The morning after was everything he imagined it would be like.

He rolled over to find her naked frame stretched out beside him. She had allowed, and whole-heartedly welcomed, him to put his arms around her waist and pull her close, closer to him.

He made her tea and toast for breakfast and brought it to her.

She got dressed, ready to leave, and they kissed just before the door closed softly behind her.

This, however, was something he never imagined.

The moment when, their day was finally over and she dropped him off at his apartment, he suddenly realized that her silence was not out of shyness as he had originally supposed, but of awkwardness.

He nodded, once, sharply, pulled open the door, and exited her car. She drove away quickly without a look back to him left standing alone on the street.


He put his phone on the highest volume and kept checking it to make sure that he hadn't missed her call. Like a love sick school boy, he replayed their every moment together over and over in his head--

Every touch, every gasp, every kiss--
His skin hot from hers, her lips bruised from his--
The mark he left inside of her, the mark she left on him--

Replaying everything, trying to find the mistake he had made, the mistake that would explain why they were not in his bed again, now, on this night, recreating the night before.

He couldn't find one.

His fists slamming against the table made his cell phone jump and clatter down to earth.

He picked it up, checking to make sure that he hadn't missed her call, trying to calm down, when the knock at the door made him jump out of his skin.


He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms when he saw her. He reached for her but she put her hands up in defense, in defiance, in desperation.

She swallowed.

She took one, two, three deep breaths.

Her hand, still suspended in mid air, began to shake slightly and he grabbed her and pulled her to him.

She made no sound but he could feel his skin suddenly becoming wet, his shirt damp from her tears.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, as if he could squeeze every bit of doubt, confusion, and fear out of her.

She moved her head to the side, clearing the obstruction from in front of her mouth.

"I love you."

He made no sound but she could feel the skin on her head suddenly becoming wet.


The way their lips collided--

The way their bodies matched eachother's, stride for stride--

The way she shuddered when his hands moved up her body--

The way he paused and leaned his forehead against hers when he entered her--

None of it was ever how she imagined it would be like.

But she was ok with that.

A/N : This story had no plan at all. It had no plot line, nor any goal in mind. It's a disjointed series of emotions. Emotions that both her and I are working through. This is for the New Beginnings Challenge posted on Thursday's 100 Plus in November.