Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

eyes, heart pounding as he gently kisses me. I kiss him back slowly, parting my lips for him. His tongue strokes are reserved at first. He nips at my lips, slipping his tongue in for a quick taste. But the second my tongue meets his in a slow heated dance, tasting him, a harsh breath escapes his mouth. He settles his hand on the back of my head and kisses me deeper, tongue fully exploring mine. My hand wraps around his tie, and I pull him closer to me still, moaning into his mouth.

“Aidan…” I pant.

His hands are suddenly everywhere, exploring me, running up and down my body. He squeezes at my ass, kissing me like I’m the air he breathes.

“Aidan,” I repeat as our kiss intensifies.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he groans, palming my ass, bringing me closer to him still. My breasts press against his chest as his tongue roams my mouth, tasting me thoroughly. Heated and intense, he pulls back to bite my bottom lip, his fingers digging further into my ass.

I let out a breathy moan and that’s his undoing. He pulls away suddenly, cutting our kiss mid-stroke. He’s breathing hard. We both are.

“No more, Ivy.” He sounds pained. “No more.”

He doesn’t ask me to get off, though. His hands are still under my ass, still squeezing me to him. He holds me for a few minutes, panting, hard as a rock beneath me.

“Thank you for the best birthday,” I say to him just then, smiling timidly at him. “As incredibly belated as it is.”

He’s not amused. He’s too pent-up, shutting his eyes from me.

“Get out of that apartment, Ivy,” he solemnly says just then. “Just get away.”

I lay my head against his chest and let out a long sigh.

With Aidan, I feel so much resolve. I make promises to myself I long to keep.

Stay strong, Ivy.

*

Aidan drops me off an hour later. He watches me walk to the entrance. He doesn’t look away when I open the door and walk in. As I wait for the elevator, I hear his car slowly drive out, like he doesn’t want to leave, like he’d stay with me if he had the choice.

Aidan is doing things to my heart that make my soul weep. I feel shaky and anxious and like I’d do anything for him. I’m falling hard.

I enter the apartment, nearly tripping over a pair of huge shoes. I bend down and pick them up. They’re Derek’s shoes. He’s come back after his four day hiatus. I place them in our shoe rack, idly running my finger along the laces. The strangest pain shoots through me just then. Soon, I won’t be picking up his shoes. I won’t be putting away his laundry or waking him up when the alarm doesn’t. I walk to the bedroom and peer into the darkness. He’s on the bed, passed out, snoring into his pillow. I can smell the alcohol from here. Alcohol and…woman’s perfume. Nothing stirs in my chest at the latter detail.

I hurt for an entirely different reason now. I hurt to let go of all I have known for eight years. It’s a panicked emotion that washes over me. It’s like looking into the horizon and knowing a storm is coming. You can’t see it, but you can smell it, and because you don’t know when it’s going to hit, you wait in perpetual fear.

I slip into bed, smelling like Aidan, still feeling his touch on my lips.

I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this.

Eighteen

Ivy

I’ve been looking for the perfect moment to talk to Derek again. To tell him we need to start separating our few belongings. We need to get this separation moving. We cannot keep co-existing with one another. It’s unhealthy. Every day I plan it. I imagine sitting him down and explaining the disconnect between us. I need to use the D word a second time. I can’t believe I have to do this yet again.

It’s difficult to predict what his reaction will be. When I had separated from him and left to my mother’s, he’d sobbed after me, at one point dropping to my feet and begging me to stay. Leaving for my mother’s was the hardest thing I had ever done, but it had given me courage I didn’t know I had.

I keep trying to draw that courage out now, but I can’t seem to find it. I’m a chickenshit. I pretend that the moment’s not right because he’s wasted, or tired from work, and sometimes it breaks my heart into a million pieces when he wants to stay in for the night and be in the same room as me. It’s tense, don’t get me wrong. Everything between us has shifted dramatically, but I sense he craves my presence, even if he doesn’t say a word to me. It just makes this harder.

You see, there are moments he tries so hard.

There are moments he doesn’t try at all.

And when the moments align and I have the opportunity to sit down and tell him it’s over – stop hoping, Derek, it’s over, truly – I can’t draw the words out of my mouth. I sit for a moment, still as a statue, pushing myself to do it. Those are the moments he takes one look at me and knows. Those are the moments he flees. The elephant in the room keeps growing bigger. He knows I’m finished. He knows I meant it when I ended things. He’s obviously been fooling around with women during this separation; I’ve seen signs of it, the lipstick on his shirt, the perfume on his skin, the red marks along his neck. Yet he won’t let a word in about it.

As a result, time passes.

I avoid the storm because it’s the easy thing to do. I delay the inevitable because it means I get to go about my day without worrying about the unavoidable onslaught. You can keep delaying