- Ninth -

..regret..

--

--

It’s too hot under all these blankets. The heat radiating off our skin is trapped under these layers, and it just keeps getting hotter and hotter as time passes by. There’s too much body heat. I want to shuck the covers and lie there peacefully, with the air from the overhead fan cooling my overheated body, but I can’t bring myself to do it because underneath everything, I’m naked. He’s naked too. We’re in his bed in his room in his house, under the covers together, naked. His parents went to Baltimore for the day and are staying overnight at the home of some friends of theirs whom they haven’t seen in a while. When he invited me over, I knew what was going to happen. I knew we would make it to his bed eventually. It was my first time, but I was ready. I’d been ready for a week.

Or so I’d thought.

We’ve been going out for six months now. It feels like forever. He’s wanted to do this for a while, but I always held back, telling him I wasn’t ready. Then a week ago we were making out in his basement and I got caught up in the heat of the moment, carried away by my desires until the next thing I knew, we were down to our undergarments. As his mostly bare body pressed against my mostly bare body, I was so overwhelmed by the need to have him inside me that I started trembling. But we were on the couch in his basement; his parents were right upstairs and could come down and see what we were doing whenever they wanted. That hadn’t been the right time, but I knew that, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn’t do anything to stop it. So when he invited me to stay the night at his house while his parents were gone, I accepted and lied to my parents by saying I was sleeping over at my best friend’s house. She, I knew, would be happy to cover for me if it came to that. She’d already discovered the joy of sex and was eager for me to discover it as well. So we could be non-virgins together.

I roll over restlessly and glance at the large, green numbers on the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s three thirty-six in the morning. I’ve been trying to fall asleep for two hours and fifty-one minutes. When we finished around one in the morning, he pulled me close to him and gave me a gentle kiss. The length of his naked body stretched across mine.

“I love you,” he whispered against my lips, grinning.

“I love you too,” I whispered back despite the hollow feeling inside me.

He fell asleep holding me against him. His breathing slowed and his arm relaxed as he drifted into unconsciousness. When I was sure he wouldn’t wake up, I gingerly removed his arm from my waist and rolled onto my back. I pulled the bed covers up to hide my breasts and stared at the ceiling.

I did love him. That wasn’t a lie. But I ache between my legs, and although I’m tired, I can’t fall asleep. And I wish we hadn’t had sex. It was a silly, hormonal impulse and now I’m just left sore and empty and depressed. It wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. I wasn’t ready. I regret my decision.

The time changes to three thirty-seven. I’m still watching the clock as the number flips from six to seven. Next to me, he snorts softly in his sleep, as if he’s aware of the change. Sweat is seeping out of my pores. I’m sure all these covers are nice to have in this cold weather, but right now the hot air they’re enclosing is all I can think about. Hesitantly, I reached out and brush my finger on his bicep, my touch lighter than a feather. It doesn’t feel sweaty at all.

I look at the clock again. Still three-thirty seven.

I don’t want to be here. I want to be in my own home, in my own bed, wearing my pajamas. More than that, I want to rewind my life—to flip upside down that hourglass of life—and make the decision not to come here. I want to go back and make excuses to him and stay in the house watching movies all day. That way we could at least still be together.

Sex is supposed to make a woman feel more attached to a guy. It’s supposed to make her clingy and over-possessive. There must be a chemical imbalance in my brain, because now I feel the opposite. I don’t want to be with him anymore. I can’t be with him anymore. Not after this. Every time I look at him I’ll see his naked body flash before my eyes. I’ll see the pleasure on his face while he was inside me. And I’ll know that he’ll finally be able to tell what’s underneath those articles of clothing that hide my most secret body parts. I won’t be able to stand in his presence knowing we’ve seen each other naked, that we’ve done the dirty deed together.

Three thirty-eight now. I roll onto my stomach and pull the covers down my back until they rest just above my butt. Air from the fan washes down on it like a gift from heaven, and I sigh in pleasure. The effect only lasts so long, though, and soon I’m reminded that I’m still burning up everywhere else.

He rolls over so he’s facing me. I pull the covers back up and flip onto my side to stare at his sleeping face. He looks so peaceful and content. As I lie there watching him sleep, I know what I have to do.

-

It’s four o’clock on the dot when I creep out of the bed. I blindly stumble around in the dark room trying to remember where my clothing went when we removed it all. My sweater and pants are in a small pile on the floor at the foot of his bed, but my bra and my panties ended up in two separate corners of the room. It feels wrong, somehow, to put on the same clothing I wore before we had sex, when I was still a virgin. Especially the underwear. Nevertheless, I quickly slip into everything and sneak out the bedroom door, careful not to open it up far enough that it will squeak.

The house seems too quiet and still as I steal down the hallway, overly-conscious of every tiny noise that I make. My purse is sitting on a table in the kitchen. I take a pad out of it and shove it hastily into my underwear—I knew I would bleed after my first time. My winter coat and shoes are by the front door.

I don’t dare remove my car keys from my purse until I’ve safely exited the house. As I slowly pull the front door closed behind me, I let out a relieved sigh. Then I dash to my car waiting on the side of the road in the frosty night air. It’s so cold inside my car that I can still see my breath, even after I’ve shut the doors. So I start the engine, blast the heat, and drive away from the bed I’ve left behind. I try not to think about anything—not his reaction to finding me gone or his reaction when I break up with him, as I inevitably will. Nor do I think of my best friend’s reaction when she finds out that for me, there is no joy in sex. And I especially keep my mind off of the moment itself.

No, my mind stays entirely focused on the road as it leads me away from something I never thought I’d want to leave.