//6// Your Stains Are Left On Me

Loud, chirping birds were the first things I was conscious of in the early morning. Well, that and the sharp, stabbing pain just behind my eyes. I groaned, stretching my arms and legs out, my fingers poking through the comforter that I was cocooned in. It took me much longer than it should have to extricate myself from the bedding, due largely to the fact that I was completely and utterly hung over. I winced as my head emerged from the depths of down and Egyptian cotton, the sunlight piercing through my eyelids and sending sparks of pain resonating through my body.

Carefully, I pulled myself in to a sitting position and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I smelled coffee. Foggy memories of the night before began to solidify and I groaned again, this time in disdain at myself. Realizing the other side of the bed was vacant I stumbled in to a pair of pajama pants and walked out of the room, using the wall for support. Other than the growing sound of coffee percolating as I came to the kitchen, there was not a sound in the apartment.

At least she’d had the decency to put the coffee on before she left, I thought to myself as I poured a cup. I carried it back through the apartment to the bathroom, where I commenced my usual morning routine. I decided to forego shaving today; I was feeling lazy, and besides—even the slightest hint of facial hair always sent the fans in to a frenzy.

My mind wandered as the hot spray of the shower washed over me, burning my skin. Last night’s events sat heavily in the pit of my stomach, churning and bubbling, and I hoped the heat of the shower would cleanse me. As I stood under the water, my thoughts kept heading back to last night, and to Anna. I can’t say I took advantage of her; she was more than willing to come home with me. Yet, I still felt a general sense of unease and distaste for what I had done. For someone who had only had sex with two women in his entire life, and neither a one-night stand, the Zac that made an appearance last night was a total stranger. Even as a teenager riding the success of a band with a near-cult fan base, the thought that I could bed whomever I chose, whenever I chose never crossed my mind.

Sure, I had dated. I had dated lots of pretty girls, and I’m not even ashamed to say one or two pretty boys during the confusing part between my twelfth and thirteenth birthdays. But I never had any interest in sleeping with any of them. Not even Marion, a gorgeous Norwegian pop star with dark-chocolate colored eyes and long, black hair.

Not one of them…until Kate.

Kate was the first girl I had laid on eyes on who made my heart literally skip a beat. I had wanted her from the moment I saw her, in the ways any fifteen-year-old boy would want an older woman. There was more to my desire, however, and even at such a young and naïve age, I knew that what I was feeling wasn’t just lust. It was that knowledge, coupled with those feelings, which made for an excruciating six months as Isaac swooped in and whisked her away with his charm before I could even remember my name.

Somehow, it was me Kate turned to when the fights began, over anyone else—including Natalie. I was the person she would call, sobbing in to the phone about how awful the argument was and how scared she was that he was going to break up with her. I listened, selfishly relishing in the idea that my brother might not have won her permanent affections, while providing her with the friendship she so desperately sought. Until one day, she called me, and with a shaky voice said: “We broke up.”

It felt like my heart slammed in to my ribs; it began to beat wildly in my chest and breathing became difficult. The phone felt slippery in my hand, and I realized my palms were sweating. When I tried to speak, I almost swallowed my own tongue. Even if I had been able to speak, I was pretty sure it would have just come out gibberish. That was the moment I had been waiting for, through all the dates I’d gone on and hands I’d held; it was the nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me this was the one.

Every time Kate and I were in the same room I felt my body react. My attention always was on her; I could sense when she entered a room. My eyes were drawn to her movements, watching; absorbing. The way her lips curled when she smiled, the barely-there dimple in her cheek, and the easy way she brushed her hair over her shoulder were all engrained in my memory. And when we were alone? Every sense was amplified. By the fourth date, with no more than some PG-13 make out sessions between us, I could barely handle the warmth of her body next to mine.

Waiting until marriage just seemed like the right thing to do with and for Kate, so we did. Four years until I proposed, and did not even look at another girl. So when she came to me, saying she had made a bad decision—a huge mistake—the idea that she had slept with someone, particularly my brother, hadn’t even crossed my mind. In retrospect, my current state in life could be traced back to the moment Isaac and Kate decided to sleep together.

And Ryland…well, I saw in her the person I had become after Kate’s revelation, and I knew the road was a dark and bumpy one. I had traversed most of mine alone; Ryland didn’t have to. Even if she didn’t think so at first, I was being a friend to her. I couldn’t ignore the fact that she stirred long-forgotten feelings in me, though, and that night in the hotel room…Kate and I had had an argument over the phone, I was upset, and Ryland was…gorgeous. I hadn’t planned to land in to an affair with her, but it was nearly impossible to turn away from the hopeless look in her eye, and even harder to stop watching as it turned hopeful.

Being in Ryland’s presence brought me back to being fifteen again; my stomach knotted when she came in to the room, my heart and pulse racing each other to explosion. Her laugh pulled me in, the comfortableness I felt with her allowing me to let my guard down; to let her in despite the nagging voice in the back of my head. Each day, it became easier and easier to ignore, until one day the voice was just gone and Ryland was wrapped up in my arms.

For just a fraction of a second, the thought crossed my mind that Ryland was just a way to even the score with Kate; she had slept with two people, why couldn’t I? And, on that same subject, Anna could fall under the same category—Kate was sleeping with this Robert fool. Was I really just living my life to keep score against Kate?

I punched the shower wall at the thought, the pain drawing me away from my memories and torments and to the rapidly cooling water still falling over me. I quickly washed my hair, and then used the remaining hot water to scrub my skin. Once my skin was red and raw from scrubbing, and the water turning icy, I shut the water off and stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my waist.

Sighing, I realized that, while my body no longer held the stench of a night at the bar, my insides felt dirtier than when I had started.

 

 

 

 

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