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It’s maddening.
I mean, I know I have more important things to be worried about. I literally have a list a mile long of things that need to be done, and I swear that list is growing by the day, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about him.
I do the dishes, and suddenly I’m imagining his tongue on my clit, demanding I tell him my fantasies.
I unload the laundry, and I’m daydreaming about his hand around my neck, my body pressed up against the wall, pulsing with need.
I was at the supermarket yesterday morning, and I picked up a cucumber, and dammit if I wasn’t immediately picturing Damien entering me, stretching me. Right there in the produce section, I was soaking my panties holding a damn cucumber.
I’m a mess.
What’s worse? I’m not even sure he remembers. His memories from that weekend are a scattered mess, even though he tries to pretend they aren’t. The doctor said he might get them back, but he might not.
What if he forgot? Every touch. Every kiss. They’re seared into my soul. I couldn’t forget if I wanted to. I don’t want to forget. Not yet anyway.
It’s not just about how good it felt to finally be with him. Or how hard the man made me come, over and over again. It’s about intimacy. It’s about finally feeling like we got it right after so many years of thinking that it was never going to happen for me…for us. I love him, and I am still holding on to the hope that there’s something there for him too.
What if I never get to feel that way again?
It took another week in the hospital before they felt like Damien was stable enough to return home, and even then, they required transport by ambulance to our local hospital, and then another night stay there to verify he was still, in fact, stable. Damien’s usual patient facade was slipping with every passing day. He’s frustrated, and he has every right to be.
Once we finally made it home, he was required to spend one more week on bed rest until he could resume what would be considered light-normal activity for most humans. Not super hockey humans.
It broke my heart to hear the doctor tell Damien that his hockey career was probably over. Something about the potential for restraining the artery and an increased risk for stroke.
That’s another thing we haven’t talked about yet. We’ve done an excellent job of avoiding all of the important topics.
Instead, we spent our time away watching game shows and Facetiming with Astria. I’m so thankful she won’t have memories of any of this. I think my dreams will forever be haunted by the sound of those sirens and the sight of Damien’s blood on the ice. So much blood.
Damien’s mother flew out to see him as soon as she heard the news. She didn’t leave until Damien finally convinced her he wasn’t going to bleed out in the middle of the night, and the team of doctors and nurses overseeing his case were completely capable. She is still calling daily to check in, and I can’t blame her. I’d do the same in her position.
My mama stayed with us in our tiny apartment at Rafferton until she felt we were completely situated. She cooked chicken and waffles for Damien no less than five times.
She never once questioned my bed in Astria’s room. Thank God. In fact, I think she thought it was a guest bed because she was totally comfortable and set up in it when we arrived.
I set Damien up securely in his room, a straight shot to the bathroom and back. Doctor’s orders.
I slept on the couch, using the excuse that I was afraid of hurting Damien in his sleep. We pulled it off, but now I’m even more exhausted. I thought I’d finally rest when we made it home. I was wrong.
I’m playing catch up on my classes, and my website. I have orders coming in, and that’s great, I just need the time to fill them. I’m playing nurse for Damien, and not the sexy kind. I’ve distributed doctor’s excuses to his classes and picked up all of his finals so that he doesn’t miss anything in the last few weeks of the semester. I’ve hosted his team as they’ve come in and out to check on him since we made it back. Our apartment has been a revolving door, which has been fine, I’m so glad that Damien has that level of support, but I’m lonely despite the chaos.
I’m in full-blown survival mode. I can’t stop, because I know the moment I do, I’ll collapse and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back up again.
Astria is at her playgroup today, I just hit submit on my last final for the semester, and now I’m unloading the dishwasher, cue inappropriate daydreaming.
I’m counting down the hours until bedtime already, and it’s barely early afternoon.
“Gotcha!”
I jump and squeal when a pair of lips land on my neck out of nowhere.
I whip around quickly, prepared for battle in my own kitchen, “Damien, oh my God. Get your ass back in that bed. This isn’t the bathroom. You aren’t supposed to be out here. From the bed to the toilet, you know the drill. You should have called me if you needed something. You could hurt yourself. Oh no! Did I hurt you when I jumped?” Panic builds in my chest as I try to catch my breath. My heart races from being caught off guard, and quite literally caught fantasizing about the man standing in front of me, and then because I’m worried, I might have hurt him, or he might have hurt himself.
He stands there, freshly showered, and grins at me, which only sets off more alarms in my mind. Did I give him the wrong medication this morning? God, did I overdose him in my state of utter exhaustion? Is he high?
“It’s Friday.” He says, slowly, taking the clean bowl I was holding out of my hand and setting it down gently on the countertop behind me.
“I know, I’ve got to pick Astria up in two hours and then I’ll cook dinner. You, sir, should be in the bed.” I point toward his open bedroom door, but he just continues to grin at me, his green eyes dance with a lightness that I haven’t seen in weeks. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until just now.
