Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Romanticvamp Week 8 Entry: Burnt Bridge


Romanticvamp's Choice: Both

Burnt Bridge

I stretch with a small groan, reaching out for the body that should be beside me. My fingers meet an empty pillow and twisted sheets. I open my eyes, blinking in the soft light coming through the curtains. The bed is empty. I’m in it all alone.

I push myself onto my elbows, looking all around the large room. It’s empty besides me. I flop down onto my back, sighing in slight frustration. I can’t help but wonder what the use of sleeping with someone is when you don’t wake up next to them.

Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. I turn my head and smile at the sight before me. He’s coming through the balcony doors, his eyes still fixed on the paper in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He’s pulled on his underwear for decency’s sake. Though I like him better naked, his perfect body is still on display. He glances at me and, seeing I’m awake, comes to the bed. He drops the paper and sets his mug on the nightstand.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on my lips.

“Good morning yourself,” I smile.

He crawls in beside me, propping his head up on his hand so he can look down at me. We both have matching, goofy smiles on our faces. I reach up and run my fingers through his sex hair.

“I like waking up with you in my bed,” he says.

“I would like waking up next to you if you were actually here when I woke up.”

The smile falls from his face and I recognize the look creeping across his face. I know what’s coming now.

“Don’t,” I warn.

“Baby . . . it could be like this every day. If you would just think about it . . .”

He has successfully killed my happy, freshly-sexed buzz in a matter of seconds. This argument has been had countless times. I told him last time I wouldn’t hear it again. Looking into his eyes, I realize he remembers this.

I pull away, taking the sheet with me. I quickly scramble off the bed, grabbing for my clothes and pulling them on.

“What are you doing?”

I don’t even look at him as I say, “Leaving.”

“Don’t do this,” he pleads.

“I told you. I like my life the way it is. I don’t want to change it.”

He watches me in silence as I finish dressing and slip my feet into my shoes. I toss the sheet at him and walk out of the bedroom to find my bag. I can hear his footsteps behind me on the stairs.

“You don’t have to change much.”

“For what you want, yes, I do.”

I find my bag and check to make sure everything is inside it. I grab my keys and go to the door. He catches my arm, bringing me around to face him.

“So you’re okay with me being your hidden lay? What are you keeping from me? What are you ashamed of?”

I stare at him. If only he knew I wasn’t ashamed. That there is nothing to be ashamed of with him. He is perfection, caring and gorgeous. He is everything I want and everything I should hold onto.

Except I can’t.

“No. This is over.”

The look on his face makes me pause as I open the door. Pure devastation has twisted his beautiful features. I can feel his hurt as a tangible force in the room. It makes me want to run to him and hold him. I want to comfort him, but I have to leave. I can’t hurt him anymore.

I can’t be what he wants me to be.

I pull away from his house, not allowing myself a backward glance. I keep driving past all the silent houses whose inhabitants are still sound asleep. I pass the marina, pulling onto the bridge that connects what used to be my own personal paradise to my reality. I can feel the tears starting in my eyes as the city begins to come into view.

I used to view this bridge as my escape. How I loved the sight of it, knowing I was only minutes from him. Knowing that once I drove over it, I was free from my everyday life.

By the time I’ve finished crossing, I can’t hold back the tears. I quickly pull over, trying to bring myself back under control. Finally, I allow myself to look back. All I can see is the bridge. I stare at it as cars pass me.

I could go back. I could cross it again and run back to him. I could keep arguing with him. I could try to make it work.

But all I can see is his pain and I can’t help but think I’ve burned that bridge. I can’t turn back.