Free Unsuitable by Doreen Owens Malek

enfolded her bodily, his breathing harsh and ragged. Then he ran his hands up her thighs, pushing aside the folds of her gown impatiently.
    “Help me,” he commanded, turning to lift the hem and pull it free. His fingers skimmed up to the neckline and then his face changed. Even in the insubstantial reddish light she could see that his expression went from sexual urgency to complete revulsion in an instant.
    “Why are you wearing this?” he demanded sharply.
    Carrie stared up at him dazedly, unable to reply.
    “Why are you wearing her gown?” he rasped.
    Carrie looked down at the nightdress, the lace yoke of which he held crushed in his hand.
    “You gave it to me,” she whispered.
    “Are you trying to torment me?” he said, agonized. He released her with such force that she fell back on the bed, stunned.
    “You gave it to me!” Carrie repeated, louder, beginning to gather her wits. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from him as he passed a hand over his forehead. Then he slumped forward, his shoulders sagging. He was trembling visibly, a result of their interrupted lovemaking and a welter of emotions Carrie could only surmise.
    “Don’t be afraid,” he said shakily. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    Carrie said nothing, touched. Even in extremis his first instinct was to reassure her.
    Jason got up slowly, throwing back the sheet, and stood barefoot next to the bed. A silent streak of lightning illuminated the room briefly.
    “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice approaching its normal timbre. “Please forgive me. Of course I gave you the gown.”
    “I don’t understand,” Carrie said tentatively.
    He held up his hand, forestalling any questions. “I know you don’t. But I can’t explain now. Just believe that it has nothing to do with you. The problem is with me, only with me.” He rubbed his forearm across his mouth, where her taste still lingered.
    “Can’t I help you?” Carrie asked, desperate to do something for him.
    “You have helped me,” he said gently and she took a step toward him. He moved back. She stopped. Silence filled the room, broken only by the murmur of the departing storm.
    “You’d better go,” he finally said, his voice heavy with resignation.
    “Are you all right?” Carrie asked worriedly, unsure if she should leave him.
    “I’ll be fine. What about you?”
    She nodded and then realized that he might not be able to see her. “I’m okay,” she said softly.
    “Are you sure?” he persisted. “I’m aware that I’ve given you...quite a time.” He turned toward the window, and his profile was outlined against the light from the lamp. His eyes were closed.
    “Yes, I’m sure.”
    “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
    “That isn’t necessary,” she said quickly. His discomfort was painful to witness and she wanted to end it. “I can find my way back. Good night.”
    “Good night.”
    Carrie glanced back at him once as she went through the door. He was bent from the waist, his hands on his knees, like a runner in oxygen debt. He looked drained of every vestige of strength and she almost turned around and went back to him. But she restrained herself, shut the door and leaned against the corridor wall outside the master bedroom. She felt pretty weak as well and put her head back, pushing her hair away from her flushed face with unsteady hands.
    She was in love with a man whose problems she couldn’t even begin to understand. What could she do? After tonight she would never be able to put him out of her mind. Just the memory of that brief time in his arms would be enough to keep her hoping for more.
    Carrie straightened and headed for the guest room. Sleep first, and then she would think about all of it in the morning.
    * * * *
    Morning came too soon. Carrie was up with the dawn and showered in the guest room’s adjacent bathroom. She donned her clothes from the previous day with distaste, feeling like a Girl Scout who had run out of laundry at