Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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People say that a hockey game can change in an instant. One team gets cocky during intermission, starts playing sloppy because they think they already have the win in the bag. The other team - hungry for redemption, uses this opportunity to seek revenge for their hard work and pull out a win, just before the end of the game.
You see it happen all the time; whether it be in hockey, football, or whatever other sport you can think of. It also happens a lot in life - one person thinking they have it all, that they're untouchable, only to have the rug swept out from underneath them. In varying distinctions, of course, everything from cheating to deciding what TV show they're gonna watch.
In my case, it happens in Rosie's moods - her anxiety, to be specific. Sometimes it has the ability to turn a situation from relaxing and romantic, to her being - for lack of a better word, a stress ball. Worrying about something that might not even happen in the future, or worrying about something from the past. Sometimes, it's even just worrying about worrying.
Like anyone that's decided to be a life partner to someone with a mental health diagnosis, I've learnt the different ways to tell that's something's wrong. I've learnt the tells that she's not feeling well: being quiet, not making much eye contact, being very too her self. I've also learnt - through reading many books about the topic, different ways that I can do my best to support her. How I can try to help even when it feels like me helping does nothing at all.
"Rosie." I say her name softly, knowing it's best to not escalate the situation, when she's feeling anxious or on edge about something. Would I like to be escalating the situation we were just in, where I was one piece of latex away from being inside her? You better believe it.
Of course, the condoms I packed were sitting in the bottom of my suitcase, and even the one in my wallet was about the same distance. So, after much internal debating whether I should try and rifle through the bathroom cabinet for one of my brother's old ones, I decided to go up to my room and grab the one (okay, two) from the bunch that I had packed for this trip.
Yes, the condoms are ones I bought for Rosie and I.
"I haven't used these with anyone else." I tell her, answering the question that she just asked, and also the one I know she's thinking about. The unspoken one about whatever girls I've been with before.
We've never really discussed how many people we've slept with, in explicit detail. Mostly because she told me she's a virgin the first night we went out and that was about as much as I need to know about the past guys that my girlfriend's done things with. There was also the sexual assault that she told me about but I do my best not to think about that because it just makes me angry as fuck.
On my end, I haven't told her the number of girls I've been with. Mostly because the number hasn't come up and I don't give a fuck about them. She's the last one I'm ever gonna be with and she's all that matters. Also, it's not like I've kept track of how many girls I've hooked up with in some spreadsheet like Kayden. If anything, I've left all those girls in the past along with the nights that they entailed.
The feelings of discomfort and fakeness that came with them and the naivety that just hooking up with some random girl from the bar would make me feel as good, or be even remotely as enjoyable, as being with someone I love.
"Okay." She says, fiddling with her hands as she examines the condom wrapper. Condom still inside and being the biggest and most metaphorically ironic, cock-block of them all. "Sorry." She apologizes, like most often times when she does, for nothing or something that she shouldn't be apologizing for. "I just started thinking about things and I don't know, started thinking about..."
She trails off, obviously not wanting to talk about whatever's on her mind, which usually doesn't work out very well, her keeping things inside. "My past?" I ask, trying my best to fill in the blanks on my own. Rosie and I make out. I make Rosie orgasm all over my fingers (finger) and then proceed to suck it off as she watches in disgust. Me spending obviously now what I know to be far too long, looking for condoms.
If I had known we would be getting busy in the basement bathroom, I would've snuck some in here. But given that an hour ago I was relegated to the couch and watching crap on TV, thinking about how much I wanted to make up with her and never fight again, or be apart; and now, I'm standing in front of a naked future Rosie King.
Sounds pretty good in my head. When I brought it up to her a few days ago, she just laughed and proceeded to avoid me for the rest of the night. Go figure.
"Ask me anything you want." I say, offering up my past encounters and the information on them like they're another load of bread at East Side Mario's: sparingly but something I'm obligated to do. It's not that I have anything to hide or would try and lie to her about, that's not my style. But kind of like trying to reason with a drunk person, there's nothing productive that can come from it.
People like to talk about their past relationships as if what they did in them will no doubt impact and dictate the kind of person they are today. And maybe that's true, to some extent. But the last thing that I would think is wise to do right now is talk about my past relationships. I mean, we've already covered all the important stuff, and did back before we even became intimate for the first time.
I have no STDs, I'm not the father of any children (yet), and I'm not into sharing or dudes (no offence, Ryan Gosling is hot and everything, I just prefer the taste of pussy over dick.) Also, dude's are hairy as fuck and I just couldn't ever string that guitar. Just not my thing.
"Do you ever missing being single?" Rosie asks me, seeming hesitant as the words come out of her mouth but more sure of herself once they do. And of course I, being the mature-ass 23 year old that I am, who has read more books on relationships in the past year and a half than a nun in church, I do the only logical thing. I laugh.
"Sorry, Rosie. I'm not laughing at you." I assure her, feeling shitty about it as she pulls my t-shirt over her head. The same one I was wearing earlier tonight; and the same one I had wanted her to wear which caused us to get into the argument from earlier in the first place. "No, I don't miss being single." I answer, thinking that she was going to ask me about how many girls I'd been with or what positions I had or hadn't done.
Also, how on earth could I miss being single when I have her? The love of my life, the person I want to be with forever, the person that - doesn't complete me, because that's not exactly a healthy mind set. Mind you, neither is the intensity of my love for her; neither is love in general, though. But the idea alone that I would ever miss being single or be bored with her is just ridiculous.
"I'm just making sure." She says, chewing on her lip until I reach over and gently guide her hand away. Not in a trying to be controlling way, but I hate seeing her hurt herself, even if it is just making her lip bleed. Also, nothing against Edward Cullen or any of his vampire cousins, but I'm not exactly a fan of the taste of blood.
Though, I would totally eat Rosie out when she's on her period. Which might sound questionable, but is totally sanitary. I think.
"You're the only person I want to be with." I tell her, moving to my favorite place on this earth, in-between her legs. Her thighs are slightly raised up and my hands guide them around my waist. Because, with her anxiety about me using condoms from a past hook up with her, in the rear-view mirror, it's time for me to make love to my girlfriend. "For tonight, for tomorrow, forever." I tell her, my voice getting lower and lower the closer to her I get.
It kind of sounds like I'm telling her marriage vows, except if this were actually our wedding - with a non existent minister, because nobody else is seeing her naked, they would definitely be sappier. But the look she gives me, makes me think that I'm not the only one with marriage on my mind. Or the only one that would enjoy us doing this, just us - and one day our future kids, forever.
