It’s Ben. And even from the skewed bubble version I see, he looks like absolute shit. Unlocking the door, I open it. There’s still a glass door between us. I slide down the storm window. “Hey,” he says, eyes brimming with red, dark circles. “What are you up to?” There’s no other way to explain it. Ben looks haunted.
I decide against peppering him with questions and answer him. “Um. Bed. Watching some TV. What are you up to?” I glance at the driveway and see his truck and then eye him from his head down and back up again. Leveling him with my gaze, I say, “You finally popped on a drug screen? They kicked you out of the Teams?” It’s a slight nod to his haggard appearance without commenting on it.
A small crooked grin appears on his face. “Nah. I just got home from work. I haven’t seen your new house yet,” he says, like it’s a legitimate reason for stopping by in the middle of the night. He hasn’t spoken to me in months. I know exactly why he’s here. His hair is wet and he’s wearing a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt. The attire one wears lounging around the house.
“Ben. It’s been months. You’re not okay. It’s obvious. You don’t want to see my new house.”
He swallows and looks up, pretending to examine the lighting fixture above my door. “I wanted to see you. I miss you, Harpee. Believe it or not.” He adds the last sentence to acknowledge his absence.
Do you ever think about the space around you? The area that the wind blows around one individual? It doubles when you’re next to a person, close enough to touch. There’s more life, more oxygen, when I’m in his space. My body calls out to him. To be held by him. It wants more life. I want him.
I slide the lock on the glass door open and with that click, I know there wasn’t ever an option. Some may call it a weakness. I call it friendship. “Come in,” I say. “You just got home. Are you hungry? I have some leftovers. I cooked my mom’s chicken recipe. You know, that stuffed one she made for my birthday last year? I can heat some up for you.”
Ben sighs, relief prickling every feature on his face, his body relaxing. “That would be amazing,” he says. He doesn’t look at my house the way any person who wants to check out a friend’s house would. He stares at my bare legs, covered by only my oversized T-shirt. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” he admits. “I, ah, I’ve been trying to get my shit together and work has been busy.”
Because you’ve made work busy,I think.
“You never wanted to see me again. I didn’t expect you to knock on my door…ever,” I say, my tone mocking.
He sits down at the table in my kitchen. It’s where I eat breakfast and have coffee. Drumming his fingers on the table, he says, “I’m sorry. I figured you knew I didn’t mean it.”
“How could I not think you meant it? It made perfect sense. I understand, Ben. I hope you didn’t come here trying to make me feel better about everything. I don’t need your apology. I have to live with the part I played.”
“Harper. I came here because I need you to makemefeel better,” he says, grabbing my waist as I pass by him on the way to the microwave. “I need you. Do you understand?” If I didn’t, he’s made it perfectly clear with his touch.
I swallow and eye him from the side. I can’t deny what his hand on my body does to me. A riot of sensations bleeds to the surface—all those things I try to not think about because I knew I’d never have them again, knew no other man could play my body so precisely. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, turning in his grasp to meet his lust-filled gaze. “You look like shit, Ben. Being with me isn’t going to help you how you need it to.”
His eyes glass over. “Don’t make me beg,” he whispers, lips barely parted. “For once, don’t overthink it. Do you want me?” What a cruel, unfair question to ask.
A stronger woman would deny him. Tell him to grow up and deal with his emotions like a big boy. A stronger woman would have grabbed this passionate, beautiful man when she could have. A stronger woman wouldn’t have been afraid of the power of the love we shared. “What do you need? Tell me.”
“What I’ve always needed,” he replies.
I set the cold plate of chicken down on the table all but forgotten.
“We need to talk first,” I reply, my heart hammering in my ears. I want to ease his pain, steal the hurt away from his body as soon as humanly possible despite any hardships in our past. I think I’ll always feel that way. “Can we talk?”
Ben’s weary face hardens. “Everyone wants to talk. Talking doesn’t fix anything, Harp. Please,” he pleads, standing, taking the sides of my body in his hands. “Please,” he whispers again, voice cracking at the end. “You can fix me. Only you.”
I let him guide me to my bedroom and settle in my bed. When we’re lying down face to face I admit, “I can’t fix you. You know that. You need help. I can talk to you as a friend.” It’s an offer my body rejects. It wants what he’s after. The friendship needs to come first. It’s obvious he’s in pain.
“What if I don’t need a friend right now? What if I never needed you to be my friend? What if right now I need the woman who loves me? A woman who wants to steal away my pain? The woman who promised to love me through this? Fix me.”
His chest is heaving, and the first tear has fallen. Leaning over, I kiss it away and Ben shudders at the slight contact from my lips. “Yes,” he says. “More. Touch me more.”
I trace my lips across his stubbly face and end with my mouth hovering over his. “This isn’t a good idea,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes. He wants this so bad I can feel it in the air. How desperate he is for our connection. In turn, it makes me delirious with desire.
He pulls me so close, our noses are smashed together. His breathing becomes jagged as he pulls breaths through his mouth. His eyes are closed tightly, the pain of holding himself back twisting his features. He’s taking my oxygen and making it his own. I realize maybe I can fix him by giving myself to him, laying down my life, and my air for him to bend at his will. I’d do that, and more, to make Ben happy.
Unable to hold out any longer, I kiss him. His whole body comes alive when I slip my tongue into his mouth and wrap my hands around his neck. He groans in complete relief at the contact and I’m so happy I cry; a small tear leaking down my temple. The hollow, empty place is filling and I don’t know if it’s just for tonight, but I have to take it regardless of the price.
Ben pins me to the bed with more force than I’m expecting, his hands holding down my forearms. He traces circles with his tongue on my exposed neck and chest as my T-shirt rides up to expose my panties. My whole body prickles with goosebumps and my stomach flips. I’m so anxious and excited there’s no controlling my reactions. Moans escape as he releases me to slide my underwear down my legs. Sitting up, I take off my shirt and he makes haste pulling off his clothing. No boxer briefs tonight.
He stares at me from the foot of my bed, chest heaving, eyes heavy, and cock pulsing in preparation.
“Come here, Ben. Let me love you.” I hold out my hands to him.
