The Couch

I would exhale slowly every time he left the room. Even if it was only for a second, I felt like it was the only time I could breathe normally. Because whenever he was around that night, my shoulders would strain and jump to my earlobes, my chest would tighten and every nerve would stand at attention. I had to pause when he was near me. The tension was high. He latched on. I had to hold my breath and count in repetition. It was a balance. If I breathed too loudly, I knew he’d feel it on his skin and my secret would be out. And if I held it longer than necessary, it would be obvious how desperately I wanted him. We tried to ignore it, but we both knew what was going to happen. We both finally gave up the act. I exhaled and he gave me CPR. We stopped pretending to be so full of self-control that neither of us actually possessed, and we gave into everything both of us had been craving. I could pretend to fight it, but we both knew he would just kiss the bruises the next day.