» The fifth letter

                                    

                                          
• if you are not Evie, don't read this letter.
                          
Separate page, continued...
                          
Dear Evie,
                          
I can't stop thinking about a lot of the firsts we shared. Our first kiss. The first time I held your hand. The moment I realized I was madly and hopelessly in love with you.
                          
The first time we had made love.
                          
Goodness, Evie. I know that's the least of reasons why I should miss you, the sex. Oh John, you are so shallow. Oh, men, men and their addiction to sex. But you don't understand. There's a difference between sleeping with a stranger, (with someone you don't care about) than with someone you love. Sex with love, Evie. That's what I miss.
                          
Bloody George is looking at me while write this letter. I must look guilty.
                          
x
                          
The first time I held your hand was during our first date. It was dark and you were cold and we hurried off to the car. Your hand was warm and soft against mine. And big. I'm not joking, you've got big hands. They are good big surgeon's hands. Or alternatively, you could be good at playing guitar. Or, you know, good for touching me everywhere.
                          
The first time we kissed was on our second date. You were hesitant but I held your hand, something we had done before and you melted into my arms. You tasted like chocolate but that's only because you'd had cake earlier.
                          
The first time we really kissed wasn't until a few dates after but you were going back home. We didn't know what was going to happen. You kissed me so deeply, your hands got lost in my hair and my...I realize I might have a thing with hands. I'm the hands man.
                          
I called you when you landed back in America. I don't know how we dit it, Evie. The long distance. I was longing and longing for you, staring at a picture of you. I kept imagining when we'd see each other again. I lived in my mind those days.
                          
x
                          
The first time we had sex wasn't until a few months later. Six, in fact. (I counted.) I circled the day I would see you again in my calendar.
                          
When I saw you again, I couldn't believe my luck. For someone reason I had convinced myself you weren't real, that the letters and calls had all been a product of my mad and tired mind. But you were real.
                          
And mine. You were mine.
                          
We waited until your roommate left for some party before going inside your bedroom. You were patting the bed but I was looking around. This was the first time I had seen your bedroom. This was where you slept, where your mind made dreams and you cried when you were sad. This was where you called me from and the table at the corner of the room, that's where you sat and wrote me letters.
                          
You were organized. (Mostly.) (I would come to know your true messy self a few months later.)
                          
You patted the bed. "John."
                          
"One sec, luv," I said. "You have a pretty room."
                          
"Uh, huh," you said. You were distracted. And you were beginning to grow irritated because instead of looking at you, I was looking at things in your room. "Are you nervous? Have you got a problem?" Your eyes trailed down to my pants.
                          
"No problem," I said.
                          
"I'm the virgin," you said. "I should be the nervous one."
                          
"How do you know so much, then? About 'problems'?" I asked.
                          
"I'm a med student."
                          
I turned around to face you. "You're not."
                          
You frowned but there was a smile tugging at your lips. "I will be soon enough. It doesn't mean I don't have a vast knowledge about biology and chemistry and how the male body works."
                          
I couldn't help it. I had to kiss you. You were just so adorable, Evie. Talking about things you didn't know yet but would soon enough. I kissed you and I didn't stop.
                          
x
                          
You got up as soon as it was over. You picked up my trousers from the end of the bed and lit up a cigarette. Goodness, Evie, you were just too much. You didn't even smoke! And you didn't even put clothes on! There you were, naked, smoking your first cigarette. It made me you love more than I did.
                          
"Cat got your tongue?" You asked.
                          
"I'm admiring the view, luv. It's rather nice," I said. You turned towards me and gave me a smile. "What did you think?"
                          
"You're honestly asking me to give you a rating? I haven't exactly got anything else to compare it with."
                          
"Exactly." I wiggled my eyebrows.
                          
"And still..." you exhaled. "Eh."
                          
"Eh?" I laughed. I threw a pillow at you but you ducked. "You hate my music and the sex? Goodness, how can I ever satisfy you?"
                          
"Eh," you shrugged a single shoulder.
                          
Satisfied with your cigarette, you returned back to bed. Your hand pushed pieces of my hair back. You did that for a good minute. And then, you leaned in and kissed my lips, my forehead, my cheeks.
                          
It didn't matter, Evie. It didn't matter you critiqued my song-writing. It didn't matter we both didn't know what the bloody hell we were doing. Because we were happy.
                          
I stopped our kissing and grabbed your head in my hands. I locked eyes with you. "I love you, Evie."
                          
"I love you too."
                          
x
                          
The last time we had sex before the breakup wasn't anything like that. It was quick. And I was gone a moment later because I need to be somewhere. Where exactly, I don't remember. You begged me to stay.
                          
"I have to go."
                          
"Do you really have to?" You asked.
                          
I didn't want to fight with you. "Why don't you come?"
                          
"I'd rather not get high and drunk." You shut off the lights and went back to sleep.
                          
"Suit yourself."
                          
x
                          
The last time post breakup, was a lot like the first. Feverish. Confusing. I didn't know what I was doing. Left? Right? Down? Up?
                          
By morning, you were gone. And that night prompted these letters, Evie. I missed you before but I did a good job at hiding it. At least, I thought so. I don't think I buried it deep enough.
                          
Because the instant I saw you that May night, I lost it. I was yours without you having to say it.
                          
So yes, I miss the sex. How could I not? I miss your lips. I miss your hands all over me. I miss your breakfast the next morning.
                          
I miss you, Evie.
                          
Yours,
John