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God, I see him sitting there, masking his pain. I did that to him. I broke his heart. One more person in a long line. I'm certainly not happy about it and I'm not at all proud of it, but I had to do it. I had to move on. I'm still young, still like to experiment, still want to play around.
But with him it's all or nothing. He throws himself into every relationship body and soul and then is amazed when he is hurt time and time again. What did he expect?
I didn't mean to do it. I really thought that I could commit to him, that I was ready to commit to someone.
He is so beautiful. It's not just his handsome face or his perfect body ... the smooth skin that glides over rock hard muscles. It's also his loyalty, his intelligence, his wounded soul. And now I've added another wound. I hate myself for it, but it was all just too intense, too quick.
What a difference a generation makes. To him sex has to mean something, it's not just for fun and it's not just for release, it's an expression of what two people mean to one another. God, that's so fifties.
When I first met him I thought he was repressed. Not just that he was repressing his memories of his failed mission in Peru and his sentinel abilities, but that he had no clue about his own sexuality. He looked like he should be stumbling out of a leather bar with that muscular body and the pierced ear, but I knew he was divorced and he was certainly still sniffing around his ex-wife. Then there was the fact that he'd flash that million watt smile at anything with long legs and a short, tight skirt, but he always had his hands all over me and half of the other guys in the department.
Imagine my surprise when I stumbled into the apartment early one night and found him wrapped around some guy. To this day I don't have a clue who the guy was or what he looked like. Every bit of sophistication I thought I possessed went out the window as I babbled my apologies and backed myself out the door. I could hear the low rumble of laughter as I paused by the door to catch my breath and the unmistakable sounds of sweaty bodies sliding together as I lingered.
I slept in my car that night and when I came home the next morning Jim had that lazy, just got laid smile that looks so good on him and what I was pretty sure was beard burn on his back. We never really talked about that night or who he was dating, but I definitely knew when it had ended. He got so hard and so cold and so distant.
Eventually though he got over it. He talked to Carolyn a lot around that time. I'm not sure what the hold is she has over him. She always seemed kind of bitchy to me, but whatever it is it helps him get through. So pretty soon we were back the way we were before ... an easy camaraderie. Both of us dating the wrong women and the occasional wrong man, each ignoring what was right under our noses. At least that's what I thought.
After a while I started noticing just how much attention I paid to him. I hung on his words. I looked to him for advice. I practically worshipped the fucking ground he walked on. And what a walk! My god, the man is so sensual when he moves and he doesn't even know it. I don't know if it's some natural ability ... his father and brother certainly don't have it (believe me, I checked) ... or maybe some holdover from his Vice days when he was working the streets, but whatever it is, he has it. The way he leans against a doorway or a wall and then slowly and so gracefully pushes himself off like he's just gliding through the air. Even straight men want to fuck him.
I hate all of the people before me who damaged him. His mother who abandoned him, his father who turned him and his brother against each other, that bitch Veronica who dumped him for his best friend. The long line of women and men that he's been involved with who turned out to be thieves or murderers or corrupt States Attorneys or god knows what else. His mother probably didn't abandon him, she probably was sent to prison or had to go into hiding to avoid it. That's probably why he has this fatal attraction to bad girls and boys.
I guess that's why he fought my friendship so hard. I told him so many things over the years and I learned early on not to expect him to tell me much about himself. So when I realized I wanted him, that I was in love with him, I told him what he meant to me, that we were buddies, that we were best friends, that good friends could be lovers. Hell, I even joked that since everyone already thought we were doing it then we might as well go ahead. At least he laughed at that, but he still resisted me. And then one night I realized what I needed to say, what he needed to hear. So I told him I understood the hesitation and I understood the pain and mostly I understood the silence. Then I told him that it didn't matter, that nothing mattered but the two of us and the way we could make each other feel, that I would know from his actions, not his words, how he felt about me.
The relief on that handsome face was incredible, and he fell for me heart and soul. And in the afterglow of some pretty incredible sex I made my first mistake. I told him I didn't want to run around anymore, that I wanted to settle down. I didn't realize what those words would mean to him, how much he needed to hear them.
As the weeks went on I told him so many things that I knew he wanted to hear, needed to be told. Things he hadn't heard in years and at the time I really did mean them, I still do. I told him that he was the only man for me, that I loved him and that I never would leave him. I screamed his name when he made me come because I really was incapable of doing anything else. I told him how beautiful we looked together, how you couldn't tell where one of us ended and the other one started.
And that started to frighten me. I wasn't really ready to give up my soul to another person quite yet. Not someone as intense as he is. I was too afraid I would lose myself completely. I've already given up so much of myself to this whole project that I just didn't think I could give up more. So I had to tell him. I had to break his heart.
He said he was okay, that he was fine, that he understood. I knew it was a lie, but I let him think I believed him because it makes it easier for him. Easier for him to hate me, to think everything I said to him in those moments of passion was a lie. Easier for him to think that I was just using him.
I'm not sure where we go from here. I thought for sure he would throw me out and if he did, I knew I would die. But he didn't. Things actually seem to be getting back to normal. I've gone on a few dates. At first he would stay away until I had left and when I'd come home he'd be hiding out in his room. But tonight was different. Tonight he was there when I left, and tonight he actually smiled when I asked how he was doing. It didn't look too forced so I think eventually he'll be okay, we'll both be okay, we'll both be fine.
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