We need to talk

Thomas and I are lying in our marital bed, two inches apart—a distance that feels like an abyss. I can't sleep. A whirlwind is raging in my head, sweeping away any clear thinking.

“Thomas,” I whisper into the darkness, “are you asleep yet?”

An indistinct “N-nh.” Not a proper no, not a clear yes. Just a sound.

“We need to talk.”

The mattress shifts. He turns onto his back. I wait. Wait for a word, any word, a sound, a sign. But the silence stretches until it weighs heavily on my chest. I **** myself to breathe, to speak.

"What... happened earlier. In the living room.“ My voice is thin and fragile, like broken glass. ”I... I didn't mean to. But..."

But. That one fateful word. It sticks to my lips as if it itself is afraid of what might follow. How can I explain something I don't understand myself? I only know one thing: if we don't talk, the silence will consume us.

If he hadn't known about Dirk and me, maybe I could have lived with that. But now I'm plagued by uncertainty about what he thinks of me. About us.

My fingers twitch. I long to touch him, to find some kind of support in physical contact. But I don't do it. I have no right to closeness. To intimacy. Not today.

I stare into the darkness as if I could make out his face in it. If I didn't know better, I would think I was lying here alone. Only his breathing tells me that he is awake. Fast. Shallow.

His blanket rustles. A hasty, nervous sound.

What's he doing?

His breathing quickens. He's not just awake, he's agitated.

The blanket rustles again, this time louder, longer, more evenly, as if he's doing something under it...

My heart is pounding wildly as I realize what's happening.

“Thomas?”

He doesn't say anything. But he's not silent. His breathing becomes louder, more urgent. Then, hoarse and barely audible: “Jessica, I can't stop thinking about it.”

Think about what? I know the answer, but I don't want to admit it to myself. I let him continue talking, hoping that I'm wrong.

“When I watched you... on the carpet.” He pauses briefly, as if gathering his courage. "It hit me like thunder. I wanted it. To see you. Lying beneath him. How he takes you.

I could see in your face what you were feeling.“

Again, that soft, rhythmic rustling of the blanket.

I feel heat gathering in my stomach—not because I'm proud of what happened, but because his words strike a chord in me that surprises even me.

He inhales sharply. ”I couldn't look away. You. Like that. On your knees in front of me.“

My hands clench the blanket as if I need to hold on to it. ”Thomas...“

”Don't talk.“ His voice almost breaks. ”Just... listen."

I do what he says. Fall silent. Listen. To his breathing. The rustling under the blanket. The tremor in his voice that reveals so much.

“I've never seen you like this before,” he whispers, “now I can't get it out of my head.”

A soft moan escapes him — suppressed, ashamed, but also full of passion.

I hold my breath. This is so wrong! Confusing. Disturbing. And yet I feel his arousal jumping over to me. My heart is pounding. Every muscle is tense. I don't know whether to run away or stop him.

His panting fills the room, hot, fast, restless. The darkness suddenly feels tighter, as if the world around us is shrinking. I swallow. My mouth is dry.

“Jessica,” he gasps. “Jessica. Jessica! JESSICA!”

The last word is a scream that rings in my ears.

Then he collapses. Silence.

It's absurd. An hour ago, I thought he hated me for what I had done. And now... my head is in chaos. Guilt and fear mix with anger—and excitement. I clench my fists. I'm so confused that I don't know what to do.

His body tenses once more, a shaky breath escapes him, exhausted as if after a long sprint. Then he turns to the side, away from me, slowly calming down again. His chest rises and falls evenly. The storm subsides.

I stay behind. Awake.