Love Love (18 page)

“
I want my cock inside you
again. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

I’m momentarily distracted by that
comment, but it soon disintegrates as he moves me onto the soft
satin sheets of the bed and thrusts his hard length inside me. The
feeling is so intense I scream as my body succumbs almost
instantly. My insides tighten at his deliberate movements; the
rocking sensation of his hips, the sweat dribbling rapidly down my
heated skin makes the craving for release overwhelming. After one
final, pounding thrust, I let go, and Dane follows my lead as his
body quivers and his voice calls out “I’m gonna come so hard,
Gabby!”

As our breathing slows, I hear him
whisper, “that was incredible.”

I don’t have a response. I feel numb
or sick, I can’t figure out which one. Staring up at the ceiling, I
suddenly realize what it is. I feel empty. Good. No, not good.
Something’s different. What is it? It can only be one thing. Shit.
After a few minutes I slowly sit up on the bed. “I have to
go.”

“
What do you mean, you have
to go? Where are you going? We haven’t even eaten yet.”

While Dane continues to talk, I’m
already out of bed, pulling my panties and bra on, then sliding my
dress back up. I grab my shoes and head for the door. I can tell
he’s flustered but I don’t care. I have to get out of
here.

“
Please, Angel, I want you
to stay.”

My head whips around. "Don't you ever
call me that again," I snap, stomping out the door as quickly as my
feet will carry me. Hearing him say that word, one that holds such
special meaning for me, makes me sick to my stomach. I start
breathing heavily and grab onto the wall as I wait for the
elevator. When the doors finally open, I stagger inside and try to
catch my breath. I can’t help but think that was the biggest blow
off in the history of my life; and it wasn’t happening to me. I was
making it happen.

I’m tired, starving, and feeling the
need to lose myself for a little while. Junk food and a movie,
that’s it. Making my way over to the corner store, I feel the wind
on my face and let it carry me away. Away from all the waves of
disappointment drowning me. Disappointment in a family I wish could
have been different. Disappointment in a guy who gave me exactly
what I wanted. But most of all, disappointment in myself for
finally wanting to feel something.

I awaken in the middle of the night
with endless tears streaming down my cheeks and a sick feeling in
the pit of my stomach. I throw back my comforter and sneak into
Fran’s room, crawling into bed beside her. She doesn’t wake, but
her nearness is enough to calm my tears. Minutes later, she starts
to stir and extends her arm to stretch out. She cracks open her
eyes when her hand touches my shoulder.

“
Hey,” I
whisper.

“
You okay?” The sound of
her voice releases more tears and they tumble down my cheeks
without ever looking back. I wish I could do the same. Fran pulls
me close. “Shhh...it’s okay, sweetie…it’s okay.”

But that’s the problem. It isn’t okay,
and I don’t know when it will ever be okay again.

***

It’s
Thursday, day four of this horrific week, and I’m having a hard
time concentrating. It’s a real problem, since Robby’s left me
three times as many sticky notes as I’m accustomed to. My mind
keeps drifting to Clark.

By the time the day’s over, I’m a
complete mess. I can’t remember the last time I had such a bad day.
Well, I can, and that’s the problem. I’m walking around aimlessly
with no destination in sight, and it suddenly feels like I’m
literally on the road to nowhere. Images of Clark’s face are
flooding my brain and I can’t make them stop. My hands are shaking
and tears are streaming down my face like raindrops falling from an
angry sky. The faster I walk, the quicker they fall. All the tears
I’ve cried for Clark over the years are pounding down on me,
overwhelming me. When I finally look up, I’m standing in front of
The Brew House. It’s almost as if my feet constantly know me better
than I know myself.

I take a deep breath, wipe my blotchy
face, and walk inside. The door jingles and I see a familiar face.
A welcome face. Brad looks up from behind the counter with a smile
that quickly subsides once he sees me. He makes his way over and
leads me to a booth. As I sit there with tears stinging the back of
my eyes, I feel a hand on mine. A warm hand. A feeling hand. And I
feel things. Things I'm not supposed to feel. Things I can't allow
myself to feel. It's like his fingers are strumming my
heartstrings; pulling, plucking, twisting, and I'm helpless.
Completely and utterly helpless. I know I need to pull away, but I
can’t.

“
Gabby,” he says. There are
no questions in his voice, only concern.

After several minutes of silence and
using up an entire box of Kleenex, I mutter, “I’m
sorry.”

He keeps his hand on mine and gives it
a reassuring squeeze, then tugs me up by the hand. “Come
on.”

“
What, where are we
going?”

“
Just come on.”

“
I can’t go anywhere
looking like this!”

Brad doesn’t let go of my hand. “You
look great, now let’s go.”

We make our way onto the street and I
still have no idea where we’re going; not that it matters. I look
down and notice that Brad’s fingers are still intertwined with
mine. The moment I notice, he does, too, and quickly pulls his hand
back to his side. I didn’t mind it, actually. It felt right in some
odd way, even though I know, God help me, it shouldn’t. Brad
doesn’t say much to me, so we continue to walk in silence. It’s for
the best, though; my mind is flooded with too many thoughts I wish
I could chase away.

He finally stops and I see that we’ve
reached our destination. Looking up, I see a movie marquee with
“Looney Tunes” in giant block letters. My eyes dart over to Brad.
“Looney Tunes, seriously?”

He leans back on his heels, and with
childlike eyes, shoots back, “Hey, never underestimate the power of
Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck!”

The marathon is hysterical. I don’t
remember the last time I laughed so hard. A couple times during the
movie, Brad caught me brooding and threw some popcorn at me to
shake me out of my mood. It worked, for a while anyway.

Walking back to my apartment, we’re
both quiet. Brad hasn’t pressed me once tonight to talk about
what’s bothering me, and I really appreciate it. I don’t know what
to say. I feel like a hand is pulling me down a dark hole, and I
can't seem to grab the rope to pull myself out.

Brad stops and looks over at me,
forcing my eyes to meet his. “I hope you know by now that you can
trust me, Gabby. I’m here if you want to talk about it.” He
hesitates, but then continues. “I can see how pained you are.
There’s something eating away at you, and I want to help, if you’ll
let me.” There’s a softness in Brad’s eyes when he looks at me.
It’s almost as if he’s trying to melt away my sadness. His fingers
touch the side of my cheek, and for a second, the pain melts away.
The disappointment melts away. The world melts away.

Turning to walk inside, I look back
and try my best to muster up a smile. “Hey, Brad?”

“
Yeah?”

“
Thanks for
tonight.”

“
Sure.” He walks off into
the night.

And just like that, my misery
returns.

Returning home to an empty apartment,
I shed my skirt, blouse, and rip off my bra and panties as quickly
as possible. I make my way to the bathroom and turn the water on
until it’s just the right temperature. I slide the curtain to the
side and hop into the scalding hot shower, attempting to scrub off
all the pain, all the disappointment, and all the guilt. But no
matter how raw my skin gets, it just won’t come off.

***

My
days are blending together again. I can’t even remember what day it
is, or whether I have to work today. I’m not sleeping and I’m
freaking exhausted. Dragging myself out of bed this morning, I rub
my crusty, sleep-filled eyes and knock on Fran’s bedroom door. When
I don’t hear anything, I crack the door, but she isn’t there. A
note in the kitchen tells me to meet her for coffee.

I putz around the apartment
for a while and consider just going back to bed, when Fran’s words
come back to haunt me.
You have to move
on, Gabby. It’s time
. Only, how do I do
that? Heading back to my room, I walk over to the $90 consignment
shop dresser and stand in front of the top left hand drawer,
staring at it. I’m not sure what possesses me, because I haven’t
opened it in a while, but my shaky hand grabs the handle and pulls
it open. I gaze at the pile of old pictures and papers, and my
fingers itch to flip through them, but something stops me, and I
think better of it. Slamming the drawer shut, I run into the
bathroom and prepare for the day.

The door does its usual jingle thing
when I walk into The Brew House. My feet seem to be in slow motion,
or maybe it’s my brain, I’m not sure. I take in a couple discussing
the benefit of children visiting art museums and notice that, for
the first time, my heels aren’t sticking to the floor. Maybe Brad’s
washed it. I see Fran at the counter leaning over it, her cleavage
poking through the top button of her green blouse. My feet make
their way over to her of their own volition to interrupt whatever
it is she’s trying to do, and Brad’s lips curve into an easy
smile.

“
Hey,” he says
quietly.

“
Hey.”

He looks at me with concern. “You
doing better today?”

I twist some strands of my hair.
“Yeah, a little bit.”

Fran looks annoyed that she’s
completely out of the loop. I ignore her for a moment and eye the
glass case, deciding I need a heavy dose of sugar. “Brad, can I
have two double chocolate chip muffins please?”

He stares at me like he wants to say
something, until his mouth finally opens. “Two, huh? Serious
chocolate craving?”

“
Yeah, you could say that.
Can I also have extra whipped cream in my mocha?”

“
Sure, Gabby.”

After ordering our drinks, Fran grabs
my elbow and practically drags me over to a booth. “What the hell
was that all about?”