One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 66

We're back from dinner. And he's already peeling the clothes from my body before I've shut my door behind us. There's an urgency in him tonight. Like he's been waiting too long to do this –or he's not sure he'll get to do this again.

"Em," he breathes.

"Jay," I smile beneath our lips. I know he hates when I first-name him.

"I love you."

HOLY FUCK.

HOLY.

ACTUAL.

FUCK.

The words flow from his lips like honey dripping from a hive. Flawless. Organic. Pure. My entire body tenses in his arms and my mind just goes black for a minute before visions of barn proposal pics and white dresses dance in my head. All I see is us standing there, 18 years old, and breaking up. Crying. Then all the sudden we are two wrinkly old people making out in some back woods diner, surrounded by snow, and popping champagne.

There are no words. Not only because 1. I do not know what to say, 2. He's in clear violation of our agreement, or 3. My mouth is currently competing with parchment for driest thing ever. BUT because 4. No words I could possibly string together into an even semi-coherent sentiment would begin to describe the mix of elation, fear, and guilt currently churning in my gut *heart* right now.

"Judging from your silence you either didn't hear me or want to pretend you didn't hear me." Brooks's low voice brings me back to the bed.

"Brooks," I whisper. So close I can feel my own breath between our skins.

FFS. Why now? Seriously, I assumed one of us would eventually cave and try to ruin a good thing, but WHY?

"You happen to decide you love me on Valentine's Day? The fear of being eternally alone finally got to you?" I try to tease.

"Must be it. But the fear is quickly subsiding."

"Ha-ha. See, you've already changed your mind." I tease.

"Is that what you believe? That I'll just change my mind?"

"You haven't shown any sign of wanting anything different. Anything more. These past few months..." I let my voice die because I know this isn't true.

"You miss a lot, huh?" Brooks's words sound like venom.

I think of Thanksgiving when he ditched his family to visit me. Thanksgiving! Arguably the most family-ish holiday. I think of the Benefit and the way his eyes turned all red and blotchy when I found him in the garden. I think of disappearing. Then there's NYE and his raging jealously that anyone else should ever want me.

"Six months." Brooks nods. "We aren't just –you know –playing around anymore. At least I didn't think so!"

"Brooks," I begin again.

"I want the fucking fence, Ems. I want the house and the marriage and all that shit we hate –I want it with you."

Fucker.

"Excuse me for thinking you felt the same way." Brooks turns away from me.

I sigh. Hard. What else can I do?

"You don't ...feel the same way, do you?" He asks, like a light bulb is finally clicking.

Goddamn Brooks's face looks so sad and puppy-doggish. Like I'm taking his boy toys away on Christmas morning. It seems genuine. Why won't I let myself believe him? Oh yea, because I've recently set up shop as a masochistic fuck.