’t help but still feel a pull towards him. It felt like it wasn’t over yet.
It was a spacious club, there weren’t many people there, so we had ample space to move around. As our friend went to buy drinks, we stood in front of each other in the dark room, accompanied by colourful flashing lights. The repetitive 4/4 pop beat blurted ridiculously loudly through the speakers, almost blocking out any words attempted to be spoke, which meant one had to get really close to anyone to hear them talk.
We both stood there, staring at each other for a brief time, we didn’t have much to say, but the energy between us was apparent, both of us were clearly holding back. Him and I made eye contact for a moment, “We are way too drunk for this”, he uttered as I went on my tip toes to attempt to understand what he was saying over the loud music, “What? I can’t hear you”, I heard what he said, and I understood what he meant. He may have not said it, but I knew he wanted to kiss me, so I couldn’t help but pretend to not have heard him, just to get closer to him, then I kissed him before he finished repeating his sentence.
I can’t say I’ve experienced a kiss as electric as that before – he held me so tightly, as a child would hold their favourite soft toy; terrified that someone will pull it away; not out of greed, but out of protectiveness. I held him back. I didn’t want to let go, and I didn’t care what all of this meant, or how heartbroken I was going to feel later – we wanted each other. Had our ‘sparks’ of attraction been physically visible at that moment, they would have struck a fire in the building. It would have burned down in a matter of seconds.
As the television program continued, we gradually moved closer to each other, feeling chilly since it was February and the degrees were low. We moved closer until we were cuddling, with a blanket over us, watching the show. I partially laid on him, and often came up with random notions and phrases, just to get a chance to glance up at him, look him in the eyes, and make him want to kiss me.
I guess you can never make someone want to kiss you, can you? You can maybe push them to notice the glow in your eyes when you look at them, or maybe the deep shade of green in your eyes…or maybe the way your eyelashes flutter when you speak to them, or perhaps the way the corner of your eyes wrinkle up when you smile or laugh. You can bite your lip gently, to make them notice their plumpness – you can make them think of how luscious and soft your lips would be to touch, but you can’t make someone want to kiss you, if they don’t want to.
The inconsistent conversation continued a while longer, until there came a moment where our eyes met, and then he leaned in and we kissed. Perhaps, because I expected such an electric kiss as before, it was disappointing. The sparks didn’t feel like they were there anymore – it was different, way different than before. And yet, I didn’t want to stop. Perhaps, it was because this now felt like a habit. It felt comfortable, it was repetition of what we had done before. It was the same lips we’ve both kissed before, it was the same hair we grabbed, it was the same back we grabbed on to, it was the same waist. This time however, the love was not so present – it was merely an act of lust from both ends.
Our hands moved across each other’s bodies, as they had done before. I grabbed his face, he grabbed mine, among other things. We made out only for a small while, and then decided to take the party upstairs, into the bedroom, since his roommates were home.
I thought the sex would have been crazy. I thought I would have been so inexplicably turned on and in the moment, yet that didn’t happen. Perhaps I expected too much.
We watched a pretty violent television show. It was a very intense one, and we were both so into it. It hardly set the mood though. I guess we both knew it was coming, and we would sleep together eventually while she was here. We sat next to each other initially, but eventually she was almost laying on me, as we sat underneath the blanket, cuddling.
We made momentary conversation during the show, each time she looked up at me to speak to me. I couldn’t help but notice her shining eyes, every time she did. Her eyes changed colour all the time, but right then and there they were olive green – what a colour. “Jeez, murders made you really talkative, huh?”, I joked. She bit her lower lip and laughed as she looked up at me. I couldn’t help but notice her pink, plump lips.
She kept looking up at me, so I leaned in to kiss her. The pull wasn’t quite as strong as it had been before, but I enjoyed the kiss nonetheless. We decided to move it upstairs, and go further. The sex was always great with us. The excitement wasn’t quite as strong as before, but it was there, and I felt it. I suppose the long months away from each other meant some of our connection had died away, gone off one another. Our feelings weren’t as strong as they had once been, but that didn’t matter much, in the moment. We knew each other’s bodies, we knew where to touch…what made the other one jump, what made the other moan. It’s nice to be with someone who knows your body, sometimes, even if you’re not together.
Of course, sleeping with someone who knows you…who you used to love, sometimes stirs back feelings again. Sometimes.
After it was over, we slept next to one another, but didn’t cuddle – she wasn’t in my arms as I slept. I once again craved her touch, I craved to hold her again in sweet tenderness, to stroke her soft arms as she fell asleep; listening to her breath get quicker or slower as I stroked her to sleep.
But instead, she slept, facing the other way anyways. Her shoulder-length dark hair sat half on her pillow, half not. Her arms lay stretched out across her as she faced away, looking as if she was calling for someone to be close to her, to perhaps pull her in. I doubted that she wanted me to pull her in.
His touch on my body was still so familiar. I can’t say it was predictable, but it felt safe. I knew it was going to be okay if he was the one touching it, I could trust him with it as if it were a fragile new-born, so sensitive to touch. After we both finished, we went to sleep. I wanted to attempt to cuddle, but I felt like I had tried enough that night – I felt somewhat too easy. So I remained passive, and just went to sleep. I doubted he wanted to hold me, as he used to. The night was once again lonely.