Roman went to his desk, grabbed a mask and went to the elevator.
“Roman?” Victor called after him.
He barely looked over his shoulder. “I’m going out. Don’t follow me.” He snapped.
He had a mix of emotions. He honestly didn’t know what he was feeling. Long ago, he would have snapped. He would have screamed, ranted and thrown her out. Sure it was the truth what she said but he did not like to be demeaned.
But he fucking loved you. He wanted you to be his wife, maybe even the mother of his fucking children one day. But you very easily could throw in his face what he is. You were supposed to be different. You were not some bimbo who danced for him or waited on tables.
Before the doors opened and chimed his arrival to the garage, he slipped his mask on. Walking out, he eyed his cars. He grabbed the keys for the Mustang. Then he revved the engine and tore out of there.
He silenced the radio; the angry beat of his blood rushing in his ears was enough. He didn’t need any fucking music right now.
*******
After letting yourself cry, you got up and palmed away the tears. You couldn’t let this sit. You grabbed a tissue from your desk. You dabbed your eyes and blew your nose. He’d have to listen to you.
Oh god, you were ill in your stomach.
Tearing open your door, you made your way to his office. It was eerily quiet. That made your heart beat harder. You stopped and took a breath, peering around the door frame.
“Y/N, he’s not there. He just tore out of here.”
“Oh no!” You exhaled. “Victor, where is he?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. What happened?”
You grabbed him by his shirt. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t want me following him.”
“Damn it.”
******
After slipping on your own mask, you went down to the garage. You noticed that he'd taken the Mustang. That car was filled with memories. You knew where he went then.
Eyeing the keys and looking back at the cars, you decided to take his jeep. It would be the easiest for you to drive.
*****
Roman strolled along the beach. It kept him from his anger completely erupting. He was still in turmoil over how he felt. He eyed the waves coming in and crashing against the sand.
“Roman!” He turned towards where he heard his name. His heart squeezed as he watched you tearing your mask off before climbing over the fence and then running down the hill towards him.
“Careful damn it.” He shook his head.
Despite the sand trying to clutch onto your feet, you made it over to him.
He could see from your flushed cheeks and how red your eyes were that you had been crying. It pulled on him despite still being incredibly angry at you. He'd never actually admit that he was hurt as well. Before you reached him, he took his phone from his pocket. He dialed Victor.
“Yes, yes. She found me.”
You opened your mouth to say something but he held up his hand and you remained quiet.
“We’re by the pier, near father.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “No, just come with the extra keys for the jeep and grab it. I’ll drive us back.” He ended the call. “Why are you here?”
“I couldn’t leave it like that.”
He rose an eyebrow.
“Look, I’m upset. One of my distributors died and I just don’t want to face that it’s bad out.”
“Which one?”
“Alonso.”
“Fuck.” He had been a good man.
“Roman, look I am so sorry.” You stepped closer to him. Before he realized what your were doing, you managed to grab his hand and pull off his glove. You pressed it against your heart. He could feel it beating hard.
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With your fingers interlaced and your arms swinging, you walked along the aisles of the fair. The lights became bright as the sun set and the moon rose into the inky sky. The bleeps, squeaks and hoots of rides and games could be heard all around the two of you.
The sweet scent of cotton candy and candied apples wafted over to you. Turning your head, you saw a facade of a red barn that had an array of the candied apples and more. A smile spread across your face. As Bill came to stand behind you, you leaned against him. Gently he nuzzled you. “Would you like one?”
You smiled up at him. “Perhaps on our way out back to the car.”
“Ok, what shall we do now?”
“Can we go on that?” You gestured to a fun ride.
He smiled. “Looks fun.”
“Oo,” You smiled. “I always love the classic songs that play with this ride.”
His brow furrowed. “I think this played on the ride up.”
“I thought it sounded familiar.” You beamed at Bill.
Soon, the two of you nestled close and were off to the sounds of some classic rock.
******
A little later, the two of you disembarked the ride a little wobbly. Bill’s eye was caught by one of the games. He squeezed your hand. Gently, he led you over to the game.
“Are you going to win me something, Bill?”
“I would love to.” He eyed the prizes. “Pink Penguin or Blue Owl?”
“Blue Owl!”
“All right.”
Soon he took his stance, but then he glanced over at you. “Kiss for good luck.”
“Yes!” You went over and going on your tiptoes, you gave him a sweet soft kiss. His brow heart swelled as he could smell the sweets you had shared.
He was grateful that after the animals, you both had your fair share of food. He had noticed walking over to the game, many of the tables to sit at or stand at now were taken over by families or teenagers trying to look cool.
Smiling, he grabbed the BB gun. He grinned at you. “I think I can do this now.”
“You can!” You cheered.
Seven dollars later and with only a few misses through the levels, he won you the blue owl. The lanky big toothed man reached up, unhooked the owl and handed it to him.
He turned and held out the large owl to you. “Here you go.”
“Thank you! I love it,” You hugged it close. “My hero.”
*****
As Bill drove the two of you back the hotel, he smiled when he noticed a silence coming from you. Glancing over he saw that you had fallen asleep. You were so lovely. He couldn’t get over how lucky he was to have you. Reaching over, he turned down the music.
*****
Not long after he used the card key to let the two of you into the room. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.” You looked a little sheepish before you went and placed the blue owl on one of the chairs by the balcony and tossed the stick that the candied apple had been speared by.
“Honey, its ok. We did a lot today.” You heard a content sigh come from him.
Turning, you saw a twinkle in Bill’s eyes as he had taken off his glasses and now looked incredibly comfortable as he stretched out on the bed. You went over and sat beside him. You lounged across his waist. “What’s on your mind, Bill?”
You still had amazing knots in your stomach over what happened at the side of the road. You had no idea just how thrilling being with Bill would be.
He let his hand come to rest on your thigh, just under the soft fabric of your dress. “You are so lovely.”
You reached up and gently ran your finger through his beard. “You’ve been making my heart flutter all day.”
“That makes me very happy to hear.”
Holding you close, he kissed you. Easily you melted against him. It pulled a soft sound from you as your fingers nestled in his soft hair.
Warning: memories of past intimacy...implied smut.
As you turned back around to face the mirror, you smiled as you rested against him. “You’re so pale.”
He nodded, “I am. I’ve always been pale.” His arm tighten around you. “I am rather fond of seeing flushed you are at the moment.”
You met his eyes, they looked so stormy. There was so many questions you had but you just didn’t know where to start. You noticed one particular scar that fascinated you. You did something that you felt compelled to do. Going on your tip toes, you gave a soft sensuous kiss. “Where did you come across such a scar?” You looked at him from under your lashes.
He drew your face up, his thumb caressing your chin. “Fencing.” He kissed you then.
You sighed into the kiss.
*****
He had always thought he had a good sex drive but apparently there could be a chance he had met his match with you. The way your lips felt on him, kissing that old scar. He got it during a fencing duel during the days of Napoleon. One day, he would tell you.
He could feel the questions bubbling within you. After everything that happened today, he needed a break. For the first time since this lifestyle was thrust upon him, he actually worried about your reaction. Any other person, would just break their little neck and gave a good meal or let them run off. But you caused a kernel of worry.
For a moment, he eased the feelings of a deep sleep to overcome you. He hated doing this to you, but he figured he had better get his place in order. He realized he had better tidy that shower and bring well some human food into his place.
He carried you to his bed. You were as lovely as a flower. Right now, you were just like a wilted flower.
Once you were there, he pulled his clothes back on he worked fast. Your energy that you bestowed on him was outstanding. The tub was free of twigs, leaves and well any blood remains that lingered.
After pulling on his boots, he went over to you. He sat beside you for a moment, he took your hand. He hoped you’d have some good dreams. None that would cause you any pain. He’d be back soon and hold you close. He was eager to have you wake up in his arms. He laid your hand over your heart, he loved feeling its delicate beat.
*****
He barely walked into his favorite grocery store that was nearby when the butcher immediately greeted him. “Will I feeding another soon?” His eyes were alit with excitement.
It made his stomach turn. “Not sure. We’ll see.”
“Well, I have some choice pieces for you.”
“Wonderful, I’ll come by your counter shortly. There are some other things I am picking up while I’m here.”
“Fantastic. But allow me to find you.” Excitedly he rubbed his hands together.
He nodded, “Sure that would be great.”
Once his fellow ghoul walked away he relaxed. He was a young ghoul, he always wanted to please him. He had not realized taking you as his everyone would know. It kind of rankled him that his privacy was slipping.
Grabbing a cart he soon grabbed somethings he could hope would make his place easier for you to be in. He was just finishing up when the butcher came back.
“Here you go Ford, if you need anything for your girl let me know.”
He thanked him and finally paid for everything and headed back. His last stop was his the garage, where he stored his personal forma of transportation. He dusted them off and filled them with gas. He wanted to be ready for anything. That damn vampire was still on the loose.
******
Once back at his apartment, he put everything away. He lingered by his fridge, taking out one of the boxes the butcher gave him, his eyes lit up as he saw the juicy red meat. He sunk his teeth in and closed his eyes, it was particularly good.
With the energy that coursed through him from his meal and from you as he came to lay beside you again he was feeling very good.
As he gently eased off on the sleeping spell, he looked over how delicately you laid there. He smiled as he saw that in your sleep, a delicate modestly had come out as your hand covered your beautiful center. Images filled his minds eye on how you rode his fingers it was almost too much.
As his eyes came drifted over to his mark. He smirked, you were certainly his now. The idea made his stomach tighten. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “Baby?” He asked softly, as eagerness over you continued to tighten his stomach.
Your eye lids fluttered, “Did I faint?” Your voice was thick with sleep.
“No baby, not this time.” He feeling a little mischievous, he grazed his fingers over that back of your hand that still held yourself. “You fell asleep.”
“Ford.” A soft sound came from you.
“Mmm? I’m right here baby.” He gently caressed the small valleys between your fingers. As he pressed a kiss to your temple.
“You make it so hard for me to think straight.”
He chuckled softly, he smoothed his fingers over yours and with your hand under his he squeezed, you were both cupping you. “Ever since I discovered you like this, I haven’t been able to think either.”
You gently raised yourself against his fingers. “I’ve never held myself like this.”
He smirked down at you, “Apparently, I bring this out of you.” He chuckled.
“Maybe.” He felt as you slipped your hand away then it came to cover his.
Note: this original post got flagged🤦🏻♀️ so I am reposting it. Here is where it all began! One Night, Ten Years Ago! (Idea..girl sneaks out of the house in the 80’s to see Curt Wild in concert...this is what happened!)
“Y/N, are you ok? Is there anything I can do to help?”
You startled awake and screamed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You immediately held your head. Extreme pain exploded over your head, as a headache slammed you.
James, backed up holding his hands in front of him. “Y/N, I don’t mean to scare you. I was on patrol when I watched you stumbled down the road then up here to your well flat. You looked so sad, so desperate that I decided to follow you.”
“You’re a cop?”
He nodded. “Well, to be honest i had to finish my shift and that’s why I’m here and not earlier. Anyways, that doesn’t matter. I came to check on you.”
You looked at him from the stringy strands of your hair. “Why do you care?”
“I told you two weeks ago, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “There’s something about you. You’re beautiful, funny.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You are. So well, I came to check on you. You door was ajar, so I grew even more concerned so I came in and well found you like this.”
“Well get out.” You spat out.
Instead, he drew closer. “Look something happened, someone hurt you. Just talk to me.”
You fought everything you were feeling especially your head that continued to throb.
“I’m fine, really? Get out.”
“No, you don’t just have random one-night stands or well, stumble into your flat like you did unless you were hurt.”
“James, please.”
He smiled. “That’s a start, you’re using my name.”
“Fuck....” You crumpled. Tears and whimpers consumed you. You told him everything, everything over the last ten years. And he just held you, and ran his fingers through your greasy hair.
*****
Five months later, James and you announced your engagement to his friends and yours. That dawn where he found you, was a distant memory. He never judged you for your romance with Curt. He had just been a comforting and warm heart. All that you needed. The months had been wonderful, he was silly and romantic. He put you first, he loved you the way you always thought you would be.
The night, your party was held the newspapers announced the controversial divorce of Curt Wild. Weeks later, you had no knowledge of those articles but a letter arrived at your flat. When you saw the sender you almost threw it away.
You were looking at it when two strong arms wrapped around you, a kiss was pressed to your temple. “What’s that love?”
“Nothing, you wrapped it in a flyer filled with ads and tossed it into the bin.” You turned in his arms. You ran your fingers through his inky hair, “Want to get a bite at the pub tonight?” He nodded, “I was also thinking that tonight, I will finally beat you at a round of pool. And then maybe I can have a victory shag back here?”
He threw his head back chuckled. “I’m all for it baby, but as for victory shag, I will be the one celebrating since I will win, yet again.”
“You smug arse,” you smiled.
“You love it.” He smirked.
“I do.”
“Ok, then I will see you later.”
*****
The moment, the door closed you fished the flyer with the letter out. You hands shook, and your heart was racing. Your life was finally the way it should be. What could he possibly want? After that dark night you had never seen or talk to each other again till he sent this letter.
You grabbed a glass, and poured yourself some wine, you did not care that it was the morning. You opened the letter then.
Hello Y/N,
I fucked up by sleeping with her when I had you in my life. She lied, and fell for those lies.
Please tell me I didn’t destroy us forever. I don’t deserve a chance. Yet here I am, begging for one.
Her and I, are over.
My latest hit is the song is our song, I wrote it thinking of you. It’s far from perfect.
I am coming to London in a month to preform it. It was such a huge hit, your country wants me back. I wish you wanted me back.
Enclosed are tickets. Please come. Bring a friend. You don’t have to come see me, I’d like to apologize. I’ll leave that up to you.
I offer you my heart always,
Curt
Your tears, splashed and smeared the black in. It was a mess and not even a coherent later when you finished crying.
You honestly, didn’t know how you felt.
*****
The next three weeks flew by. James, had heard of Curt’s upcoming concert before you could harness your strength to tell him.
“Are you going?”
You shrugged. “Come with me.”
“Why, because you are my future. But how will I close that chapter without you.”
“Look,” he pulled you onto his lap. “I love you, if you want me there I will come but are you sure you even want to go?”
You nodded. “Thank you.”
*****
The night of the concert was dark and stormy. Before you going, you took James’s hand. “Thank you for being here.”
He grazed your jaw with a finger. “I love you, I’ll always support you.”
You grimaced. “Thank you.”
******
As the lights went down, in fear you immediately took James’s hand. A pang, of fear coursed though.
He came out, his hair was long his chest was bare and you saw as he searched the crowd. You were not close like you had been over the years but you were certain he saw you. It was like a jolt went through you. He played several old songs.
The intermission finally arrived you were not swept away but your heart had not stopped racing.
“I am going get us some beers. Yes?”
“Yes, please.”
You couldn’t move, you were struggling to find your core, your foundation. It all felt suddenly ripped out from under you. James, had been that. You loved him, you knew you did. And he loved you. This was just old memories, nothing more.
You clinked bottles with James, you easily inhaled your beer but it did little to help you feel better.
The lights went down and the light shone on Curt. He went through some more older songs. Then he stopped, you watched him inhale, you couldn’t stop yourself from inhaling too. You knew the expression that was splashed across his face. He was about to sing the song.
There's nothing in my dreams
Just some ugly memories
Kiss me like the ocean breeze
Now, if you will be my lover
I will shiver and sing
James, let go of your hand. You barely noticed as he walked away. But when you did you managed to catch up with him outside. A storm was now raging outside. You both were immediately soaked through.
“James.” Was all you could say, he turned and gave you a sad smile.
“Go back in there. Go to him.”
“But...I love you.”
He came over and cupped your cheeks. “Not like you love him. And he loves you, I can see it.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be ok.”
You fretted and began to take the ring off. He stopped you. “You are gonna need, to help pay for your move to the states.”
Your brow wrinkled. “Really?”
“I know so. Now go in there and grab onto the kind of love that lasts a lifetime.”
“Ok, thank you.”
He nodded.
You ran then, no one could stop you.
Your heart was wrenched as heard him song, heard him scream...”Can you feel it? I gotta feel it! Can you feel it? I gotta feel it, I gotta fuckin’ feel it!” He screamed the last part. The lights went down and the crowd went crazy!
You ran over to where you could get back stage. You saw Chloe, “You made it.”
You nodded. “Where do I go?” Tears prickled your eyes.
“Just go straight ahead, straight to the back this time.”
“Ok, thank you.”
As went you back stage your heart was racing. You looked everywhere. “Y/N.” Behind you, the you heard the hoarse, scratchy American accent speak your name. That voice had been one of dreams and also nightmares being realize over the last ten years.
Your heart felt like it was bursting. You ran to each other and just held on for dear life. Tears finally fell. Nothing was ever going to separate the two of you again.
******
Flash bulbs went off like lightning. Questions flew through the air, many of the words blurred. As the two of you walked out of the gate you both saw a sea of reporters.
You took first solid step in the grand city of New York. Up to this point it had only been a city you saw in movies and postcards. Curt, kept your fingers interlaced and he squeezed. Turning, your face towards him, a pang of shyness sliced through you. You smiled over at him and tucked some hair behind your ear. He held up his other hand. Everyone silenced.
He looked at you and mouthed and softly whispered, I love you, here we go.
“Hi everyone. I would like to introduce you to the girl, the only one I ever loved. It all started one night and ten years ago!”
As you walked in, you were simply taken with bar’s warm atmosphere. The two of you found a cozy corner.
“I’ve never been here.” You looked around.
Shivering, Alex smirked as he shed his puffy winter coat.
“I picked a new place?” He rose his eyebrows smiling. “I like the sound of that.”
He came over took your dainty, much smaller hands into his, “Blocks of ice.” He shook his head as he gave you a sympathetic look. He rubbed your hands. “Would you like to order our drinks, while I use the men’s room?”
“Sure.” He squeezed, your hands.
Smiling, you grabbed the drinks and went back to the cozy corner. You were happy that Alex was already back.
He took the glass from you. “Thank you.” He smiled at you over the glass before taking a sip.
Coming around the wooden table you sat down near him. You squeaked as his arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled to his side so there was no space between you. “I’m not letting you get from me the rest of the night.”
“I like the sound of that.”
He held up his whiskey, “To our liaison and fuck off to the others.” You clinked your glass with his and smiled. “To our sordid sexual liaison.” Remembering, his words and smiling, you both took a sip from your drinks. Under the table, he rested his hand on your thigh.
“Had I told you, I love how you look tonight.”
You flushed. “Was hoping to look cute for you.”
He squeezed your thigh. “You do.” He smirked. “So tell me,” His fingers drummed on your thigh. “Let’s get to know each other some more, yeah?”
“Alright, though I am finding it a little hard to focus.” You took a sip of your drink.
“Oh? Are you?” He squeezed your thigh.
“Yes, a bit.” His blue eyes eyes were alit with mischief. “Maybe you shouldn’t have a third.”
“You know why.” You said a little breathlessly meeting his eyes.
He squeezed harder. “Well, I do enjoy touching you. You will have to get used to it.”
“I suppose I will.”
“Alright so question number one.” He drummed his fingers again on your thigh as he pressed his lips together. “Ah yes ok, how many boyfriends have you had?”
“Three. How many girlfriends?” You easily replied back and took a sip.
Sighing, he grimaced. “I am a bit of a dog.” He looked away, then back at you. “I’ve had six.” He took a sip of his drink.
“Alex?”
“Yeah?”
You moved, close enough to place some soft kisses on his throat, he sighed. “Y/N.” He breathed. His aftershave tickled your nose and as you felt his hand on your thigh, a boldness came over you. “You so incredibly attractive if I’m going to be honest.” You placed a few more kisses on his throat. “And if you were a dog as you say,” You whispered. “You would have let me remained passed out on the sofa.”
You pulled back smiling at him, took a healthy sip of your drink.
“I couldn’t let that happen.” He shrugged. “I guess you’re right.” He leaned in close, a mischievous smile spread across his face, your heart thudded harder in your chest. “I just learned something without even having to ask.”
You leaned in like he did. “And what is that?”
“You can be a bit of a tease and well,” he smirked. “And I like how your lips feel on me.”
“Oh!” Your lips made a an O and you felt heat fill your cheers. You gasped as he kissed you but it was over almost as soon as it begun. Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “When did I tease you?”
He swished the golden liquid in his glass before drinking it. “When?” At the moment, you were all a happy jumble, not being to recall anything that in particular.
“I naked above you in bed, you friend was standing in your door way and you kissed my chest.”
Butterflies flapped their way through you. He certainly, knew how to make you wet by simply talking. He was driving you crazy. “Well, your chest was there and well...” your words disappeared as his hand drifted higher up your thigh. Though a whimper came from you that you couldn’t stifle.
“How much do you enjoy my hands on you?”
“I like it very much. Just so you know, I think you are quiet a tease as well.” You finally were able to speak. And you finished your drink.
He licked his bottom lip and smirked. “I can’t stop myself around you.”
“Would you like another whiskey?”
“Yes, thank you.” He squeezed your thigh. “Don’t take too long.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek before you slid away.
Reluctantly, you pulled away from his hand on your thigh. “I’ll think of another question by the time you come back.” He winked at you.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
As you leaned against the bar while waiting for the bartender, your heart calmed a little. You watched as he took out a cigarette and lit it. How could he make a habit like that, look attractive you mused.
You ordered another round happily. A familiar voice, came from behind you, it made your stomach lurch.
“Y/N, I was wondering if that was you.”
You closed and opened your eyes, standing up you sighed annoyed. It was your ex-boyfriend who was convinced that one day you would come back to him.
“Hello, Jeffrey.”
He closed the short distant between the two of you. You stepped back. He moved with you. His sour smell continued to make your stomach lurch. He followed you. You looked over your shoulder at Alex.
His eyes, slid up and down you. You shivered.
“So, who’s that guy?”
“None of your business.”
“Come on. Are you on a date?”
“I am.”
He rose an eyebrow. “You know,” he stood practically against you. “I still think you should give me another chance.”
He pushed at him. “Jeffrey, please.”
He grabbed, your hand. “Is he making you bold? Is that why you pushed me? Come on, leave him. He looks..” he glanced back at Alex.
You tried to catch his eye.
“He looks boring.”
“He’s funny and exciting.”
“Tell yourself that. You just miss me.”
You shook your head. The bartender finally came back and you paid him. Grabbing, your drinks you side stepped Jeffrey.
Alex, exhaled and finished the last of his cigarette. You smiled at him but it dropped when you felt Jeffrey put his arm around your shoulders. Confusion, you saw wrinkle Alex’s brow.
“Help.” You mouthed at him. He stood up and met you halfway.
An edge, came over his face. “Remove your arm from my girl.” He took the drinks from you and put them on the table.
Jeff let out a wet chuckle, he squeezed your shoulder. “I mean no harm, Y/N and I go away back. You managed to disentangle yourself from Jeff.
“Baby,” Alex, looked at you and then at Jeffrey. “Who is this?”
“The man who made all her who she is today.” Jeff, stepped closer to Alex. You rolled your eyes.
“Jeffrey, stop.” Rolling your shoulders, you managed to shrug off his arm. “Alex this is my ex.” Your voice flat.
“Great! Well, you can go on now. I’d like to enjoy the rest of night with Y/N.” He smiled brightly.
Jeff grabbed and straddled a chair from the table you two sat at. “So, who are you?”
“Look, we didn’t invite you. Y/N obviously doesn’t want you here and I don’t, please leave.”
He stood up. “I’m being friendly. And you should know who she will be crawling back to.” His smug look made you ill.
“Oh?” Alex, puffed up and smirked while wrapping an arm around you. “I don’t see that happening, I’ll be keeping her quite busy. We barely, made it here.” His possessive words, you had to admit turned you on.
“Y/N..” You looked and relief filled you. Jeffrey maybe an asshole but his brother was a decent fellow. “What are you doing here?” He had a genuinely warm smile.
“Brian, I’m on a date and Jeffrey is not leaving me alone.”
He looked at his brother and tugged at him. “Comon’ Jeff, leave her be we have to get going.”
He shrugged.
“Jeff, come on. Allison and Bria are waiting for us.” Brian, pulled on his brother his time.
“Fine. I’ll go. Here’s a tip,” He leaned in close to Alex. “She’s a hard-on killer.” He spat out, before turning to leave.
You rolled your eyes. “Thank you Brian.” Annoyed, you finally sat back down and drank half of your drink. Though you were relieved as you watched the two men walked out.
Alex, you noticed had walked up to the bar and was returning with shots. You rose an eyebrow. He slid one in front you. “What did you get us?” Coming around he sat beside you.
He smiled. “Don’t worry about it, trust me. He held up his own shot glass. “Fuck exes.” He clinked his shot glass against yours.
“I’ll drink to that.” You clinked his. Your eyes met and you kicked back the amber liquid. “Oh...oh...” You coughed but then sighed as the rough liquid became very smooth and pleasant. “That is a nice scotch.”
He smiled, then leaned in close. “Y/N,” He placed a kiss, near the edge of jaw near your ear. “For the record, baby ever since we met I’ve been struggling with how hard you make me.” He snickered darkly.
“Oh really?” You tried to give him an innocent look. The liquor was beginning to wash over you in a warm haze.
“Yes.” His hand made his way back to your thigh.
“Maybe we should get out of here then.” Being out had run its course, his words and his touches made you want more.
“I’d like that.” He smiled at you over his glass and then finished his whiskey.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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This is a piece that’s kind of small; it’s part of a longer chunk of the thing, but the rest of it is still missing a few ligatures. I figured I’d go ahead and put up the first bit of it. The previous: Soon, which started it all in such lengthy fashion, plus part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4 of this.
Sound 5a
Helena had dared to take Myka’s hand on the street—taking hold of her hand like that was a risk, but the smallest today, this day on which they are presuming to embark on a risk of nearly unimaginable magnitude—but she drops it when they enter the apartment building’s lobby. If she is no longer pulling, no longer directing, then the sight of her hand on that of another woman might cause someone to take note. Not raise an alarm, not yet, but if she and Myka are to live safely together here, they must allow as few notes as possible to be taken.
She moves toward the elevator, pushes the button. Such a luxury, this elevator. Helena tries, she does try, to refrain from putting too much weight on each additive marker of prosperity; she tries to remind herself that any thing may be taken away, any of these things that provide comfort and ease, that lighten the load, that distance her from the past. Every indulgence pricks at her—not at her conscience, for it is not that she thinks herself undeserving of these things, but at her sense of responsibility: she must not relax. She must remain on her guard. Becoming accustomed is the greatest and most dangerous sin of all... so, yes, take the elevator, Helena. Go so far, if you wish, as to enjoy it. But do not allow yourself to rely upon it.
Nor on what ought to be considered the greatest extravagance by far: the woman next to her, the woman for whose hand she reaches again, when the elevator’s doors close to shield them.
But it is far too late, and Helena knows that, too. Myka has already become a necessity. Myka’s hand in Helena’s is basic, a warm weight that is the standard against which to measure other, less fundamental quantities.
The warmth and weight of a hand in hers. Helena had, in her youth, thought herself a terribly complex creature, but at forty-one years old, she knows that her idea of complication had been nothing but filigree. She is as profoundly plain as any other human animal, because all that matters to her are two thick, simple truths. One is Christina. The other is Myka.
Who says, “We should’ve taken the stairs,” and the mundanity is just right, as they hold hands and wait to reach the fourth floor.
“Why?”
“So Christina could have been the one to introduce me to the elevator.” And Myka says this so easily, calls Christina into the space like breathing.
The numeral “4” is illuminated, and the chime for the floor has rung, by the time Helena manages to say, “No doubt it has some special feature—or features—that only she can point to properly. Or demonstrate.”
“No doubt,” Myka says.
Helena lets Myka’s hand go as the doors open.
****
Upon entering the apartment, Myka says nothing at first. She looks. Helena recalls her own first sight of the place, how on walking in the door, what one sees is that this front room, which is mostly on one’s right, is certainly not spacious, that the kitchen, to the left, seems barely an alcove, that the hallway one faces directly is narrow and might as well be made of doors, two on each side. Except for the floors, which are dark, everything is a dull white. Not clean—not yet—but white.
Eventually, Myka says, “So this is it.”
“This is it.”
“You weren’t kidding about the size.”
“No.” Helena pauses, waits for Myka to say something. She doesn’t. For long, ticking seconds, she doesn’t, until Helena ventures, to fill space, “Does this bother you?”
At which words, Myka turns to Helena. She is wearing an expression that could be the start of a lazy smile... or of a grimace. Helena thinks it is the latter when Myka says, “Yes, it does,” and her alarm must show, because whatever Myka’s original intent had been, now she is smiling that smile, and she is saying, “Were you talking about the size? I thought you were referring to the fact that you’re not kissing me.”
Now Helena smiles back. “I can remedy that,” she says.
But those words are too glib, for she can’t, not quite. She feels it should be formal, this kiss, as it is the beginning, the first kiss of whatever will happen next. So she leans, mouth slightly open, and Myka leans too; they are facing each other, caught in an uncanny stare. They are breathing, so they must be alive and this must be real, but they are not moving. And Helena feels, as if it is growing between them, an awareness of all the times they should not have kissed, times when they knew it was wrong—or knew that they should think it was wrong—but did it anyway.
Whether from impatience or need, Myka closes the distance. She murmurs “like this” as she does, and Helena doesn’t know if that is a statement of enjoyment or words that simply mean “in this manner”... but meaning could not matter less, because Helena is now being pushed by insistent, overpowering hands and lips against a not-yet-clean wall, and if there were not several friends and a child outside... if there were not these people who will at some point lose patience with the lovers who are keeping them waiting... if not for them, Myka would not be gripping Helena’s shoulders this tightly, so tightly as to suggest that only a supreme act of will is keeping her hands from moving elsewhere.
Whenever Myka seems as desperate as Helena so often feels, Helena seizes on it as validation. Physical reinforcement of the idea that Myka wants her has always dizzied Helena, thrilled her, turned her into someone else, someone who has permission to want as she in turn does. It’s here in their kiss now, proof, permission, license, lending Helena a sense of something to which she cannot honestly imagine becoming accustomed: freedom.
It can’t last forever, of course. Myka pulls back and smiles again. “Now,” she says, “about this phone booth you’re calling an apartment.”
Helena smiles again too, because while a blistering kiss may offer an elusive glimpse of freedom, the simple of act of standing here with Myka, in her intimate presence, gives Helena access to a very familiar happiness. “Really?” she asks.
“No. I don’t care. If it’s ours, I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s small, why it’s small, not if we can close and lock the door.”
“It’s because of the third bedroom.”
“That’s why we can close and lock the door?”
“No. Or, well, in a sense. That is why it is ours, and why it resembles a phone booth. The third bedroom is carved out of this room and one of the other bedrooms. Look,” she says; she turns Myka around, and this allows her to press against Myka’s back, as she has always loved to do—that long, strong back, clothed now, but she will unclothe it later. Helena points, over Myka’s shoulder. “You can tell that that wall is newer: no crown molding. And this room has just the one window, seemingly oddly placed, as you see—it originally had two, but one is now in that third bedroom.”
Myka pulls Helena’s arms around her waist, leans her head back against Helena’s shoulder. At this angle, her neck is right next to Helena’s mouth, so what else can Helena do but turn and kiss it? Myka doesn’t move away as she speaks, as if she wants to let Helena feel the column of air move through her throat. As if she can see seconds into the future and knows already what a treat Helena’s lips will feel that vibration to be. “Mmm. Like I said, I don’t care. Steve and I managed to live in a smaller place than this for a year together, and we didn’t even want to sit in each other’s laps.”
“Is that what we want?” Helena asks into Myka’s ear.
“I can’t speak for you.”
“But speaking for yourself?”
“Speaking for myself, I think you should already know my preferred relationship to your lap.”
Helena moves to face Myka and tries to think of something funny to say in response—but looking into her eyes, all that comes to her is, “Laps notwithstanding, you should be sitting down. Or lying down. You look so tired.”
“I am tired. But I refuse to lie down until I get to lie down with you, and unfortunately if you and I go to bed, that gang downstairs would probably mutiny.”
“I’m sure Christina and Abigail can persuade them to remain on the job.”
“Or I guess I can just give up all my stuff,” Myka sighs, and her eyes are as soft as Helena has ever seen them. “I don’t care about that either. I don’t need it; you’re everything.” Myka is usually, these days, extremely utilitarian with her words—as if she feels she should reserve for her translations of those epically passionate Russian novels any romantic utterances she formulates—that when she does say? Say and then demonstrate, as Helena once again finds her mouth caught in a kiss edged with frantic demand? No matter if everything Myka says can be chalked up to nerves and sleep deprivation, this is a day to wrap in cellophane. Helena would preserve all its minutes, if she could, even her early-morning pacing, her pathetic attempts to pretend that she was not looking over Christina’s shoulder out the window all afternoon, the immensity of her joy when Christina shouted “She’s here!” and dashed recklessly down three flights of stairs. Every minute, and this one: the bend of Myka’s fingers against Helena’s neck, pulling their faces close again, and closer. And now a gentle kiss, barely a peck, then a pull back, a loving look.
****
They emerge, she and Myka, back outdoors to see Abigail, Steve, Liam, and Christina perched on the boxes in the back of the truck. Christina is performing coin tricks. Pete and Joseph are folding the tarp, and Helena hears Joseph ask Pete, “Does Mrs. Wells—I mean, Helena—I mean, does she... I don’t know, have some kind of pension? From her husband?”
Pete catches Helena’s eye. He winks at her—Helena has not interacted with Pete very often herself, but she knows him reasonably well, she thinks, via Myka and also Abigail, though she does not pretend to understand their mutual attraction in the slightest. But now Pete is laughing, and he is saying, “Oh, man, no. Myka didn’t tell you? Helena makes records! You know that song, ‘Who Put the Bomp’? Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp? Helena put the bomp.”
Helena tries to be stern as she says, “I did no such thing.”
“Right there in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp,” Pete assures Joseph solemnly. “She did that.”
“Joseph, please ignore him,” Helena says.
But Joseph seems unable to ignore anything that is being said by the strange company in which he has found himself. “Bomp?” he says, as if it is the most startling word. “That song?”
Helena tries to object, “Of course not. I play the violin. On pop songs, yes, but only the violin.”
“Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong?” Pete persists.
Helena says, “If you would stop,” but she is struggling to keep her laugh at bay.
“Helena put the ram in the rama lama ding dong.”
“There is no violin on that record,” Helena says. That at least is true.
“Okay, I guess I got it wrong,” Pete concedes with dejection. Mock dejection: he follows with, “You must’ve put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop.”
“Pete,” Myka says, her voice a warning prelude to irritation.
Helena wants to say no, it’s all right, he’s teasing me because I’m yours. He knows he can tease me because I’m yours. And Helena wonders who Pete is, how he came to be such a one who would create these little miracles: their time upstairs, this strangely reassuring taunting. So often, he has done the same for Myka, making Myka laugh, easing her mind, offering her an uncomplicated hand in friendship. This is what Myka is giving up, and she is giving it up for Helena, this ease, not just with Pete but with all of them.
Regrets about giving it up will visit Myka, Helena knows, and she worries over how large those regrets will loom. Even Helena, relieved as she had been to leave the worst of London behind, has days when she feels (briefly and perversely) an impulse to grab it back, to sink her fingers into the familiar voices, spaces, even filth, scarcities, insults. Her parents, her brother—their disapproval bit at her, but she knew it. Her brother’s wife: her good nature had stung too, even more painfully. Helena yearns only fleetingly for that past, but surely Myka will long with that much more fervor for her own, far more pleasant, former life.
It is true, however, that the tone with which Myka now repeats “Pete” suggests that any pleasant times they may have shared are not really uppermost in her mind.
Pete, to his possible credit and more-probable detriment, pays no attention at all to Myka. As if he and Helena are engaged in a complex negotiation, he proposes, with great seriousness, “How about the dip in the dip da dip da dip? You gotta pick one.”
Helena sighs hugely. “All right, fine, but only to make you stop: yes, that last—dip, then—that’s my choice.”
“I don’t think that’s going to make him stop,” Myka grumbles. She sounds as put out about going unheeded, now, as she had when she thought Pete was genuinely bothering Helena.
Helena directs a smile her way. “Although I might prefer the bomp, all things considered. What were my options again?”
“What is there: bomp, ram, bop, dip.” Pete ticks through these on his fingers.
“Among those, bomp. Or possibly bop.”
Christina offers, from the truck bed, “I like dip better.”
“I love dip!” Pete enthuses. “Sour cream-n-onion!”
“You’re silly. Even Myka says so.”
“If Myka says it, it must be true. Everybody knows how smart she is,” Pete concedes. He reaches into the truck, hoists Christina up, and swings her out. Helena is jealous: she cannot lift Christina like that anymore.
He hands Christina to Myka, who says, “Smart enough to know it’s time to start taking boxes upstairs. Because now that I’ve seen the place, I kind of like it. I think I’d actually like to move in.”
Abigail says, “You heard the lady. Time for Operation unload Myka’s overly heavy and probably completely superfluous books!”
A flurry of activity ensues, and Helena knows she should be moving to help. But she finds herself looking at Joseph Holden. She is looking at him look at Myka, Myka holding Christina. He looks at Myka; he looks at Pete. He then looks at Helena, and she cannot quite smile at him, because there is something pulling at her, as if she knows him, but that cannot be true, for she has never seen him before. Myka’s student, Pete’s athlete... but there is something else. It is not the supposedly tender feelings that Joseph, on Pete’s report, has for Myka; those, if they exist, are not the source of the look in his brilliantly blue eyes.
Helena’s attention is drawn to Steve, as he hefts a box and complains about its weight. Liam tells him it would be a good idea for him to practice being strong and silent. Steve tells Liam that it would be a good idea for him to practice what he preaches. Joseph now looks at the two of them, and Helena’s awareness itches again.
But she is distracted now by Christina’s somewhat delayed response to Myka’s statement about moving in: “Do you really like it?”
“So far,” Myka tells her. “But your mom only showed me the front room. I need a tour of the rest. Are you up to the job?”
“I am up to the job,” Christina declares, as if there could be no job more challenging, and yet more essential, than conducting such a tour.
Myka can draw just as wide a range of responses from Christina as Helena herself can, and Helena has to fight against taking their exchanges, those glorious little flights of conversation, as occasions for augury: this is how their lives can, might, will proceed. She is a mere eavesdropper as, in the elevator, Christina babbles at Myka about the emergency stop, the emergency exit panel, the fire emergency button... Helena had not paid particular attention to the building superintendent’s explanation of the variety of emergencies that could befall elevators, but she is not surprised to learn that Christina absorbed it in such detail.
In the apartment, Helena watches Christina lead Myka down the hallway, to the second door on the right. Christina swings the door open to present the space as if she were a real estate agent showing the property, hoping that prospective tenant Myka will find nothing to displease her. “This is your room,” she hears Christina say, “and we have to call it that. Mom thinks it would be nice for you to put your books here. And maybe even your typewriter?”
“That probably should go to my office at Barnard.”
Christina offers a small, disappointed “oh.” Then she says, “Anyway, Mom said you might take a nap here too sometimes.”
“Did she? I guess that’s not a bad idea, especially today. I could use a nap.”
Christina pulls Myka down and whispers into her ear; Myka whispers back.
Christina says, a bit more loudly, “So even tonight?” This emerges with an anxious little whimper, the sort of noise that Helena had thought Christina did not make anymore. “Like usual, even tonight?”
“Even tonight. All the nights. But it’s important not to talk a lot about it, okay?”
“Okay, but. But I don’t understand. Myka, I don’t, I don’t.”
“I don’t either.” Myka says this with a heaviness that has nothing to do with any lack of sleep. “I don’t either. Neither of us should have to understand, and I’m so, so sorry.”
Helena gathers, now, what they are talking about, the reason for the whispers, for Christina’s bleat of worry, and these words are not birds in the air. They are raw entrails dug from red gut depths, and Helena’s haruspication from them yields no bright future, only fears of how easily they all might be wounded... Helena knows she should not think like this today. But she knows, too, that Myka is right: Christina should never have to think like this, should never have to make that noise, nor clamp her hands onto Myka with such visible unease.
TBC
Note: Honestly, all I wanted to do here was make a “who put the bomp” joke—it was actually Barry Mann and Gerry Goffin who did that—and also differentiate between augury and haruspication. And explain how they managed to get a 3-bedroom apartment. (I see a re-remodel at some point down the line.) This is an “a” part because I’m taking them over to the Chos’ place in the “b.” And then we’ll pick up the pace a little, because I do realize that an actual story needs to start getting itself told. Thanks for your indulgence up to now.
I started walking down the street toward the house that I'd walked to almost every day for sixteen years, then stopped myself in my tracks. What did I possibly think was going to happen? I would just walk up to her door, ring the bell and have her come leaping into my arms to take me back immediately? I needed a grip on reality. I decided to make a quick trip to the corner store for a few things first.
--
I hesitated at the end of the driveway. Staring up at the daunting split-level home, I could feel my palms already beginning to sweat and my throat closing up. I swallowed hard several times and continued up the walk until I was at the base of the porch. My feet suddenly became heavier as I lifted them up the two steps onto the foundation, becoming heavier still as I practically dragged them to the front door. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, then reached out and rang the bell.
There was shouting inside, then to my surprise, the person who answered the door wasn't the face I was expecting, but a much more unpleasant one: Malcolm Landgraab. My least favorite person in the world was standing in his boxers before me, five o'clock shadow darkened his face (at least as much as blond whiskers could) and the look in his eye told me he had recently had his way with my old flame.
"What do you want, Marty?"
My hands tightened into fists. Of all the nerve... Then I heard it. Her voice. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach and it was all I could do not to double over in unbelievably heart-wrenching pain.
"Who is it, babe?" She appeared in the doorway, hair brushed behind her ears, nothing on but a t-shirt and mismatched thigh-high socks. She looked radiant. Her jaw dropped when she saw me. I could tell she hadn't been expecting me. She opened her mouth to speak again, but I was already backing away and heading down the path before she got the chance. At the end of the driveway I shoved my peace offering-- a dozen roses and a teddy bear-- into the trash before turning on my heels and heading down the street to the nearest pub. I could hear her calling my name and from the proximity of her voice, I could tell she was on the edge of the property, desperately wailing for me to turn back, but in all my rage I couldn't hear anything save for the lull in my head and dull pounding of my broken heart.
