"Anything to hold you." for un_love_you
Early the first December after Bobby died.
She got dressed stiffly that morning, not looking at the hotel bed, at the man she had cuddled so close to the night before because he was so unbearably, horribly, beautifully like the man she had lost. She hated the way he snored, not quite the right pitch for her man, but so close it hurt. The memory of him moving inside her last night was a moment of heaven wrapped in hours of hell. He fit too much like her Bobby, but with none of the passion for her, the restrained violence that left her panting and moaning for more. This man was too gently, too afraid of the aggression that lurked within when it came to her, a woman so heavily pregnant it was a wonder she could walk let alone demand to have a man inside her, but she had done it. Needed one night where she could pretend she had her love again, the one who made her feel safe. The body was the right shape, even if the scars she had loved so dearly were gone, even if the right hand had every bit of mobility to it. For one night she could cuddle up to that body, that body that housed the mind of a man who could never be a predator like the one she loved, and pretend a sharper, darker conscious reigned.
But the morning light was just as cruel as it ever was, showing her his face in the light, reminding her to listen to her nose and smell the difference. To remember that she had failed to be strong enough to stay celibate until their children were born and so had allowed herself and her connection to him be further corrupted. Remembering the feeling of that bond between them snapping brought a soft animal sound of pain that she couldn’t stop or hold in. This other Robert woke up at that, looking at her in concern, worried though he really couldn’t think of why. And she loathed him for it. It was her moment of pain, she didn’t want to share it and lose it’s meaning the way sleeping with him felt like it stole some of the meaning from her love.
She was under no illusions about why Robert had said yes. His relationship was rocky, she was offering sex that he could pretend was about comforting her and not escaping for him. His worry shouldn’t have touched her. But it was so hard not to just fall back to pretending he was her Bobby, until he spoke.
“I didn’t hurt you, last night, did I?”
Her voice was cold and business-like. “No Robert, you were gentle enough,” disgustingly, hatefully gentle, “I imagine it’s some preparatory contractions. Common at this point in a pregnancy.” An easy lie, smooth.
“So, I probably won’t see you again until after, will I? A month or two?”
“Yes, Robert, that seems like a reasonable assumption.” She should never call him again. It had been a mistake the last two times, it was a mistake now, it would continue to be one then.
“Well, then, I suppose I’ll see you after, then.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Though I do have a question. Why do you only call me Bobby when you climax?”
“Good bye, Mr. Goren.”
She got dressed stiffly that morning, not looking at the hotel bed, at the man she had cuddled so close to the night before because he was so unbearably, horribly, beautifully like the man she had lost. She hated the way he snored, not quite the right pitch for her man, but so close it hurt. The memory of him moving inside her last night was a moment of heaven wrapped in hours of hell. He fit too much like her Bobby, but with none of the passion for her, the restrained violence that left her panting and moaning for more. This man was too gently, too afraid of the aggression that lurked within when it came to her, a woman so heavily pregnant it was a wonder she could walk let alone demand to have a man inside her, but she had done it. Needed one night where she could pretend she had her love again, the one who made her feel safe. The body was the right shape, even if the scars she had loved so dearly were gone, even if the right hand had every bit of mobility to it. For one night she could cuddle up to that body, that body that housed the mind of a man who could never be a predator like the one she loved, and pretend a sharper, darker conscious reigned.
But the morning light was just as cruel as it ever was, showing her his face in the light, reminding her to listen to her nose and smell the difference. To remember that she had failed to be strong enough to stay celibate until their children were born and so had allowed herself and her connection to him be further corrupted. Remembering the feeling of that bond between them snapping brought a soft animal sound of pain that she couldn’t stop or hold in. This other Robert woke up at that, looking at her in concern, worried though he really couldn’t think of why. And she loathed him for it. It was her moment of pain, she didn’t want to share it and lose it’s meaning the way sleeping with him felt like it stole some of the meaning from her love.
She was under no illusions about why Robert had said yes. His relationship was rocky, she was offering sex that he could pretend was about comforting her and not escaping for him. His worry shouldn’t have touched her. But it was so hard not to just fall back to pretending he was her Bobby, until he spoke.
“I didn’t hurt you, last night, did I?”
Her voice was cold and business-like. “No Robert, you were gentle enough,” disgustingly, hatefully gentle, “I imagine it’s some preparatory contractions. Common at this point in a pregnancy.” An easy lie, smooth.
“So, I probably won’t see you again until after, will I? A month or two?”
“Yes, Robert, that seems like a reasonable assumption.” She should never call him again. It had been a mistake the last two times, it was a mistake now, it would continue to be one then.
“Well, then, I suppose I’ll see you after, then.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Though I do have a question. Why do you only call me Bobby when you climax?”
“Good bye, Mr. Goren.”