Free The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5) by Georgina Guthrie

of you? Perhaps I’m underestimating your feelings. We both skirted the issue last night, and the “definitely-maybes” are fun to bandy around, but for me, there’s no maybe about it, Aubrey. Perhaps I can’t tell you to your face yet, but I can tell you here without fear of scaring you away: I’m falling in love with you. Realizing this fact has me terrified and euphoric in equal parts.
    (Most terrifying are the logistical implications. These are the questions I ask myself: How do I impartially evaluate the essay of the woman I’m falling in love with? How do I call you Miss Price during tutorial, and not sweetheart ? How do I walk away from the classroom without leaning over to kiss your forehead and say, “I love you, poppet—I’ll call you later…”)
    You see my dilemma. As complicated as I’m making my existence, though, I can’t imagine any alternative now. Talking to you on the phone this evening was one of the best hours of my day, although it couldn’t eclipse waking up with you lying beside me (or should I say lying on top of me?!). And how can I forget the events that followed this morning?—seeing your beautiful bare legs and those sexy black panties for the first time (sweet torture), sharing morning coffee with you (pure contentment), standing between your creamy, white thighs while you watched me shave (agonizing delight)…
    I’ve already relived the events of the past twenty-four hours a hundred times—several times during class today. Do you realize how happy it made me to see you walk into the room wearing the LV gloves I bought you? I’m glad you lost that silly striped glove! Of course, then I had to spend an hour watching you biting your lip, remembering the taste of your kisses and the way it feels when you draw my lower lip between your teeth…
    Fuck, the distance between us torments me, but knowing you’ll be staying over again on Friday, having something tangible to look forward to in four days, the forty-five day wait between now and May doesn’t seem so insurmountable.
    As for now, it’s approaching midnight. My eyes are burning and I really should sleep. If sleep won’t come easily, I’ll stare into the darkness and conjure up images of your warm responsive body beneath mine, your eyes softly closed as your lips, sweet and eager, meet mine again and again…
    If thinking about me affords you even one-tenth of the pleasure I experience when I think about you, then you’re a happy girl, indeed.
    Yours,
    (With not a single “maybe” in sight),
    ~Daniel
    xoxoxo…

Wednesday, March 18
    I miss you, Aubrey. God, how I miss you. Missing you makes me do crazy things. You’re probably going to kill me, but I’ve booked us a night at Taboo, a resort up north. It’s in the Muskokas, far away from U of T and the potential scrutiny we have to endure here. I’m excited as hell, and I hope you’ll be excited too. We can leave as soon as tutorial is over on Friday. ( Please be as happy about this as I am…)
    I fear when I tell you, you’ll pull out the voice of reason, and I suppose you have every right to play Devil’s advocate, laying out the dangers of going away together. I promise, it’s not my intention to spirit you away from the city to seduce you (although when I read over what I’ve said and thought for the last few days that seems impossible to believe…). I simply want to relax and have some fun with you—to go skiing, to go for a walk outside, in broad daylight, holding your hand without having to worry about who might be watching. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?
    How strange this is—talking to you as if you’ll be providing an immediate answer and knowing you won’t. Actually, this is the most bizarre situation I’ve ever found myself in. I’m sure I’ve never experienced so many emotional highs and lows in such a short span of time, nor thought so deliberately about my experiences. I often berate myself for this overindulgence in analysis, but then