Insipid (29 page)

“This is so déjà vu,” Chris says through his teeth as he holds my hand and leads me through the various groups communing in different parts of the house. He is no longer the insecure boy who attended a fundraiser at this same place twenty years ago. Gone is the nervous stance brought about by self doubt. In front of me is a smart and savvy businessman who has gained the respect of the city’s financial community. “Jae, you look even more fetching tonight than you did then,” he whispers in my ear.

“You got this,” I say confidently as he takes hold of my hand. I lead him through the crowd to Leya and the rest of the team.

“Jade!” she exclaims excitedly as she puts down her drink on the bar so she can give me a big hug.

I return her embrace warmly. “Ley, this is Chris.”

“Chris! So nice to finally meet you! Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Leya. I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for taking care of my girl while she was in Chicago. She often speaks so fondly of you and the time you spent working together.”

We stand together for a few minutes while Chris and Leya continue chatting about Chicago, San Francisco, and the real estate market.

“Hey, guys, no business tonight. We’re supposed to be celebrating!” I try to distract them, but they ignore me and continue their conversation.

I excuse myself to go to the washroom. Unfortunately, the one by the pool is currently occupied. I huff impatiently as I make my way back to the house, hoping that my bladder doesn’t burst before I get there. The flurry in the house has thinned out, since most of the guests are outside lining up at the buffet table. I walk hurriedly down the hallway towards the guest bathroom on the ground floor, anxious to get back to Chris and Leya. The slight footsteps I hear behind me don’t alarm me one bit. I assume that the servers are hustling back and forth between the kitchen and the outside buffet table. I turn the door handle of the guest bathroom with a sigh of relief. Great. It’s unoccupied. As I hurriedly attempt to shut the door from the inside, two strong arms prevent me from doing so. I back away in surprise until we’re both standing face to face. He turns around briefly to lock the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp, intoxicated by the mere fact that I can almost touch his skin.

He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he backs me up against the wall, takes my face in both hands, and kisses me. Tenderly at first, then turning brusque and angry; he takes out his fury on my lips. He breathes in my face, nestles his nose in my hair, and with barely a sound, he murmurs in my ear, “Why? Why did you get engaged?”

This time I have no words for him. Just action. And passion. And lust. And love.

We battle and fumble and tear at each other like our lives depend on it. He tugs at my hair and bites down on my lip. The sharp pain causes me to whip my head up sharply, but he sucks the blood off my mouth, tears open the front of my dress, and smears it across my breasts. I unzip his pants. He lifts me up and wraps my legs around him. In two seconds flat, he’s inside me, stretching me, hurting me, marking every part of me with his hands. I feel so much that I soak his shirt in a flood of tears. He moans, I whimper. The faster he moves, the more I hold on to him. I hold on to him for dear life because I don’t want to spend another day without him. For the first time, I can feel his emotions seeping through his touch. He is desperately trying to tell me something.

Being here with him gives me hope. For the first time in a long, long time, tomorrow doesn’t seem so daunting.

When it’s over, he pulls out abruptly and lowers me until my feet are back on the ground. I’m a sight to see—my dress is hiked up to my waist and its front is torn up, exposing my chest. More importantly, there is a searing sensation that has taken over my skin, my body, my insides and my heart. My heart is screaming out loud, “Don’t go!” But the one I belong to is out there celebrating my love, waiting for me.

In a few seconds, the man who just penetrated my soul through his touch disappears like the fog. “Fix this mess up,” he demands softly. “You know where to find me.”

And then he is gone.

BY THE TIME
I return to the party forty-five minutes later, Chris is making the social rounds with my father and Leya is sitting on a deck chair by the pool, chatting with one of his business associates. She scoots over sideways when she sees me approach them in an invitation for me to sit next to her. The couple excuses themselves and we’re left alone, sitting side by side, nursing our respective drinks.

“Geez. I didn’t know that there were going to be costume changes. I would have brought a few different outfits for myself.”

I miss this. Her sarcasm. Her truth.

“I literally smashed into one of the servers carrying a tray of red wine on my way to the washroom. I had get out of those clothes and take a shower.” I’ve been getting really good at lying lately. To others and to myself. I no longer feel the pang of guilt that normally accompanies the falsehood of these cursory words.

“I thought I saw Martinez lurking around the corner a while ago, but I figured it was just his doppelganger or something.”

“Huh. I don’t think he was invited.” I sit on my hands to stop them from twitching.

“Well, Taylor said he took a leave of absence from work. Where do you think he could be?” She’s playing with me now. There’s a charade in her words, a pointed look in her eyes. I shrug my shoulders and look away. “Are you okay, Jade? You look a little flushed and your lips are swollen.”

“Me? I’m fine. I’m great. Citrus will do that to me sometimes. I had an orange earlier.” I nervously look away.

“And how’s Olivia?” she asks. “I’m surprised she isn’t here tonight.” I’m sure it’s because she’s curious to know what my other best friend thinks about all this hoopla.

“She’s been traveling all over for her showings. Her show opens in London tonight—that’s why she couldn’t make it. She called earlier and spoke to us on FaceTime,” I say in Olivia’s defense. My thoughts are all over the place. “Let’s talk about you, Ley. How have you been? Are you still seeing Brent?” I try to immerse myself in the moment and concentrate on this conversation. I can’t help but shift my legs together. I can still feel the rawness of having him inside of me. I want it again. I absentmindedly glance around the garden.
Is he still here?

“Yes! It’s getting more and more serious. He wants me to meet his parents next month,” she enthuses, her voice pulling me back into the present.

“That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you. How are you feeling about it?”

“I’m ready. I think it’s him, Jade.”

I move closer to her and put my arms around her shoulder. “This is great news, Ley. I can’t wait to plan your wedding,” I enthuse. “Or my mother can do it.” I laugh at the afterthought.

Her eyes fix themselves on mine. I’m certain that she can see right through me. “Are you happy, Jade? Is this what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Somehow I don’t think your personalities complement each other. Chris is just so… well, so laid back.”

“Well, maybe that’s what I need in my life. He can curb in my OCD.” I’m a bundle of emotion tonight. I need to keep this light and candid or else I’ll break.

Apparently, she doesn’t think I’m funny. “Have you seen Martinez at all? Spoken to him?”

“Not since the fiasco I told you about at the Ritz. He sent me a journal that he apparently used to write all his feelings about me.” I roll my eyes like I don’t care.

“Hmm. And?”

“It’s too late. I’m not going to give Chris up. Giving him up means giving her up, and I can’t do that. I will never do that.”

IT’S NOT HIM
I need to find. I see him everywhere.

And I want to tell Chris. I really do. I want to tell him how sorry I am, how much I want to rid my head of all these lurid, maniacal thoughts. It’s just my mind messing with me, planting different scenarios in my swirling subconscious. I’m not going to give in to him ever again. Chris is my future. Like a never ending mantra, I repeat it to myself over and over and over again.

Chris. I love Chris. I’m making love to Chris. It’s Chris. It’s Chris.

“Jae,” he grunts, thrusting hard and fast. “I love you.”

I love you, Chris. I do. I want to shout it out loud, I want to show you just how much I truly do.

But I can’t.

It’s been two weeks since I saw him the party. I hide my sadness under the guise of the hectic life that we continue to lead. Chris and his business, my father and his. I’ve deleted all his messages. His calls come up under an unknown number again. I wonder whether he’s still in town. It’s funny how I don’t even know him well enough to predict what the outcome of this will be.

Here’s what I do know: Chris is my future. It’s as clear as the day is long, as transparent as the open water when all you can see is the sun and the sky. Chris is my future.

But he’s not my truth. My veracity rests solely in the hands of a man that I hardly know.

Living a lie can kill you. It erases the very essence of who you are. Pretending to feel, masking your thoughts, faking your words day in and day out—these actions leave you with an excruciating pain in your chest, a heaviness in your heart, a loathing for the person that you are. It’s a slow and agonizing death. And I don’t know how long I can fight to stay alive.

There are numerous attestations to the healing quality of time. I
want
Chris to be my reality. I
want
sunlit days without trepidation or concern. I
want
him to fulfill me. I
want
so much for us, and yet I
feel
like I have nothing. I drift away from myself in an out of body experience, watching this woman I can hardly recognize.
Look at him
,
how loving he is towards her. How much he adores her. How can she be so harsh? Why can’t she love him back?

“I wish I could get inside that head of yours so I can know what you’re thinking,” he says one night as he covers my body with his.

“What?” I ask innocently, compelling my eyes to convey something. Anything.

“Somehow, you look troubled. Like you’re somewhere else.”

“I’m sorry. I’m here. It’s just work and everything else going on. I’m fine.”

FOR NOW, I
have to content myself with the sunny skies of Hawaii. When he asked if he could whisk me away to Oahu for a few days, I happily agreed.

“Hey, sexy. I’d move that Kindle out of your lap if I were you. I’m about to attack you and get you all wet,” he teases as he swims towards me in our villa’s private pool.

“Oh no! Anything but my Kindle!” I jibe back as I lay it on the deck chair next to me and hold my arms up to him.

He lifts himself out of the water and playfully splashes me before sidling up between my open legs. “Hmm. You feel so good,” he murmurs as I scoot to the side so he can sit next to me while I continue to lie on my back.

“And you feel so cold,” I counter.

He sits back to reach over to untie my bikini top, exposing me. He lightly brushes me with his fingers and I close my eyes to enjoy the feel of his rough skin against mine. Workers’ hands, my mother used to call them. She said that they showed the true strength and character of a man.