Resolve

The air held a sweet chill as her foot slipped passed the covers mid stretch. It was still early, and nobody stirred inside the house except her. The wafting tang of coffee had tickled her nose as always, pulling her out of an otherwise heavily guarded sleep.

She thought about rolling over, greeting him with lazy kisses awash in the hazy glow of sunshine fighting its way through rain cloud. Her mind played with various approaches–how insistent to be when waking him? Trails of kisses? Warm arms and legs intwined with his? A mischevious hand massaging parts unseen?  She snickered as the possibilities seemed to her endlessly delicious.

A frustrated sigh slipped passed her smile. She wasn’t about to do any of that. She wouldn’t give him another opportunity to reject her so openly again. The regular neglect and daily indifference to their intimate life beyond cordial words and a great work relationship was all she could take. At least it didn’t feel intentional. She would not be able to hold it together if he outright rejected her advanced a second time. And God only knew the kind of hateful response that would elicit; he thought of her as emotionally unstable as it was, not recognizing how her instability rests on his moods and unwillingness to love her fully.

She wondered if this should be the morning she finally spoke her loneliness out loud, if it were finally time to shatter the fascade of a perfect union with her truth. How would she then say it?  Good morning, I am lonely whenever you’re around? Good morning–are you sleeping with someone else? Good morning! Why don’t you touch me anymore?  Good morning, I need you to see me. Good morning, I need you to hold me in your arms. Good morning, where is your attention? Because it os never on me, never willingly. Her face hardened with a resolve to say what was killing her inside.

And just as quickly, her resolve dissipated into conflicted desire. She felt him stir, a low mumble escaping sweetly parted lips as he settled on his back from his usual fetal position. Tthe rare moment of his  vulnerability decided for her, and she  curled herself into the space where she still fit so well: her body resting between  his chest and arm, head pressed into His shoulder blade, and arm draped languid across his abdomen. He shifted against the pressure, pulling her closer as he settled back into sleep.

Her heart twittered. He had not pushed her away or even turned away from her this time. She could feel tears spring into her tightly closed eyes.  She willed herself to be present in that moment of validation–of him not turning her away like so many other mornings and too many nights to admit. She lay completely still, afraid to jostle him back into the reality where he barely touched her, rarely made love to her.

And when his hands began to carress her, she swallowed a surprising rush of rage at herself for needing him so much before succombing to the pleasure in his lips against her skin.

Later, she thought as her face turned to meet his mouth. She would talk to him about it later.

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