HAWKE

1. Everything's Fine

Two minutes and thirty-five seconds.

I watched the clock this time. Counted it out in my head. I promised myself I wouldn't, that I wasn't the type to care about such trivial things... but is unsatisfying sex really that trivial when you're considering spending your life with the person delivering?

He loves me.

Patrick made it a point to tell me consistently. He was the first to say it. When I was enjoying the beginning stages of our relationship, he told me he was falling for me already. It flattered me; I felt honored to be loved by someone of his caliber. He was kind and handsome in a subtle sort of way, more of a short and stocky guy. His mom always said he was a meat-and-potatoes kind of boy, whatever that meant. But it was his kind, brown eyes and that loving smile that drew me in.

He was also very successful for our age, having worked within his father's company. He had the drive to succeed and make something of himself, and I always admired that. That he saw me, the five-foot-nothing, dirty-blond-haired, come-from-nothing, book nerd I was, meant the world.

I had my issues growing up. I was never in the popular cliques. Reading and writing were my strengths and school was easy for me. Socializing was a whole other story. I was the girl that liked to stay home on the weekend, curled up with food and a book or new Netflix series, so when Patrick came along, I fell right into that romance novel. One that seemed too good to be true.

Where Patrick lacked in sex, he made up for it in effort. He cared deeply for me, and made it a point to succeed in life for us and our future, despite his failed attempts at intimacy. But sex was just fluff when considering the overall aspect of a relationship, right? Besides, what did I really know about sex at all? I was no expert.

"Oh, my God..." He groans before lightly chuckling, as I smile kindly up to his missionary-positioned face.

He breathed heavily on top of me until his heart rate decreased.

"Nic. That felt so good," he says before kissing the tip of my nose sweetly.

Nic.

My lil' nickname he uses, besides Angel, that always gives me little butterflies in the pit of my stomach when I hear it pass his lips. Butterflies that make me feel special. I love that he calls me Nic and not just Nicole, like my sister always does.

She always uses my entire name to get under my skin, knowing how much I hate it. Nicole has a whole new meaning after my dad started dating again. Apparently, mistresses ruin names along with marriages. Patrick made it a point to call me Nic instead, and luckily, it caught on.

He kisses my forehead, making me feel special, before pulling out of me and heading towards our bathroom, disposing of the used condom into the trash and jumping into the shower.

I shouldn't feel weird about this. He always showers after we have sex. Doesn't everyone? I try not to overthink it, yet something about it always makes me feel dirty. It's not like I have much to compare things to, though. Patrick is my first, my only.

Rolling to my side under the sheets, I hear the water start and wonder about orgasms. I've read about them, and heard about them from my oversharing sister, but never have I actually experienced one that I know of. As it stands, the need to orgasm is just another obstacle in my relationship I'm forced to brush aside. I suppose it's better than the problems my sister faces.

Johanna deals with finding her boyfriend's dick in other women, or dating women who are already married to men and who have yet to come out of the closet. The problems she deals with always seem worse and entirely more dramatic than mine. I shouldn't complain. At least Patrick loves me and truly cares about a future with me. We can work out all the rest in time.