The Truth of the Lie

I lay in crook of his arm, inhaling deeply of his masculine scent. This was my favorite time, afterglow, that brief period between orgasm and reality. Everything is believable in that minute expanse of time. Every lie masks itself as the truth and the truth hides amongst words whispered in the heat of passion.

I reveled in his scent, the smooth warmth of his skin, the softness of his hair, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath. At one time, not so long ago, we had been the best of friends and the greatest of loves. We toyed with a future that might have been. Time and circumstance had turned all the possibilities into the impossible. This was the first time I had seen him in months. The arms I longed to embrace me were open, warm, and inviting. I had eagerly accepted that invitation.

My body still trembled from the force of that passion. I knew this moment of peace was dwindling to a close, but I wasn’t ready for it to end. Playfully, I stroked him, hoping in vein for few more minutes of love, but he was utterly spent. Gently, he brushed my eager hand away. I knew that the evening was almost over. I felt like Cinderella at the ball, midnight was approaching. I had danced the last dance of the evening with my prince and I would soon be forced into the slavery of my reality.

I longed for a reprieve from that reality. I needed to turn the lie into truth, if only temporarily. I took a deep breath and gathered my courage. Into the dark I whispered my desire. “Can I spend the night?” I asked. My words floated in the blackness of the bedroom, hanging in the air. I felt his muscles tense under my fingertips. He slid his arm out from underneath my head and sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned to me.

He took a deep breath and began to speak. Nothing could have prepared me for the ugliness of the reality in his reply. “I don’t really feel comfortable with that,” he answered as he looked intently at the wall. I could feel the warmth as it spread through my cheeks. His words felt as if they had taken form, lashing out and striking me, creating a hot sting. I sat up on the bed and pulled the sheets up around me, covering my vulnerability. I stared at his back waiting for him to bring the fullness of the truth to light. “I don’t want to lead you on,” he said to the wall, “I don’t want you to think that we are a couple.”

The truth was, that I knew we were not a couple. The truth was, that what we shared was the past. Oh, but how I wanted to live the lie, if only for a night. I struggled to fight back my sobs as I searched for the right words to say. Finally, I mustered up what little dignity I had left and asked, “How can you say that you don’t feel comfortable letting me spend the night, but yet you felt comfortable enough to have sex with me?” He turned his head, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

His answer was the final insult to my integrity. His answer was the very essence of a lie. A lie he expected me to believe as truth. “I have to get up early in the morning and I don’t want to have you miss out on any sleep because of me.” His answer was almost laughable; tonight sleep would provide little refuge for me. Embarrassed, humiliated, and ashamed, I scrambled about in the dark, locating my clothes.

I tried to be graceful about my defeat and I spoke to him as I slid on my t-shirt. “Oh, that’s ok, I fully understand.” Nonchalantly, I pulled on my shorts, continuing the conversation, “ I would probably keep you awake anyway.” He rose from the bed, searching for his clothes. He inched closer and closer to me. With every step he took, my rage and hurt began to build. I quickly retreated to his tiny bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I stared at myself in the mirror. “You stupid slut,” I muttered to myself, “You got what you deserved.” The tears began to fall. I flushed the toilet to cover the noise of my sobs. Splashing cold water on my face, I tried to regain composure and formulate the lie. The lie that he had not hurt my feelings, the lie that he could not hurt my feelings, and the biggest lie of them all, that I did not love him and what had occurred was merely sex, nothing more.

I rounded up my purse and car keys, preparing to leave. There was polite conversation between us as he walked me to the door. There was a hug and a peck as he ushered me to my car. I watched him through my rear view mirror as he mounted the steps of his porch and retreated to the safety of his dwelling. In the quiet of the night, I heard the lock in its tumbler as he shut out the dark. I eased the car into drive pulling onto the street. “Bastard,” I muttered as his house shrank in the distance.

Once safely home, I resisted the urge to call him. I got ready for bed and turned on the TV for a little friendly chatter. I was alone, rage and hurt my only companions. I contemplated the truth and the lies. I contemplated what might have been and what was. The beautiful lies I had once believed were now naked and exposed for the truth that they were. There, alone in the dark, I made peace with him and with myself. I had dreamed the dreams fueled by lies and self-deceit. I couldn’t assign him all of the blame. I had to accept my contribution. The lies were only truths because I had believed them.

For the first time in months, I slept. For the first time since I met him, I dreamed beautiful dreams, not of lies, but of the truth, the truth that set me free.