The Protection

Twenty - Seven

"Perry. Perry. Wake up, sleepy. I have practice," a low voice spoke gently into my ear. A large warm hand brushed my eyelashes. My eyes fluttered open to deep blue walls illuminated by the early morning sun. A room that was not my own. I turned slowly into the callused palm, a small smile illuminating my face. Ben's lips soon found mine, and I worked to stifle a yawn. Nationals were three and a half months ago, and I practically lived at Ben's apartment now. So much for my going back to my roots and being a strong, independent woman. I rolled my eyes at my own weakness.

A few days after the plane landed, life settled back in, and Ben surprised me at my apartment with a bottle of red wine and cooked me one of the two things he knew how: Spaghetti with canned marinara sauce. After the leftovers were in the fridge, we marched wordlessly up to my bedroom and closed the door. I had washed the sheets, along with any remaining traces of Kyler, days before, and when Ben held me afterwards, the only thing I could smell was his cheap cologne and the smell of my fresh tears that fell after he dozed off. I didn't know why I felt so sad, everything had been fine like it had before, but now it just didn't feel right. For the next three months, I tried to force the feeling away. I tried to surrender myself wholly to Ben, like I had before, but still something continued to nag at the back of my mind. Sure, I was blissfully happy at times, but more often than not, I felt like I was playing a role. An actress of sorts.

"Do you have to go?" I asked, sleepily clinging to him beneath his soft blue plaid sheets. The same ones he had when we first met. He put a hand on my face and kissed me deeply, not caring that I hadn't yet brushed my teeth. I snuggled closer, relishing the relaxing feeling. Ben may not elicit fireworks from head to toe, but the feeling was nice.

"Babe, you know I have to focus on baseball right now. Our first scrimmage against Lubbock Christian is this weekend," he said, and I bristled a little at this sentiment. The last time Ben and I had broken up, he had also used the excuse "he needed to focus on baseball." Douche. I pulled myself from him and grappled on the floor for my volleyball pullover and combat boots. I knotted my hair on the top of my head and shoved my black knock-off Ray Bans onto my face. I had bought them a month ago at the resale shop across from campus, probably because subconsciously they reminded me of Kyler's.

I chewed on my clear fingernail polish as I watched Ben pull on his white t-shirt and blue baseball sweatpants, trying not to think about all the ways he was more than a little boring. Typical hot jock my mind whispered. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling again. I grabbed my backpack from the kitchen counter, but Ben caught me by my arm before I could leave his apartment and pulled my sweatshirt up to cover the hickey on my neck. A battle scar from last night. Classy, Perry. I had the sinking suspicion my hickey and I would miss Bible class this morning.