From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 10: LOVE IN AN ELEVATOR)
I turn to face The Ex, searching his face for the truth. Does he still love me too? Does he want to get back together? Is this day more than just some horrible, ill-fated mistake? A part of me wants to believe that everything that happened last year, including the break-up, was just a test; that this accident was no accident at all: It was another chance for “us.”
The Ex smiles, laying his hand lightly on my cheek and pushing back strands of my hair. He pulls me in, and I rest my weary head on his warm chest.
I feel him stir. I feel his lips rest against my ear. He tells me I smell like lemon zest and daffodils—just like he likes. His free hand moves over the side of my leg, hip, arm. I look up and he moves his lips to the only part of my cheek that’s exposed. He takes the scrunched-up blood-soaked tee and flings it. He moves his lips over mine. I can barely feel it as he starts lightly kissing them, but I respond.
And just like that we’re kissing. Kissing, then petting, and then heavy petting. He pulls me under him and I pull him into me; we start groping like teenagers at a high school dance.
“What are we doing?” I groan.
“I don’t know, Baby.” He grabs my ass. “You know I love you.” His hands fumble near my zipper. “Things just always get complicated.”
I can feel his growing hardness against the inside of my thigh—the one aspect of our relationship that has never been complicated. I reach for his zipper.
“Awww, shit.” The Ex pulls away.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“You’re bleeding all over my new shirt.”
I push him off of me. “You’re such a dick.”
I scramble to sit up. “This is just like when I threw the engagement ring and you said: ‘Hey, that cost me a lot of money.’”
“It did! And with that chip, I couldn’t sell it for nearly as much as it was worth.”
I freeze—unable to lift the bloodied undershirt my hand just grabbed.
After The Ex accused me of cheating on him with Brock, I threw my engagement ring at him. Then I stepped on it on my way out the door. We broke up, didn’t speak for months, and then he called me and apologized for the whole incident, trying to convince me to come back to him. He told me how he’d kept that ring on his desk—a daily reminder of how much he loved me; and told me he would always keep it, because he believed that one day we would be married.
“You sold the ring?”
The Ex is silent. And then slowly, “I needed a big down payment for the Mercedes.”
I shift away from him, waiting for some sign of regret for what he’s just said. Hoping to hear that he did it in a regrettable fit of emotion, or that he really did it to send a foster kid to college, or that he’s kidding—that he still has the ring sitting on his desk, waiting for the right moment to get back together with me and propose again. Anything to make me feel like I haven’t just been dry-humping a selfish, self-absorbed prick.
But he just stares back, and his eyebrow starts to quiver.
My body feels cold; I pick up the soiled undershirt and press it against my nose. The Ex starts in with his Baby-this-and-Baby-that, but I don’t hear anything he says; I swat away his hand when he tries to touch me. I crawl to the furthest corner of the elevator from him.
The Ex was right on New Year’s Eve: We would never get married. But not because things between us were complicated. We would never get married because as much as The Ex was invested in having the newest car, toy, dog, or designer shirt, he was never completely invested in our relationship. I was a throwaway, just like everything he’s ever owned. When the new model rolled in, it was always out with the old—and that would never change.
The elevator door opens. The technician looks from me to The Ex, sitting at either end of the elevator, our faces and clothes bloodied, our clothes half off. “Is anyone hurt?” he asks.
We both just stare…
To Be Continued…
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2009 by Dorota Skrzypek.
All Rights Reserved.
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