The Spencer Letters

Letter 15.

Dear Spencer,

I apologize for giving you pieces of this story one letter at a time. Reliving that night by writing to you about it is the only form of therapy I have, because no one else can know but you. I don't want to leave any feelings undealt with, or I will explode. So, I've been taking breaks in-between each letter to cry, to be mad, to calm myself down and start all over again.

This weekend started off as the best one of my life, and ended up being the worst.

Saturday was only yesterday, but somehow feels like it's been hurting for a hundred days.

After the deed was done, Harry and I fell asleep in each other's arms. The mix of strong emotions and a whole bottle of tequila, made for a powerful sedative. I woke up the next morning with a killer headache but the biggest smile on my face. I had always wanted his face to be the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.

I didn't move. I laid there next to him, watching him sleep, admiring his nakedness, relishing in the fact that the night before had been real. The man of my dreams was in my bed, life couldn't get any better than that.

Until he opened his eyes.

"Stephanie!" he said in the highest low voice possible.

His brain woke up faster than I could react to him being awake. Without even turning to look at me, he jumped off the bed and started putting his clothes on.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he kept repeating under his breath.

He was fully dressed in less than ten seconds, and when he checked his pant pockets to make sure his wallet and car keys were still there, that's when he finally looked my way and realized I wasn't asleep.

"LJ!" Harry finally spoke in his regular tone of voice. "LJ, I..." he had no idea what to say.

...But whatever he wanted to say, it sure wasn't any of the things I was expecting him to say, or hoped he would say. I could see it in his face. The regret. It was there, clear as day. It hadn't come instantly the night before, but it did come eventually.

Sleeping with me had been a mistake.

"You don't have to say anything, Harry. Just go..." I tried to free him from the idea that he had to say or do something to make me feel better about where we stood after what had happened.

I knew. Nothing had changed.

"But I... last night, I... I shouldn't have...we..." No matter how he started the phrase, he could never complete it.

I guess telling someone that sleeping with them meant nothing to you isn't an easy thing to do.

"Get out, please! Just leave!" I begged him.

I needed him out of the room before I broke down crying. I didn't want to cry in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Laurel" he whispered as he walked out.

The first thing he said was her name. I was just waking up from the best night of my life and he woke up with her name on his lips. Was he thinking of her when he touched me? While he was kissing all of me? Were his moans for her? Was his sweat not mine to taste? Is he really not mine at all?

Nothing and no one has ever hurt me the way he did yesterday, Spence. I had never felt pain like that before.

As I relive every moment of that night in my head, the memory of his hands on my body burn my skin like acid, the ghost of his lips on my lips leaves my mouth dry, and the love I felt while he made me his shatters into a billion tiny pieces that I probably won't ever be able to glue back together.