Forgotten Yesterday (4 page)

“I love that,” I murmured.

“What?” he asked, taking my hand in his, causing my heart to skip an extra beat—like it did every time he touched me. “What do you love?”

“The Lake. How it’s such a contrast to the City. Mother Nature and the exciting bustle of people, right next to each other. Depending on your mood, you just need to look left or right to find whatever you need. Peace or excitement.”

Brent’s fingers lightly touched my chin, rotating my view so we were looking at one another. He licked his lips and stared at mine.

“Do you see what you need now?”

“Yes,” I barely breathed, knowing exactly what he meant. “I do.”

Slowly, Brent inched his mouth closer to mine and I waited, holding as still as possible in anticipation. His breath came out warm across my lips before he gently kissed me. Raising my hand, I lightly touched his stubbled cheek and he shuddered, slightly.

My stomach dropped and everything around us went completely dark. We were sealed together as the world tilted. I was suddenly on my back and unclothed, save my ruby pendant and underwear.

We were no longer in the cab. The weight of Brent’s mostly naked frame pressed against mine, under the warmth of familiar cotton.

As the world came back into focus, I recognized the comforter from Brent’s dorm room bed draped over us. His mouth drifted to my neck, where he gently nipped his way to my ear. One of his hands pulled my arm up and over my head, tightly clasping our grips together, while the other tugged at the minuscule piece of fabric from my lower body. My legs followed in the direction he lead, and the thong was quickly forgotten.

Brent glided his lips down my naked chest where he licked one of my nipples. As a moan escaped from deep within me, my free hand tangled into his thick, inky hair and I raised my pelvis upward.

“Is your roommate here?” I asked, aware that we may have company soon.

“No,” he responded briefly, and then took my other nipple gently between his teeth. “Gone all night.”

I lifted my foot to the waistband of his shorts and began to skillfully move them down over his ass, wanting to be as close as possible.

Brent stopped licking the sensitive area on my breast and helped me to remove his boxers. When we were both fully naked, he hovered himself above me, meeting his green eyes with my brown ones.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous,” he said softly, pressing his length against me.

“Thank you.” I was so distracted by everything him, I barely got out the words.

Leaning down, he kissed me gently, longingly, and with so much patience I could hardly believe it. I inhaled deeply, as if the air needed to be savored with the every touch of his lips upon mine. My heart pounded in my chest from the amount of love and passion he put into every piece of my soul—almost bringing me to tears.

I could feel everything—him.

Tenderly and slowly I kissed him back, caressing his mouth with my own. My tongue lightly touched and flirted with his—drawing out the intimate moment.

Brent lifted his head up, just enough, so that we could look into one another. His hand weaved into my hair, as both of my hands moved gingerly along his back. Licking my lips, awaiting his next move, I saw the soul of the man who knew my everything, as much as I knew his.

Neither one of us took our eyes away from the other as he pushed himself into me. I drew in a heavy breath as he moved deeper into me, and exhaled audibly when he was fully inside.

“God, I love that,” I stated without any thought.

“So much.”

Everything about him penetrated straight into me and I felt that familiar tremor rush through my being. I wish I could call it love, but that word isn’t big enough for what we shared. It was greater than that—more than just two people coming together. It was more than anything I ever thought possible between a couple, and we had it.

The fingers of my left hand entwined with his right and I firmly palmed his muscled backside with the other. Our eyes never strayed as Brent rocked into me, sliding in and out, in time with my own rhythm.

“I feel you, Ruby.”

“I feel you, too.”

My lips longed to kiss him, but I didn’t want to break the intensity of what we were sharing. He looked straight through me, and deeper into me with every passing second.

My body started to tingle up my arms and down my shoulders to somewhere deep within. I couldn’t hold on any longer. Gripping his ass, I pulled him further inside of me, until I fell apart around him. Panting his name, my eyes never left his. Thrusting into me one final time, Brent squeezed his lids shut and lost himself within me.

~~~*~~~

Breathless, I wake with my heart pounding fiercely in my chest. The room is dark, almost black except a hazy glow coming from my right. The moon and city lights filter steadily through the window. Everything above and below my skin tingles, especially the space between my legs.

“Fuck!” I gasp.

I pull the pillow out from under my head and smother my face.
Fuck you dream! Fuck you, Brent.
One exchange of words with him and my subconscious is on overload. Infiltrating my thoughts, even in my sleep.

Grunting into the feathered lump, I kick my leg, frustrated with myself. Reminiscing about the past is not what I need right now. Not at all.

I lie still for sometime muttering scornful words to myself, feeling like a schoolgirl with some insane infatuation. I’m obsessing and can’t stop, even though I want to so badly.

Tossing the pillow to the ground, I glare at the ceiling, refusing to over analyze anything. It means nothing. I just saw him tonight and that’s why he’s running laps around and sprinting through my consciousness. I haven’t seen him in almost four years. Seeing him has just opened that door in my mind and now it’s time to close it once again.

Reaching toward the small side table near my bed, I grab my phone to check the time. It’s five in the morning and I’m wide-awake. Tossing it to the floor, I take a few breaths to clear my mind. I do it again…and again.

Shit!
It’s not working.

Flinging off the blanket, I sit up and come to rest at the side of the bed. I pull on a pair of socks and grab the hoodie from the floor, putting it on. I take the six steps to the kitchen area of my studio apartment and pour a glass of water, chugging it eagerly in the low-lit room. When I can’t drink another drop, I set the glass in the sink and rest my hands on the edge of the cast iron ledge. In a mantra, I tell myself over and over to let it go.

I can’t.

Mantra again.

Let it go.

Let it go.

Let it go.

“Fuck!” I grunt, stomping my foot like a child having a tantrum.

Staring at the dirty dishes in the sink, I resolve to take this issue head-on. I enter the small hallway that leads to the bathroom. This tiny space also acts as my dressing room and closet. The apartment has some lovely built-in storage, which added to its appeal when I was searching for a place to live.

Crouching down, I open the bottom drawer filled with a few books and miscellaneous holiday items. Under the bulkier objects, sitting innocently is a photo album. An envelope that I haven’t opened in years lies on top of it, calling to me now. I put my memories in there long ago, sealing them away. For some odd reason, I’m unable to throw them out completely. I’ve thought about it, but every time the envelope ends up keeping a place right next to the photo album.

I swoop up the ubiquitous envelope that seems to be everywhere in my thoughts. Bringing together the metal prongs, I open the flap and peer inside. I peek past the papers and photographs within, not wanting to stroll down that particular part of my life at all, to the bottom where there sits a white, folded piece of tissue paper. Reaching down, I fish it out and set the rest of the items to the side. Unfolding it carefully, so not to lose the contents, I lay delicate paper flat on the ground.

Staring at the small items that were tucked away many years ago, I’m surprised how I feel. I was expecting to be sad, remorseful, or even angry, but the sight of these two pieces of jewelry actually makes me feel somewhat content.

The silver paddle-heart pendant that dangles from a bracelet and the circular ruby, still on its original chain, were gifts to me from Brent. They warmed my heart then, and now, they once again make my heart beat a little stronger. I know that love isn’t shown with gifts and I’ve never been one to want “things,” but these were signs of his love. There’s no doubt that he loved me when he gave them to me. He loved me. He truly did. This is one thing I know to be true. There’s no feeling in the world comparable to that of being loved by someone so purely and wholly.
I miss that feeling. I had that feeling.

I close back up the envelope, hide it away once again in the drawer, and go back to the bed with the charms in my hand. Crawling under the covers, I set the jewelry on the side table and settle in, hoping sleep will find me.

I wait.

My mind still tickles with a yearning.

And so does my heart.

I make peace with both, grab the necklace and place it around my neck.
It’s just a necklace.

The tension lifts, my thoughts are calm, and I fall fast asleep.

Five

Languidly, my vision comes into focus as the morning light shines through the window. The room is somewhat dim, indicating an overcast autumn day.

Lying innocuously on the wooden surface of my bedside table is the paddle charm bracelet. My hand immediately searches for the gem around my neck, resting just below my collarbone. I rub the pendant a few times, contemplating whether or not I should take it off. It’s nothing more than a pretty piece of jewelry and by taking it off, I acknowledge that it means something more, which it shouldn’t.

I decide to leave it where it is.

It’s
just
a necklace.

It’s close to eleven in the morning, typical given the late night, and I need to get going on the day. I have to work again this evening and get a few things done before then.

Getting out of bed, I gather my basket of clothes and go down to the first floor to get it started. There’s one washer open.
I got lucky
. The weekends are usually really busy in the building’s laundry room.

Back in my apartment, I pour a bowl of cereal, boot up my laptop and pull out a book for a class assignment due on Monday. I’ve been researching and writing this paper for two weeks and it’s almost finished. There are just a few points I need to examine in regard to the language used in 1600’s England and how it compares to present day England. I still have no idea what I’ll do once I receive my undergraduate degree in Human Development, but it’s a subject I love, so it has to be right. I have about a year to go and plan to increase the classes in my schedule to graduate this spring.

Taking a seat on the bed with my bowl in hand, I scoop a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. Clicking open my report, I stare at the first page, not even reading the words. I consider opening my book, but I’m not ready to work on my paper.

There’s something else itching at my brain.

Moving around the mouse, I click on the web search area and type
Brent Cromwell
. On my old computer I actually blocked his name from my search lists. For an entire year, looking him up was a daily habit and eventually became a problem. Taking away my ability to digitally stalk him worked and I haven’t typed his name in years. But now my curiosity outweighs that previous logic and I’m no longer mentally in the place I was before. Then depression and longing urged on my need to stalk him, now this is just an attempt to find closure after seeing him last night.
Right?

The search results line up on the computer screen and I’m taken aback.
He’s on Wikipedia?
Scrolling down the list, there are news articles, pictures, videos, bio info, and a slew of social media links. I click on the link for the team roster, figuring it will give me facts and only that.

There he is.
I take in the picture of Brent, in uniform, with the same charming, sideways smirk that drew me to him in the first place. He appears just as he did last night—the same, but different. Four years have been good to him.

Reading his stats, which are meant to give facts for sports enthusiasts, but for women read more like a fictional boyfriend, I note every detail—dark hair, green eyes, 23 (almost 24 according to his birthdate), 6’2”, 175 pounds, and his playing position as Forward. There’s even a link to follow him on social media sites. Scrolling further down, I learn that he was acquired through a league draft and has an impressive list of accomplishments with various Clubs. Under personal information it states he has one brother and nothing else.

Going back to the search results, I read through a few sports articles, but find no personal information. I then click the social media website links. There, fans have posted images of themselves posing with him and a variety of photographs of him on the field.
Damn, that uniform.
Damn, him in uniform.
Most of the fan comments are wishing him luck and congrats on a great game. There are a few from female fans asking for a date or a “good time,” which makes me giggle.

Next I find an article listing all of the Major League Soccer salaries by player for the year. It feels wrong wanting to see his income, but it’s public information, so I let myself indulge. When I come upon his name, a lump clogs my throat. I assumed he would make the league minimum or somewhere near that, but that’s not the case at all. While he’s not the highest paid player on the team, he’s making well above league minimum. In fact, he’s making about five times above it.