Trigger warning: Discussion of suicidal ideation

All in all, it was a good night -- the best we'd had in a long time. But I had no idea what I was about to start when I decided to bring up all of the brainstorming I'd been doing on Justin's behalf.

We were lying in bed, my arm around Justin’s shoulders and his fingers intertwined with mine, alternating between talking quietly and just enjoying the closeness of our bodies in the dim light as we both prepared for sleep. It was nice, and it was something I was glad was back, because I’d missed it. A lot. And I was glad that we could do it comfortably now, without either one of us accusing the other of trying to be something we weren’t or doing something for sacrifice instead of love. We'd grown beyond that a long time ago, and I couldn't help but feel like we were growing again, together, as we felt our way through the resolution to the crisis we'd found ourselves in.

“Any plans this weekend?” I asked, more in the interest of continuing idle conversation than anything else. Usually, our plans did involve each other, but not always. We were both independent people with our own separate lives, and neither of us made it a habit to keep tabs on the other if we wanted to go out with a friend or check out something that the other wasn’t interested in.

“Nope,” Justin said softly, nestling deeper into my side and laying his head on my chest. “My schedule is wide open… just like it always is now.”

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, running my fingers through Justin’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

“Always a dangerous sign.” I could hear the smile in Justin’s voice as he echoed the words I’d used on more than one occasion to tease him in the first few years of our relationship -- before I was willing to call it a relationship.

“Maybe. I’ve been trying to think of ways that you could eliminate art, if you wanted to… either just for a while or for good.”

“What?” My fingers slid out of Justin’s hair as he sat up a little and turned his head to face me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “How did you… Did I tell you that?”

“Rob did. You told him and Adam that, when you went to dinner at their place. That you wanted to take a break from art for a while.”

Justin was silent for several seconds before he simply said, “Oh. I guess I forgot.” He paused to rub his eyes, then continued. “I barely even remember that night. I don’t think I meant to say that out loud, but I’m not surprised I did. I was just in a fog the entire time. I knew I felt hopeless, but I guess I didn’t realize how out of it I was.”

That took me back to remembering Justin standing in my office that day, staring out the window, not saying anything, not reacting to anything. Just lost and looking so far away, even though he was standing right there. More signs I should have seen for what they were.

“Did you mean it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, a break might be a good thing. And I don’t think I want to go back to working on what I was working on. I’d been thinking about taking a break for a while. But I can’t believe I said it out loud.”

“Rob was surprised too. He told me Adam asked you what you wanted to do instead, and you said, ‘Nothing.’”

“Yeah.” Justin’s voice was soft, and he seemed to be looking past me, rather than at me. “That was a really hard day.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” As much as I wanted to understand more about what Justin had been thinking that night and the next morning, I also wanted to give him an out, in case he still wasn’t ready. By then, I’d made peace with the fact that he might never feel ready.

“No, I want to.” Justin settled back onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. I could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest against mine as he breathed. My fingers found their way back into his hair, tracing a lazy pattern and hoping it had the same soothing effect on him that it was on me, with the simple act of touch. “We should talk about this. I’ve wanted to for a while… I just wasn’t sure where to start. And then I’d get scared, and I’d talk myself out of it again.”

“You don't have to be scared. I’m right here, and I’ll always be here. I told you that, and I meant it. But if you’re not ready--”

“I am.” Justin cut me off, his voice suddenly much stronger. “I’m ready. I need to tell you this.” He stopped and took a deep breath before he continued. “When I said that to Rob and Adam, it wasn’t just about art. It was about everything. I just felt so... uninspired and empty. And everything I tried to create turned out empty too. Like I was just faking it.”

I knew exactly how that felt, because it was how I’d felt in the months after my accident. I’d thrown myself back into work because it gave me a distraction, but it was all a facade. I’d go home, exhausted and hurting and feeling like some person I didn’t know, and I’d ask myself how I was going to keep it up for the rest of my life. How I was going to pick up and go on the way everyone seemed to expect me to. Michael had told me that no one expected that, but it was hard for me to believe him. And it was a shitty, shitty way to feel. I hated that Justin had felt that way, and I hoped I hadn’t done anything to make him feel that way, but I had a feeling that my last visit to his studio a few months back probably hadn’t been helpful. I was afraid to ask, although I guessed it really didn’t matter. What was done was done. It was water under the bridge.

“So I quit the show,” Justin said, still staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, continuing on before I could say anything. “I was so tired of being frustrated. I was so damn tired. So I called them and I told them I couldn’t do it, and then I felt like a failure. Like I’d let everybody down. And I sat in my studio, and I cried. Wondering how I was going to tell you that I was a big, fat failure.”

“You’re not a failure. Look at all you've done. All you've overcome. You are the farthest thing from a failure.”

“I know. John and I have talked about that. But I felt like one then. My brain kept telling me how disappointed you were going to be in me. I’d been feeling so awful for such a long time. I knew something wasn’t right, but I thought I could get through it on my own. Then, when I figured out I was wrong, I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you wouldn’t want to deal with me. Afraid you’d leave me. Then I was just focused on keeping it to myself. Not letting it show, so you wouldn’t know.”

I wanted to jump in and tell Justin exactly how ridiculous that was, to think that I would leave him over any of that, but I didn’t want to belittle his feelings, so I stayed quiet. Just letting him talk. But that certainly explained the distance he'd kept from me for so long. And now the days when he'd clung to me after his breakdown made a lot more sense too. He’d needed reassurance -- to know I was still there with him.

“I know that’s the kind of lie my anxiety tells me sometimes, but I wasn’t in a place where I could see that. I was believing all of it… all of the lies. I felt like I should have been able to pull myself back up, and when I couldn’t, it felt like a personal failure. Like something was wrong with me, and that was why I couldn’t get myself out of the hole. Then it just kept getting worse, until I felt like there was no way I could tell anyone I’d let it get that bad. I felt so empty about everything.”

I held Justin's body tightly against mine in the quiet that followed, wishing there was something I could do to turn back time and do everything differently, so he wouldn't have to feel that way. Thinking about the moments when I'd held him as he cried in the bathroom -- when I'd realized exactly how close I came to losing him. Remembering how empty it made me feel to think about going on without him.

“That’s how I feel about a life without you in it."

As soon as the words left my lips, I wondered if I should have said them at all. If I was making it about me again, or if I was laying something on Justin that might be too heavy for him to handle. Especially since I heard my voice break when I said it. But something pushed me to keep going. Maybe I just needed to be honest with him too, while he was being honest with me.

“I was so scared that day," I said, my voice thick with all of the emotions that I was trying to hold back. "Afraid I was going to lose you. I didn’t know what I’d do if I did.”

Justin closed his eyes for a moment, and when he blinked them open, there was a brightness there that I could see even in the dim light of my bedside lamp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” I wrapped my fingers around his and squeezed them. “I feel like I’m the one who should be sorry. For not seeing it. For not helping you sooner.”

“I should have been honest with you sooner. I should have told you how I was feeling, so you could have helped me. But I told myself I didn’t want to bother you with it. You had enough going on already.”

“You’re never a bother,” I said. There were plenty of jokes I could have made about the tiny little annoyances that come up when you live with someone, but now wasn’t the time or the place, so I pushed those thoughts back. They were the deflections I would have ordinarily used to avoid an honest conversation. To avoid feeling vulnerable. I wasn’t doing that anymore. “I want you to always feel like you can tell me anything. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“I know. I know that now. But I was confused. My thoughts were so jumbled up… I couldn’t make sense of anything. It was all so foggy. I didn’t really want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. But it all ended up wrapped up together… jumbled up again. My head hurt so, so bad. My meds weren’t working anymore, so I started wondering what might happen if I took more, and maybe some of yours too… then the next thing I knew, I had a handful of pills and six open bottles on the counter. I turned my phone off, I guess so no one could try to talk me out of it. But then I couldn’t do it. I guess I realized it wasn’t what I wanted. Then I just broke down. That’s all I really remember. The rest is just a blur.”

I let the silence settle between us for a few moments, thinking about everything Justin had just told me. Feeling the full range of emotions that hearing the whole story -- his story -- stirred in me. Sadness that he felt that way, and that he’d felt like he couldn’t talk to me about it. Regret for anything I might have done that reinforced that notion. And gratitude that he’d stopped when he did. For the second chance we’d both been given.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” I said, hearing myself actually say those words for the first time. I’d thought them so many times in recent weeks, but I hadn’t said them out loud until that moment. Once I'd done that, and the full weight of what they meant sank in, all of the emotions I was feeling came bubbling up, leaving me fighting against their rising tide. I closed my eyes, trying to will away the tears I could feel gathering at the corners of my eyes.

I felt Justin's thumb lightly brush my cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen in spite of my best efforts to hold myself together. Then, his lips brushed the same spot in a soft kiss that was followed by another, and another, as he made his way to my mouth. When he got there, he pressed his lips to mine, a little hesitant at first, but quickly finding his way. His tongue pushed into my mouth ever-so-slightly -- just enough to be a tease -- before he pulled back, allowing our lips to separate just long enough for him to whisper, "Me too."

The second time he kissed me, there was no hesitation -- just his lips hard against mine, as if he wanted to prove to me just how “here” he actually was. We hadn’t been intimate in so long, and I wanted more, but I knew I had to let Justin lead. I was just along for the ride. Soon, the kissing escalated into Justin’s hands wandering across my torso, pushing up my t-shirt, and mine doing the same to his, until our clothes were coming off. When Justin started tugging at my pajama pants, eventually pulling them off, then did the same for himself, I wasn’t sure where exactly we were headed, but I was okay with anything.

Once we were both naked, I felt Justin’s fingernails scrape across my hips -- an intentional way for him to light up my nervous system like a Christmas tree, and that was exactly the effect it had. Then, he kissed a path up my torso until his mouth found my left nipple, then the right, eventually working his way back up to my mouth, where our hot-and-heavy makeout session resumed, with the added element of our hands grabbing at each other, arousing various parts of one another’s body. I felt Justin’s fingers on my hips again, this time a light, gentle touch, then they seemed to disappear, as would sometimes happen when his fingers found their way south of my transitional zone. I assumed he wanted to ride me, and he was preparing me for that, but then I felt an odd sensation of pressure that I recognized as the muted, not-at-all-what-it-was-before feeling of what I thought was something inside me. When I blinked my eyes open and looked down, I saw Justin looking up at me, a questioning expression in his eyes as he worked his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm.

I wanted more -- god did I want more -- and a part of me felt selfish for wanting it so badly when I was the one who should have been taking care of Justin, not the other way around. But my baser instincts soon took over, as the pressure increased when a second finger joined the first. Then, something hit my prostate, and a wave of pleasure pulsed through my entire body, causing me to let out a moan that I couldn’t have held back even if I wanted to. Justin kept going, until I was panting and arching my back involuntarily, then he stopped.

When I opened my eyes again and looked down, I saw the same questioning, unsure look on Justin’s face and in his eyes. He bit his lip, then opened his mouth to speak.

“Can I…?”

He let his voice trail off, leaving the question unfinished, though we both knew what the conclusion was. And before any rational part of my brain could form a thought, my mouth, driven by sheer desire and want, was saying, “Yes. God, yes.”

Justin’s entire countenance changed when I said those words. I could see the desire in his eyes, matching mine, and I wondered what it was that had him wanting to do this -- to give me this gift, on this particular night. Our first time in such a long time. Sex was always something we’d both needed and wanted, but for some reason this time it had gotten lost, and an important part of our connection had gotten lost with it.

As Justin pushed into me, I realized what I was actually feeling, not just on a physical level, but an emotional one. It was the two of us reuniting as one. As partners. There didn’t need to be blame, or fear of being selfish -- there was give and take, exactly as there should be. We each needed the other, in so many different ways, for so many different reasons. Sex was just one of those needs, but that night, it felt symbolic. Like we were letting go of everything that had been weighing us down -- all of the doubt and the fear -- and moving on together, as a united front.

I looked up at Justin, his eyes closed as his body moved against mine, his fingers wrapped around my ankles, holding my legs on his shoulders, and for a split second, I wished that I could still feel things the way they used to be -- the full sensation of Justin’s length inside me, sliding in and out, increasing the pleasure every time he brushed against my prostate. It wasn’t something we’d done very often, but with Justin, I actually didn’t mind it. Truthfully, I enjoyed it, though I never would have admitted that back then. But those sensations were gone -- something I would never have again. And I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in regret over what was missing, or in comparison to the past. I had to stay in the here and now, paying attention to what I could feel. Savoring each sensation, and using my mind to amplify them. Reconnecting with my husband.

I felt the change in pressure as Justin’s body moved in and out of mine -- it was subtle, but it was there. And I felt the increasing sensations of pleasure coursing through my body, being reflected in Justin’s facial expression as he journeyed toward his own climax. When he arrived, his whole body seemed to spasm, muscles clenching and pulsing as he made one final, hard thrust into me, pushing me over my own edge into oblivion, where everything around me faded into white noise for a brief moment before leaving me floating on a cloud of bliss -- this time not drug induced, but a feeling of sheer contentment. A feeling I was never going to take for granted again.