but then he moves and he kisses not just my mouth but the side of my cheek. I start to laugh and so does he, and we tumble onto the bed.
We lose our clothing, whatever's left.
His hands make their way up and down my thighs. I climb on top of him and he squeezes my butt cheek, spreading them lightly and then giving me a little slap. I laugh some more and kiss him harder. Then he's on top of me again.
We fumble around with the birth control, trying to find it in the dark before turning on the light and searching for it wholeheartedly.
He goes down on me for a while. I look up at the ceiling and stare at the crown molding, but I can't let myself go.
The line's blurry between this and the past, and I pull him up and he kisses me and slides into me.
Our movements become one.
We're both clumsy. We keep trying.
Nevertheless, it feels good to have him inside of me. My mind is connected to his body, not so much my own. I feel myself like a bird floating away, here but not here.
Then, a familiar, warm sensation rushes through me. It comes out of nowhere.
It takes me completely by surprise.
He continues to push harder and harder inside of me, pressing my wrists into the bed.
I watch his face as he moans my name and then collapses on top. We're both out of breath, searching for peace after what felt like an earthquake.
Finally, Dante pushes himself off of me and lies flat on his back on top of the sheets.
I pull a sheet over my naked body and notice that I'm still wearing my shoes. I kick them off and bury my feet under the covers.
"That was good," I say through heavy breaths.
"That was more than good," he mumbles.
He forces himself to his feet, goes to the bathroom, comes back, lies down and wraps his arm around my shoulder.
A moment later, I hear him snoring. I struggle to reach for the light. I'm tired, and the weight of half of his body pressing me into the bed makes it feel like an impossible task to turn off the light.
Eventually, I do.
As nice as the cuddle is, it's not great to lie under a practically lifeless body, so I push him over to the side, curl up next to him, and fall into a deep sleep.
The following morning, I wake up with a headache, which I haven't had in a very long time. I'm not a big drinker, and this one pounds through me.
I can barely open my eyelids. They feel like razor blades are cutting into my eyeballs.
I wash my face and add some drops, but it's all to no avail.
Nothing helps.
I grab a glass, fill it up with water, and down two Advil, think about it and then take a third.
Anything to make this stop. My mouth is parched like a desert.
"Are you okay?" Dante asks when I sit down on the edge of the bed, holding my shoulders, trying to make the shivers go away.
"Yeah. I'm just really hungover," I say very slowly.
The words feel terrible in my mouth.
I want to make them go away, or maybe I can just go back to sleep and forget that I ever woke up this morning.
"How are you feeling?" I manage to ask.
"Not too bad.” He shrugs.
He looks practically perky in comparison to me, excited, on his feet. He even took a shower.
His eyes don't seem to be bothering him, and when he kisses me, his lips are soft and the skin is stretchy and vibrant. I have to lie back down and mumble, feeling sick to my stomach.
I've never been very good at vomiting.
I don't know if that's something that you can be good at, but it's always grossed me out, and even when I had food poisoning or it would have been a good idea to do something like that, I never could.
Dante tells me that he'll be back sometime later, and when he returns, he comes back with some toast and hot tea, black, served in a big mug.
I'm glad that it's not one of those small, porcelain dainty cups, because I don't think I'd be able to hold onto something so small at this point.
I sit up, lean against the headboard, and try to eat a bite. I can't taste a thing.
I chew a little bit, then give up, washing it down with black, Earl Grey tea. There's a wedge