Marked for Vengeance (6 page)

She went inside
to put on a pot of coffee and pulled her phone from her purse to see if
Benjamin had called. His flight should have arrived sometime during the night.

Two text
messages awaited her in the inbox, both from him.

She sat on the
couch, bouncing her leg nervously as she anticipated what they would read. He
would usually get irritated if she didn’t answer him back right away, and he
had sent the messages last night when she visited the rooftop.
Morning, doll,
didn’t want to call you late last night and wake you. My flight has arrived.
Going home to sleep, call me when you get this. We’ll plan on dinner tonight
.
The other read;
Safely home. Love you.
She immediately dialed his number
and it rang to voicemail.
He must still be asleep.

She propped her
feet atop the coffee table and reflected back on their year together. It wasn’t
typical for her to be in a relationship. In all the years she had lived on
Earth, this was her first one. She had always been more concerned about her
duty than finding a love interest. However, in this time period, dating was a
‘normal’ thing, and they were ordered to blend into society as best they could.
Singles dated in the city as much as they changed their underwear, and working
in an office where your nosey co-workers eventually find their way into your
business, they questioned her choice to remain habitually single.

She couldn’t
completely blame her decision to date Benjamin on peer pressure, though. Part
of her wanted to know what it was like to connect with someone in that
intimate way and figured this would be her last chance on
Earth to experience it. After she had given him a chance, their relationship
soared. He was smart, thoughtful, and a true gentleman. His parents had raised
him right. He was a little ostentatious, and could be mildly jealous at times,
but was never mean. They had yet to fight with each other or have a heated
conversation of the like.

She considered
herself lucky to find someone like Benjamin. Besides ultimately helping with
her cover, he was also a ‘perfect on paper’ kind of guy. His occupation as a
surgeon meant that he was away a lot, so even though they had been together a
year, in total they had actually only spent around six months of actual time.
This worked for her because she enjoyed her independence and being able to come
and go as she pleased. He also didn’t want children, which was fine with her. Because
of what she was, she couldn’t conceive.

But on top of
her new-found, seemingly perfect bliss, something happened that she had never
expected; the complicated emotions of also wanting another – her ‘painter man’.
Because of this, she couldn’t help her distance from Benjamin lately. The
object of her recent fascination pulled her in another direction. Even though a
relationship with her ‘painter man’ was forbidden, her heart managed to linger
with him somehow. A part of her knew it wasn’t fair to Benjamin, but she had
yet to do anything about it. She didn’t want to surrender her Wednesday and
Saturday nights on the rooftop, and she didn’t want to break it off with her
boyfriend. Sooner or later, though, one of them would eventually have to give.
Nothing could be pulled in two directions for long without eventually snapping.
It was a simple rule of physics.

She hoisted
herself from the couch and untied her robe to head for the bathroom to shave.
Regardless of her emotional distance from him lately, they still had an
important date tonight and she knew what the result would be – lovemaking. On
her way to the shower, she studied her scar in the mirror again. It no longer
tingled and appeared to be fine.
Good.
She turned the nozzle to the
shower and stepped in.

When the water
warmed, she cradled her small breasts in her arms and leaned into the wall to
let the hot water roll down her back. Her cheek rested on the cool tile, and as
soon as she closed her eyes, her ‘painter man’s’ face flashed through her mind
from the night before -- his sad face, staring out the window.

She opened her
eyes and leaned against the water to wet her hair. Her fingers ran through the
wavy curtain to saturate each strand, and her mind wandered somewhere that she
had never let it go before, somewhere unexpected – into the fantasy of him
accompanying her in the shower.     What if he was there with her now? His
lean, naked body pressed to hers, holding her in a passionate embrace. She let
out a deep, yearning sigh, and her eager fingertips made their way down her
stomach, between her legs.

Ding-dong!

The doorbell
rang through the house, rudely interrupting her intimate moment as if it were
on purpose.
Seriously?!
her thoughts screamed.

Resentful that it
jolted her from of her erotic daydream, she turned the nozzle off and snatched
a towel to answer the door, fully prepared with a chiding look if it happened
to be a salesman. It was too early to be bothered.

When she swung
it open, to her surprise, there stood Benjamin, puffy eyed from jet lag,
clutching a bouquet of her favorite flower – lilies. “Morning, beautiful,” he
crooned.

“Benjamin!” she
cried, attempting to conceal the shock of his unexpected visit. In an odd way,
it felt as though she still had another man in the shower. She jumped into his
arms. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered. And despite her initial shock,
she was.

 Her long legs
wrapped around his waist, and the white towel fell to the floor as they locked
lips. With her body fastened to his, he shut the door behind them with his foot
and walked straight for the bedroom.

*
* *

While Benjamin
slept, she laid beside him while drumming her fingers atop her stomach as she
thought, wondering if her enthusiasm in bed was partly because she had
fantasized about her ‘painter man’ beforehand. A few times during sex she also
fantasized that Benjamin
was
him as he moved his capable, steady hands
over her body. She imagined that they belonged to him instead, painting her
curves and secret crevices.

As an
afterthought, her fantasies seemed like a violation against Benjamin. But that
was as close as she would ever get to knowing her ‘painter man’ in that way.

Venturing into
that uncharted territory frightened her a little. It could cause the dangerous
lion her desire had become to break loose and wreak its havoc, but it also
brought an exhilaration to her carnal need to be truly pleasured. It wasn’t
that Benjamin couldn’t pleasure her. His lovemaking emitted a tender, selfless warmth,
which made for a wonderful experience. She had no complaints with him in that
department. But as enjoyable as it was physically, their lovemaking fell short
somewhere, and when she thought of her ‘painter man’ that day in bed, it tapped
into a part of her she had never accessed, heightening her arousal to its peak.
At one point she thought her body might actually combust.

She rolled to
the side and watched as he slept. If she continued a relationship with him, she
knew she would eventually need to let her fantasies go, which also meant, her
late night visits to the rooftop. Her stomach dropped at the thought of it. Especially
now, she didn’t know if she could muster the strength. To help shake the
uncomfortable notion, she rolled delicately off of the bed to finish drying her
hair in the bathroom, knowing when Benjamin awoke, he would want to make love
again and then go back to his place to get ready for tonight.

She searched
through her drawers for a t-shirt and a pair of striped sleeping shorts. She never
walked around naked, even in front of Benjamin. She had always been extremely
careful not to let him, or anyone for that matter, see her scar. Her superiors commanded
that the unusual marking stay hidden beneath their clothes and away from
anyone’s inquisitive eyes. Even when in bed together, she would make sure the
lights were off, and if his wandering hands traveled up her back, she would redirect
them somewhere more distracting.

She also didn’t
wear tank tops or anything strapless out in public. Benjamin thought it was
because she had ‘classy and demure’ taste, which he liked, so it worked. Years
of hiding her scar had made her a pro. It was practically effortless.

“Where are you off
to?” he moaned as she opened the door to leave.

“Bathroom,” she whispered.
“Go back to sleep. It’s only nine thirty.”

He grunted and
wrapped the sheet around him in a tight cocoon. “Don’t forget to put the
flowers in some water.”

His sincerely
concerned tone caused her to chuckle. “I’m on it.”

* * *

The next morning
when Isaac awoke, the exhaustion from a restless night saturated him to the
core. After Micah had gone back to bed, Isaac tossed and turned, replaying the
disturbing scene his son created for him with his description of what had happened.
He also felt partly to blame for Micah’s dreaming habits. As though it were a
gene he had intentionally passed down.

Rolling over one
last time to try and get some sleep sounded appealing, but it was Sunday, and
this was his and Micah’s day to do something fun together. He needed to get up
and get moving. Usually, they went to eat breakfast at the Waffle House down
the street, and then to Piedmont Park or a movie. One Sunday they took a road
trip to the Georgia Mountains and spent the entire day hiking and sightseeing.

He sat up in bed
and glanced at his cell phone on the end table.
Nine thirty.
“Humph,”
he grunted, assuming it was much earlier.

He made his way
to the bathroom for his morning routine, contemplating where to go for
breakfast, when he heard Micah stir upstairs. “Morning, buddy! What do you want
for breakfast?”

A moaning voice
answered. “Let’s eat here, I’m not feeling too good.”

Isaac turned and
rushed up the stairs.

Micah sat on the
edge of his bed, leaning foreword with his hands on each side of his head. By
the way his face twisted into a grimace, Isaac could tell he was in pain. “Is
it your head?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, and I just
don’t feel well.”

Isaac placed his
hand against his clammy forehead.
It’s times like this that I miss Rachel,
he thought. What would
she
have done?
Medicine
. “Let’s get you some
Tylenol and a bite to eat. Omelet ok?” 

Micah gagged.
“Definitely
not
anything with eggs. Maybe some cheese toast.”

Isaac tousled his
hair. “I can manage that.”

*
* *

By
mid-afternoon, Micah’s condition had improved.  As Isaac worked in the studio
on his painting, he cast a glance over his shoulder to check on him. Micah lounged
on the couch with a soda in his hand, watching TV as he had been doing since
after breakfast. Every time he looked at him, the color had slowly returned to
his face, which now grinned at something amusing on the screen. 

Isaac turned to
refocus on his work and chewed on the end of the paintbrush. Not going out with
his son on a Sunday felt unnatural. “You want to go somewhere tonight?” he
shouted and dipped the bristles in the green paint.

“I’m not sure,
dad. But maybe I would say
yes
if we can go see that new action movie we
saw the preview for last night!”

Isaac rolled his
eyes with a grin. Micah desperately wanted to see it, but the movie was rated
PG-13 and he couldn’t decide if it would be appropriate or not. Plus, he knew
Micah used his sympathies for not going out today to his benefit -- and it
worked. “Ok, you weasel. We’ll leave in an hour. And if you feel well enough,
we can get a bite afterwards.”

“Yes!” Micah
cheered.

“But clean up
your room first.”

“Yes, sir!”

Isaac only had a
few more strokes of green for the grass before beginning on the centerpiece of
his creation; the unusual creature, who had permanently seared its image into
his mind. He closed his eyes to recall her haunting face. Blurred, resembling a
Monet. From far away you could tell she was attractive, but what overshadowed
everything – including the dazzling night sky – were her eyes, her completely
black, fiery eyes.

When the last
blade of grass stroked into place, he painted a heart-shaped face of fleshy
pink and blew on it to encourage its drying. As it set, he chose a smaller
brush with long, thin bristles and delicately tapped the end into the black paint
for the outline of her eyes. His tongue curled over his top lip as he leaned
closer to paint two small arches within the pink face and filled them in before
adding white marks to make them shine.

He stopped to
assess what he had painted, and a smile toyed with his lips. The thrill of a
vision coming to life on his canvas was what he lived for, his creative-self
sated. If he merely lived to work and die, his soul would always thirst for
something more. His paintings were an escape into the surreal, a way to cope
with the humdrum of everyday life. With every well-placed stroke, he would
escape further into whatever world he envisioned, its atmosphere a temporary
break from reality. One way he was able to stay sane after losing Rachel and
raising a child on his own.

He picked up the
brush with the flesh-colored paint and recreated her willowy neck and arms. The
hair would be next, and her wavy lochs needed something to flourish around.
Once complete, he rinsed the brush and mixed a dab of brown paint with the
outer edge of the black to lighten the hue only slightly. Long, curvy strokes
framed her face and fell around her shoulders, bringing his creature to life.