Confessions of a libra

Feminine Ache | Credit: Here

03.07.25

He knows I’m always the brave one, and this time – he reminds me I don’t always have to be the strong one. I’m wound so tight I’m sure my knots have knots. I’ve been in a mood, refusing his calls, not meeting his eyes and feeling rising tension build in my chest. I want to ask for more but I don’t know how. I find myself pacing, ready to initiate then panicking when sends me a text, asking if something is wrong. Sometimes it feels like something is gripping my neck, making it impossible to gush the way I want to. I worry that I’m broken. That love and pain have coagulated within me, leaving me hardened.

Always oscillating between want and should. I want to tear the walls down but fear I’m not equipped myself. I’m sitting on the ground, using the wall to stabilise me. My breaths are deep and my head is fuzzy. My phone buzzes in my hand and I throw it across the floor. I hear it slide away from me. The vibrations soon fade and then there’s quick rap at the door. I almost don’t answer but something in my gut urges me to go. I take my time walking to the door, steeling my heart. The door opens and I find him standing there with effusive eyes and a heart too big to contain.

“Why are you doing this to me?” He started in a low and dangerous tone.

Typical of him to make it about him! He walks in containing a storm beneath the surface. I catch a whiff of his oaky, citrus scent and ignore the way my body responds to it. I throw my hands up in exasperation.

“Come in, then.” I say sarcastically.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone? I thought this is what we were not going to do. Am I missing something?” His tone grips my heart, it’s unbearable.

“I’m too much right now, I can’t do this.” My tone cracks despite myself. My hands shake and tears sting in my eyes.

I still won’t look him in the eye. There’s a touch of shame because yes, I wasn’t going to be like this. I was going to be a better communicator but I got overwhelmed. I don’t know how to say that without sounding pathetic. His eyes spear into me making my spine tingle in awareness. I don’t need to meet his eyes to feel his intensity, it radiates from his every pore. He takes exactly two strides until his feet kiss mine. His fingers angle my chin upwards. I look in his eyes then look away. I know he’ll make me break. I take another peek.

“Do you want to be punished? Is this some sort of long ploy to get my attention?” He growls, causing a jolt of electricity in the pit of me.

I don’t know how he does that. How he pulls me from my frantic moods and grounds me in the sensual. In the now.

“You just don’t get it,” I say in a snippy tone.

His hand grabs my hip hard, I lean further into the wall behind me.

“I want to get it but you’re making it incredibly difficult, Sugarplum.” He paused and breathed through his nose, “Is it because I’ve been busy recently. Is that why you’re being like this?”

My mind distractedly feels my nipples grazing his chest, despite the layers between them and I know I’m gone. Completely and irrevocably spun in his web. The way I creamed at that nickname I tried so hard to fight in the beginning. Now it washes over me in impassioned blessing.

“You didn’t seem to care about me when you were off galivanting across state lines – “

” – for work babe. So I could meet those goals we were literally staying all night to talk about. Why are you acting like you weren’t there for that?”

My chest heaves and my eyes blaze his way. He touched the wound. I didn’t want to say anything. I wasn’t going to speak, truly. I wanted to throw a strop by myself in my own space.

“And you couldn’t have called me more? Texted? Told me you loved me?” My voice was petulant and my pout unashamed.

He smoothly grabbed my face and slowly squeezed my cheeks, “If you’re feeling needy, why don’t you use your big girl words, and just say that.”

Heat washed over me and my indignation softened at the edges. My eyebrows knitted together and I suddenly focused on the ocean looking back at me from his eyes. His forehead met mine, hand still secured at my hip and out breath comingling.

“I don’t like feeling needy,” I confess in a tiny whisper. A pregnant moment passes.

“I want your every mood. Don’t shut me out.”

The air changes, the intimacy growing roots. I’ve never wanted my needs to be misunderstood. I’ve craved the kind of understanding that leaves you in naked comfort. His words are a balm to my injured heart and a blanket for my soul. I know now, its him who I follow to the ends of the earth. Through fire and brimstone. Forevermore.