Lost In Madness

“I love you.” The words came out without my permission. They were meant to be thoughts, not words for him to hear. I wish I would’ve said, “I love pasta,” Or “I love Lilo,” (the cat) but no, the words came out crystal clear, “I love you.” There was no deniability when you made a statement like that, put all three of those words together so they sounded like one.

I lay comfortably on the bed, without any sheets or covers to hide my nakedness. His back was to me, still looking for the shirt that had been flung somewhere right before he fucked me. He paused when he heard those words. It was a noticeable pause, an obvious pause. His movements were slow as he straightened his body and came over to me. He smiled at me, a tiny smirk as if he was letting me know it was okay. In a soft, sincere tone, he said, “I love you too.”

My eyes looked away from him, focused on his belt buckle. I didn’t want to look into his eyes, didn’t want to look into masked sincerity, didn’t want to fall into the trap of believing him. Believing him would only make me weak, so I forced my head back up in his direction, avoiding his eyes, and smiled a sweet smile.

He placed his hand on my cheek, leaned in and kissed me, softly, not rushing. I gave in to the sweetness of it, enjoyed it, didn’t analyze it. I didn’t think about how in that moment his kiss felt like I love you. I only thought about the smoothness and softness of his lips, the sweetness of his tongue intertwined with mine as they danced like lovers in the night.

Soon his body was next to me on the bed, pressed up against mine, lips and tongues still communicating in the language of lust. My arms wrapped around him, clinging to him, allowing him to momentarily rescue me from the hurt and pain that lived inside of me. He shifted until he was on top of me. My legs automatically wrapped around his waist, his hardness pressed against me, his jeans being the barrier that hindered penetration. He drew a path with his lips and tongue from my earlobes to my neck down to my nipples, licking, biting, sucking my flesh along the way. In that moment we were not in my bedroom, we were on the balcony on the 13th floor of the Tropical Escape Hotel, overlooking the white sandy beaches of Barbados, engaging in the act of lovemaking. Soft moans escaped me as tingling sensations ran up and down my body. He had a way of driving me crazy, making me overlook things, making me forget things. At some point, without my awareness the jeans had disappeared. I felt him teasing me, wanting me to beg him. My body shuddered, replacing words I refused to speak. I moved my hips, blindly searching for him, in that moment needing him more than I needed air. Without warning he filled me up, pushed in and out of me hard, causing me to curse, scream, call to the heavens. I struggled for sanity but his movements were determined to send me over the edge. The struggle didn’t last long, I gave in, let him win, my body trembling as madness took over. I screamed and cursed until calmness and clarity returned but he wouldn’t let it last, forced madness to revisit me over and over again. Each time causing trembling, screaming, cursing. I felt as if I had floated away, landed on a cloud. His determination, still strong, as he finally gave in to his own madness. He yelled, screamed crazy words, professed love over and over again until everything he had was released, until exhaustion settled in and tranquility came with it.

He lay next to me, holding me as I drifted off to happier times, to white-sand beaches, inhaling crisp fresh air, looking out into deep blue ocean water, sipping on apple martinis. I was awakened from my island by the chimes of his cell phone. He got up silenced it. He said, “It’s just work.” I knew he was lying. He came back and laid next to me, held me again, as if he would stay there forever, all the while thinking of his exit strategy. Less than five minutes passed before we heard the chiming of his cell phone again. Again he got up and silenced it. He came over to the bed, kissed me, whispered, “I gotta go,” an expression of sadness on his face. I said, “I know.” I watched as he got dressed, the plain black t-shirt now recovered. He looked over at me, kissed me again, slowly, not rushing, as if he had nowhere else to be but in this moment.

I watched him leave, knowing tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would be February 15th, the day of romance would have passed and things would go back to the way they always were. It was the nostalgia of today that always brought out the side of him that I fell in love with. The sweet, romantic side of him that temporarily forgot everything and remembered to love me again. The anniversary of our union brought out the side of him that felt like my husband again, the side of him that made me want to believe that I was the only one. They say love at first sight doesn't exist. It exists, this I know for a fact, it's just harder to make it last.