(Betrayal Part 15)



Copyright February 2001

I stand in the doorway of my friend's room and watch him pull down his photo collection.

I move to stop him. I have to stop him.


Don't put me away. Don't pack up our memories.

I'm still here.

Here with you . . . not him.

I take the sketching from his hand and slowly return it and all the photographs to their proper places on the wall. I stare at the memories and smile wistfully.

This is where I belong. Where I should have been all along.

This is where my heart wants to be now. Where it wants to live.

Here with my friend, my love.

Here with Tristan.

I move toward him. The hurt, the fear, the uncertainty . . . all are reflected in his brown eyes. I hesitate for a moment and he turns away.

I don't blame him. Those emotions? I'm the one who put them there.

Unintentional, yes. But still . . .

I wrap my arms around his lean waist and offer my apologies. My words whisper across his broad shoulders.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

My hands slip under his shirt, seeking the warmth of his chest. I touch him not because I'm hungry for sex but because I need to feel that reassuring heartbeat. To know that his heart is alive and willing to be embraced my love.

"Do you still want me?"

He hangs his head, his hands clenching at his sides.

He doesn't want me. Doesn't want my touch.

I slide away from his warmth, the awareness of my loss slapping hard across my mind.

I stumble to the door only to be caught by two strong arms. Arms that cling to me. Shelter me. Need me.

I moan, my body screaming for more, for everything.

Hands spin me around and push me against the wall, my mouth devoured by a kiss of fire.

My mind explodes into a millions shards of emotional anticipation.

To be continued . . .

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