Fill Me (15 page)

It's warm outside. The early morning light casts a white glow over everything. There's a softness to it, a certain lack of vibrancy.

It's just the morning. It doesn't mean anything.

She's trying to talk to me. It's not exactly a love poem, but it's something.

***

I stay busy at work, again. There is so much piling up. I have too many clients, and several of them are difficult. One woman, Mrs. Waters, has been in the throes of her divorce for almost a year. She rejects every one of her husband's very reasonable settlement offers, insisting she deserves more.

I have a conference or a meeting or a court date with Mrs. Waters every week for the next two months. But if I can convince her to settle, I have a free week at the end of next month.

And then, finally, I'll be able to visit Alyssa.

It's not the safest play. Mrs. Waters is keen to hold on until the end. She's either getting what she wants from her husband or she's getting her ass handed to her in court. In fact, she had some choice words last time I tried to talk her into accepting her husband's offer.

But I'll convince her this is the best offer she's going to get.

It
is
the best offer she's going to get.

I look at flights. It's a popular week to go to New York, dangerously close to the end of autumn, the last chance for anyone to see leaves changing colors.

Fuck it.

I have to be in New York with Alyssa. Mrs. Waters is going to have to come around. It's in her best interests.

I'll have to dial up my usual charms.

I book a flight to New York, and a trip for the two of us to Hawaii as soon as her play wraps, and email the details to Alyssa. She replies back with a smiley face and a promise to wear her skimpiest bikini.

I make preparations for the week. It needs to be perfect, out of this world amazing. It needs to be dinner at the finest restaurants, moonlit walks, trysts by a fireplace.

This is my best chance to erase all of Alyssa's doubts. I'm going to take it.

It's late when I finish. So late Alyssa must be done for the night. It may not seem like much, but "I'm scared" is practically a soul-baring confession for her.

I put my phone on speaker so I can undress while I call her. I have a change of clothes somewhere around here.

"Hey," she answers. Her voice is sweet but tired.

"Hey yourself." I remove my tie and undo the rest of the buttons of my shirt.

"I, um... I'm sorry I sent such a lame freaking text. I probably should have offered a little more."

"It was perfect."

She's talking to me. That's all I could ask for.

"I just got off the subway," she says. "Can I call you back when I'm in the apartment?"

"Sure," I say. "But I am in the middle of taking off my clothes."

"Oh."

"Mhmm. I can't stand this awful suit any longer."

"You're still at work?" she asks.

"Unfortunately."

"You've been working late a lot."

"I won't make it a habit."

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "So what are you still wearing?"

"My boxers."

If she were here, she'd be staring at me with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. And I could press her against the wall and rip off her clothes. It would be perfect.

She takes a nervous breath. "I'll call you back in five minutes. Don't even consider starting without me."

"Starting what?"

"Mr. Lawrence, I know you aren't that naive."

Alyssa is finally trying to talk to me. I shouldn't ruin that with sex, but my body is not cooperating. I can see her in that apartment, slipping her dress off her shoulders, sliding her fingers over her curvy thighs. I can see her eyes pressing closed, her teeth sinking into her lips, her back arching. She's moaning, squirming on the bed, digging her toes into the sheets.

I tighten my fists. No. Net yet. I won't let my body get the best of me, no matter how damn good it would feel to come with her.

It's not happening until we finish this conversation.

My phone rings. Alyssa. I pick up, about to say hey, when she speaks. "Are you alone?"

I could lie, tell her my assistant is here, that I'm not ready yet. But my body won't allow such a thing. It needs some possibility of this ending with her moaning in my ear. "Yes."

She takes a shallow breath. "And you're... God, this is still weird."

"Ally, maybe we should talk first."

I cringe, expecting resistance. But there's nothing but her breath.

"Okay."

"You're scared," I say. The words are toxic in my mouth, an awful taste I can't get out.

"I'm sorry."

My heart sinks. She's such a martyr sometimes, trying to take on the weight of the whole fucking world. I'm not sure there's any way to convince her she could never be a burden. But that won't stop me from trying.

"Don't do this. Don't hang yourself because you're afraid you're disappointing me. I'm glad you're talking to me."

"It's an impulse."

"Because of Ryan?"

"Because of a lot of things." She takes another deep breath. "This is so much harder when you're not here."

"Pretend I am."

"I just shook my head, but you can't see that. It's not the same. It never is."

She's right. It's not the same. It never is. "Go to the bedroom and wrap your arms around a pillow like you're hugging me."

"That's ridiculous."

"Less ridiculous that what you'll be doing later."

A tiny sigh escapes her lips. Damn. I bet she's flushed and nervous, that adorable blush across her cheeks.

"Don't give me ideas," she says. There are some noises from the phone, movement or something. Perhaps she's actually hugging that pillow. "You get so excited about these things. About an engagement and a wedding. And you're so fucking sexy when you're excited too. It feels like I'd crush you if I told you things aren't perfect."

"Knowing how you feel could never crush me."

"Okay." She lets out a tiny sigh. "I'm not sure if I'm ready."

My muscles tighten. She's not sure if she's ready. That's normal. Hell, I should have expected it. But that does nothing to make me hate it less, and it certainly doesn't help the tension building in my neck.

"Okay," I say.

"Luke, I know it's not okay."

"If this is too fast for you, I'll slow down. We don't have to set a date. We don't have to plan anything. You'll be ready for it eventually."

There's a long moment of silence. "What if I'm not?"

"How did you feel when I proposed? Right in that moment?"

"Excited."

There's a hint of fear in her voice. She's still trying not to disappoint me.

"You've got to stop this, Ally. Stop this fear of hurting me. Sure, I don't like that you're terrified, but I want to know, so we can work through it together."

"It's not that easy." Her tone is sharp now. Annoyed.

"You're right. I'll remind you a million times if I have to. I want to know everything about you, no matter how ugly you think it is, no matter how much it might hurt me. Because it's going to hurt a million times worse if you keep it from me."

"I'm terrified," she says, her voice weak and small. "I'm terrified I'll disappear again. Because, once again, I'm not doing all that well without you."

I start to protest--she's living by herself while working in an incredibly demanding field--but that's exactly the type of thing that makes her recoil. I have to listen.

"Why do you feel like that?" I ask.

"It's getting harder for me to hold on to everything. I'm tempted to drown out my thoughts any way I know how."

"What kinds of thoughts?"

She exhales into the phone. "Thoughts that I'll fail, ruin what we have, nosedive in my career. Something awful. Or that you..." Her voice gets smaller, weaker.

"You can tell me."

"Okay." She sucks the air back into her lungs. "That you'll keep wanting more from me, and I'll keep failing to deliver."

My stomach clenches. It's a fair assessment. However much she gives me, I want more, and I'm not shy about making my feelings known.

She takes another breath. "Or worse. That you'll change. You'll get tired of supporting my career, and start encouraging me to stay home, to not take gigs, to close myself off from the world again. And I'll do it, because it's easy and familiar. You'll start to work all the time, until it's the only thing you care about. And our weekends together will become you at the office and me on the couch, hugging my Kindle, wondering how we fucked things up this badly."

"I'm afraid of the same things."

"We're far apart. We're both working too much. But those are just excuses..." She trails off, her voice getting lower and lower.

We're quiet for a moment, nothing in the room except the sound of our breaths.

"How about I try and keep you on level ground and you try and keep me from turning into my father?"

"Okay," she says. She sounds better, like some life has returned to her.

"I'm taking a week off at the end of next month. I'm going to spend it in New York with you."

"But I'll be working the whole time," she says.

"What is that--three hours a day?"

She laughs, and I swear I could float.

"Shut up. Asshole."

"Is it more like four hours?"

"I got the point." She laughs again, the tension melting from her voice. "I will be free most of the morning and day to hang out with you."

My muscles relax as I exhale. This is going to be okay. No, it's going to be great.

"I'll stay out of your hair when you're working," I say. "But when you're not, I'm going to make your days so fucking great you won't be able to stand it."

"What kind of things will you do?" Her voice is soft and sultry.

My body wakes up again. I never did make it all the way out of these stupid clothes. "Maybe I can give you a preview."

"Do you, um..." She lets out a nervous laugh. "Do you want to try Skype again?"

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Alyssa

"That could be arranged." Luke's voice is playful, but there's a heaviness to it. Exhaustion maybe. He's not great at hiding his impatience over my inability to feel ready, whatever that means.

There's not a good way to phrase it, to say
don't fucking do this just because you think it's the only thing I want from you
. There's not a good way to tell your boyfriend, fiancé actually, that you suspect he is only giving in to your requests for sex to placate you.

I bite my lip. I hate being in my head at a time like this, when the only thing coursing through my brain should be how much I want to get Luke's clothes off.

Sure, he's not really here. The best I can hope for is his voice in my ears and his body on my computer monitor. But I'm still paralyzed by the same damn thought.

He isn't going to put up with my doubt any longer.

"Ally?" It's soft with only a hint of concern. But a hint is more than none.

"Sorry. I was just thinking..." About how fucking crushed I'll be when you get tired of me.

Fuck. A tear rolls down my cheek. It stings, salty and hot. I can't cry. Not now. Not after we had one of those
I can be patient, I love you, I don't mind putting up with all your bullshit
conversations.

"I'm sure asking if you want to talk will only make things worse." There's no annoyance in his voice.

It's still playful. He's joking now. But when we're back in the same place and this still isn't resolved...

"Maybe I should go," I say.

"Maybe you should humor me and tell me what you were 'just thinking.'"

I press the phone against my ear, sliding my fingers over its glass back. "You won't like it."

"You aren't the expert on everything I like. There are plenty of things I like that you know nothing about."

Another tear rolls down my cheek. I try and blink it away, but it only makes everything around me blurry, like some kind of Instagram filter from hell. Stop. Please fucking stop. I can't cry, not now, not on the phone with Luke, not after we supposedly solved whatever the hell this is.

Not now.

I choke back a sob. Fuck. My throat is dry and ragged, my face stinging from this god damn onslaught of tears.

"Ally."

He's concerned. Again. I merit concern. Again.

"It's nothing." I wipe the tears from my cheeks, wiping my hand against the sheets to dry it.

"Talk to me."

"I can't."

He sighs, low and heavy. "You were talking a few minutes ago."

"I'm going to go." I slide my fingers over the edges of the phone. It's so slick and smooth. It repels anything that tries to stick to the surface.

It's resistant but not strong. One little drop and its screen will shatter.

"And cry in your room by yourself?"

"I'm fine."

He sighs, again. Annoyed, again. "Don't do this. Don't shut me out."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm fine. Tired, but fine."

"You're crying."

"I'm well aware of that." I blink back another tear, breathing deep to calm my stupid fucking diaphragm. Tears, I can hide. But I can't do anything about these stupid sobs.

There's a long moment of silence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

The room closes in around me. It's so blue outside, so bright and dark at the same time. There are no stars in the sky here. That shouldn't be possible. It isn't right that the only damn lights in the sky are fluorescent.

I can't even see the damn moon.

"We were talking," he says.

There's no fight in his voice. He's losing patience and I can't blame him.

The quiet surrounds me. There's nothing outside--no horns, no pedestrians, no wind. This room is empty. This apartment is empty. The whole damn world is empty.

Or maybe it's me. I've been empty ever since I started recovery, and this relationship isn't going to be the thing to fill me.

Nothing is.

"Ally..." His words are soft, like he's stroking my hair, like he's whispering in my ear. "You can't scare me off like this."