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  • It's Not the Size That Counts Ch. 06

It's Not the Size That Counts Ch. 06

Feeling self-conscious and dejected, I rearranged my shirt to try to cover more of my body, pulling the blanket on Steven's bed up over my breasts. My breathing slowed and my mind sped up as I processed what had just happened.

'How did I get myself into this ridiculous situation?' I thought to myself. Here I had planned to come to Steven's tonight - or last night, I remembered, noticing the clock - and break up with him. Instead, I end up cuddling all evening and getting more emotionally involved, and then climbing half naked into his bed and...

Just then, Steven walked back into the bedroom. He switched on a light, and I saw that he had pulled on a pair of rumpled shorts and a t-shirt. He walked up to the bed without a word, and rather awkwardly held out a red terrycloth bathrobe. When I just looked at him with a mix of confusion and apprehension, he dropped it at my feet.

"I thought we should talk. I'll be in the living room, okay? Do you need a hand to get there?"

I shook my head, and he left, quietly closing the door behind him, giving me privacy to put on the robe. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge, rubbing my face and smoothing down my hair. I carefully stood, and pulled the robe around my shoulders. I could smell him on the robe, and as I inhaled deeply, my guilt increased. Belting it tightly around my waist, I glanced quickly at a mirror, groaning inwardly at how wildly my hair hung off my head. I knew from long experience that nothing other than a shower would fix it; I sighed and limped out of the bedroom.

Instead of heading straight for the living room, I shuffled into the spare room where all my things were. I sat on the edge of the bed, and started getting changed. I left on Steven's shirt, but I slipped my bra on underneath, and then eased my sore leg into my scrub pants. After a couple of minutes, I heard Steven call my name; I told him I'd be a minute and went back to what I was doing.

Once I was fully dressed, I threw the rest of my clothes into the bag Steven had tucked under the chair, folded his bathrobe, quickly made the bed, and then headed towards the living room.

As I entered the main hall of the house, the dog padded up to me and licked my hand. Rolling my eyes and muttering 'troublemaker' under my breath, I patted the mutt on the head and kept limping towards the living room.

Steven raised an eyebrow when he saw me fully dressed, but didn't say anything. I didn't tell him how incapable I felt of being rational while wearing only his t-shirt and my panties. Even a bathrobe, that smelled so divinely masculine, was not going to help. I was going to be nervous and feel out of control until I was dressed.

When he noticed me hobbling, Steven rushed over and took my arm, helping me towards the couch on which I'd spent most of the evening. I sat, and he had another bag (or the same bag?) of frozen peas which he gently placed on my ankle. He sat in a chair across from me, watching me with his deep blue eyes.

We sat, silently, uncomfortably for a few minutes; Steven stared at me, and I stared at the floor. Finally I met his eyes. I couldn't stand the silence anymore. The appeal must have been apparent, because he nervously cleared his throat.

"Sarah? What were you doing in my bed, just now?"

I was completely taken aback by the question.

"Huh?" I asked, my usual eloquent self.

"I left you in the spare room. Why did you get into bed with me?"

He looked angry, or maybe hurt; my face scrunched up in confusion.

"Don't you remember?" I asked.

It was his turn to look puzzled.

"It's really the dog's fault, actually. He woke me up and practically dragged me down the hallway. You were dreaming."

"Dreaming?"

"Yes, Steven. That thing we do when we're in REM sleep. If I had to guess, you were having a nightmare, actually. It must have woken the dog. And he came to get me."

Steven's face was slowly turning red.

"Did I... did I say anything? Was I talking in my sleep?"

"You just kept saying 'no', over and over again. You were thrashing around, and I climbed onto the bed to try to wake you up."

"Oh God. You saw that?"

"Who's Cathy, Steven?"

Steven blanched, and visibly recoiled like he'd been punched.

"How do you know..." he started.

"Steven. Stop. You said the name when you first woke up. That's all I know. Do you really not remember any of this?"

Steven was shaking his head, as if in denial of not only the memory, but the whole event. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and his face became even paler, if that was possible.

"Oh God, Sarah. I didn't hit you, did I?"

"No, no. Don't be silly."

The look of relief that passed across his face piqued my curiosity, but it was quickly replaced by a determined, closed expression I'd never seen on Steven before. I realized I wasn't going to get any more information on the dream; not at that moment, anyway.

"What do you remember, Steven?" I pressed.

"I just remember waking up with you sort of... well... underneath me, I suppose. I wasn't sure how you got there, and I felt really out of control."

His hands shaking visibly, he ran his fingers through his hair distractedly.

"I could really have hurt you, Sarah."

"Is that why you ran, Steven? Are you serious?" I asked. "After all this time, you think I'd believe that you'd do something without my permission? You're crazy." I retorted furiously. The thought was absurd. I knew him better than that. I couldn't believe how angry I was at the fact that he believed it of himself.

"That's only part of the reason."

"What's the other part?" I asked through clenched teeth, still seething.

He must have mistaken my anger as being directed at him, instead of the concept of him assaulting me. He dropped his voice, and I could clearly hear the rage as he hissed through his teeth.

"Are you honestly going to deny that you were going to break up with me tonight? Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but he silenced me with a cold glare, before continuing.

"So what was that, then? Were you planning on having sex with me first, and breaking up with me in the morning? Is that it? Did you decide to put a notch in your belt before leaving me? Or did you think it was sweet to leave me something to remember you by?"

I would have been furious. I should have been, actually. Normally someone who basically accused me of being a tramp who slept with anyone just for the glory of the conquest would have been slapped at the very least, possibly even castrated, if they caught me in a bad mood. And my temper did flare, briefly. But I understood why he was angry. He didn't remember the circumstances that lead to us kissing, rather passionately, while intertwined in his bed. And besides, the concept of me trying to seduce him was so completely hilarious that I couldn't help it, especially considering the reason I was planning to break up with him...

I started to laugh. I tried to stifle it, I really did. But there was no holding it in. Soon my nervous titter became a knee-slapping guffaw, and I buried my face in my hands to try to get control of myself. It was his icy voice that interrupted my thoughts enough to stop the laughing.

"I'm glad you think it's funny, Sarah." He said it so quietly, in such a controlled voice, it was almost a whisper. For the first time, I got truly scared. I'd rather someone yelled and screamed at me, than stayed calm and controlled with pain and wrath concealed under the surface.

I looked up and caught his eye, but in the wake of his baleful gaze, I couldn't maintain the contact.

"Steven."

He nodded, just barely. I could just see the movement out of the corner of my eye as I studiously stared at the corner of the coffee table where we'd eaten dinner. There were still a few drops of chocolate from dessert. My eyes started to brim with tears, but I blinked them away. I risked another glance at his face.

"Please listen to what I'm going to say? I know you're angry. I don't blame you. But let me explain?"

He nodded again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to continue.

"I never meant to hurt you. I swear to you, I didn't. I wasn't laughing at you there. I was laughing... well, you'll understand why. I promise I'll explain it after. But let me start by apologizing for the inappropriate timing of my little outburst."

I studied the knotted ends of the strings holding up the scrub pants from the night before, fidgeting with them while I tried to figure out where to start. I knew I had a limited period to clear up the mess I had gotten myself into, if I hoped to be able to at least minimize the hurt I was going to cause him.

"I truly didn't have any ulterior motive when I climbed into your bed."

Steven looked like he was about to object, but I cut him off. "Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous. Just let me finish.

"Lassie, over there," (the dog perked up his head and looked around upon seeing me gesture in his direction) "quite literally dragged me out of the bed and led me down the hallway. I opened your door, and it was obvious you were dreaming. I tried to shake you, but you rolled away, so I crawled onto the bed to try to wake you up. That's the only reason I was there. When I finally did manage to wake you, you were sweating and trembling. You told me that in the dream someone was hurting you, and that Cathy was there. You were pretty freaked out Steven. It frightened me. I tried to calm you down, and ended up hugging you. I'm not sure exactly how that progressed to... where we were when you first remember it. But believe me, it wasn't my plan."

"And you started laughing because my nightmare was so funny?"

"No! I'll get to that. I promise. Just let me tell this my way, okay?"

Once again, the hesitant head nod. I took another deep breath and started on a different topic.

"You said you knew that I was planning on breaking up with you."

A pained look flashed across Steven's face, momentarily, before it was replaced with a mask of indifference. I took that as a yes.

"You're right. But," and I interrupted Steven again before he could interject, "not for the reasons you expect. At least I don't think so. Actually, here's a question. Why do you think I'd be breaking up with you?"

The pained look returned, again briefly before he mastered it.

"I think I should take you home, Sarah. It's late. Early. Whatever. Why don't I just go warm up the car?"

"Don't be evasive, Steven. Please? We really need to talk about this. Please answer the question?"

"I don't know, Sarah. I really don't. I thought... I thought things were going well. But tonight... I could see it in your face. You looked at me differently. I just knew."

"Guess, Steven. Make it a wild guess, if you have to. Can you think of nothing?"

"Well... I never thought you'd be the superficial type, but I know I'm not the best-looking guy out there..."

"Nice try, Steven." I replied sarcastically. "Try again. You know me better than that, I think." I smiled to soften the blow a little.

Steven had the grace to look sheepish at that.

"I swear, Sarah. I have no idea. I've been wondering that all evening. I was trying to think if we ever fought, or if I was dumb enough to hurt you in some way..."

The hurt look returned, and his voice trailed off.

"Look. Sarah. I'm really not ready to deal with this at five in the morning. I need to have all my wits about me, if I'm going to have to deal with a rejection."

"Okay, Steven. You win. Take me home? I'll need the crutches out of my car..."

I was lying in bed, later that morning, after Steven half-helped, half-carried me up the steps to my apartment. It had been a while since I'd used the crutches, and even though I was able to put some weight on my injured ankle, my balance was decidedly off. We had made plans for him to pick me up in the afternoon so we could talk.

I waited until Steven left and locked the door behind him before breaking down. I was miserable. I undressed, sitting on the side of the bed, and crawled under the blankets. I couldn't stop the tears from falling, and I just laid there and let them trace lines down my cheeks.

Seeing the pain in Steven's eyes, I had finally realized something. I admitted it to myself for the first time, in bed. I loved him. It felt like I had been sucker-punched every time I remembered the look he gave me when I confirmed I was planning on breaking up with him.

'I am so stupid!' I reproached myself. 'How could I have let myself fall for a guy I knew that I couldn't live happily-ever-after with?'

The truth was I couldn't have controlled it if I tried, and I knew it. Steven was perfect. In every way... except one.

The tears continued to fall, and I finally cried myself to sleep. Not surprisingly, it was my turn to have nightmares. I tossed and turned, fretfully, for several hours. The first dreams were of me, old and alone, going to Steven's fiftieth wedding anniversary party and seeing him with his wife, who wasn't anyone I knew. I dreamed of me crying, and telling him I loved him, while he and his wife laughed and held hands.

Those nightmares eventually gave way to images of Steven, horribly battered, dead in my emergency room. In every dream, I knew that it was I who had killed him, even if I'd had no direct connection with the horrors that had been the cause of his traumatic deaths. I would beg his dead body for forgiveness, and never receive it.

I was interrupted from my agitated sleep by the telephone ringing. I awoke with a sob, trying to strangle it in the back of my throat. My face felt tight from the dried tears that had trickled down them before I fell asleep. I considered letting the machine pick up the call, but with the images of Steven's corpse in my head, I knew I had to answer it. I rolled over and picked up the phone without even opening my eyes, a maneuver I'd mastered through my residency training.

"Hello?" My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat irritably.

"Late night, dahling?" Oh God. It was J. The absolute last person I wanted to talk with at that moment - especially sounding like an uptight Brit like Robin Leech.

"What do you want, J?" I made no effort to hide my annoyance with him and his fake British accent.

"Oh, touchy are we? I didn't realize two in the afternoon was too early to call, your highness."

I instantly regretted my bitchiness. It wasn't J I was angry at.

"I'm sorry, hon. I had a long night. I just woke up. Forgive me?"

J laughed.

"Of course, gorgeous! I just wanted to check how your evening went. I'm guessing by your voice it didn't go as planned."

"Oh, you can say that again." I let out a heartfelt groan. I told J the entire story.

'Thank God for gay friends, ' I thought, not for the first time. Who else could I tell details about my sex life and actually expect useful feedback?

"Well you've really made a mess of things, haven't you docteur? He thinks you were planning on screwing him and running, when the truth is so exactly the opposite. It's mind-boggling." The accent had switched from the Queen's English to haughty French. I couldn't keep up. I giggled.

"Thanks for the play-by-play. How about you try to make yourself useful and help me figure out what the hell I'm gonna do now?"

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