Michele

 

The open house was as stuffy as I’d imagined it would be, but the gallery was packed with fancy people with all the wine and cheese that Shannon had promised. I wore the long-sleeved dress I’d bought with the tights and boots, and she complimented my outfit, asking me to do a model twirl.

Things between us felt different, though. I knew she didn’t approve of my decision not to pursue divorce, but she wasn’t trying to change my mind. She asked about Iain, her eyes slightly distant, as if withholding her true feelings about the whole thing - but that could have been my own paranoia, seeking out signals when there were none.

We drank plenty of wine and had plenty to eat, and the pieces on display were utterly bizarre, bordering on macabre. The artist, Chantrea Meng, was standing stiffly next to Evan most of the night, wearing an orange velvet dress with red Mary Janes, her long black hair streaked with blue and white.

“Did you get a load of that outfit?” Shannon whispered, glass of wine in hand. We were standing next to a piece titled glow in town, a giant red and white abstract painting with severed Barbie heads attached to it, their hair hanging down against the canvas, their faces captured with that signature wide-eyed smile.

“Yeah, not sure what’s up with that.” I squinted at the painting - or whatever it was - we were standing next to, trying to find meaning in it. “More importantly, what’s up with this?”

“I don’t know, but it’s priced at twelve hundred dollars.” She took a sip of her wine. “Evan told me earlier.”

I shook my head, eyes wandering around the wide, open space. Everything was so minimalist here, and all the pieces were so odd, that it was hard to know where to look. Not for the first time, I wondered about Evan’s taste in art, although judging by the hundred or so people here, maybe I was the one missing out.

“What are your plans this weekend?” Shannon asked, casually.

“Oh, nothing crazy. I’m going over Iain’s tonight, and I’m working tomorrow and Sunday.”

She smiled, tipping her glass up to her lips, draining it.

“Don’t forget that we’re leaving Monday morning for Aruba. I’ll need you to make sure the apartment doesn’t burn down while we’re gone.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot about that.”

“I thought you had.” She beckoned me to follow her, and we walked over to the small bar in the back of the gallery. She ordered another glass of wine and threw a dollar into the tip jar.

“I bet you’re really excited to go,” I said. Her leaving didn’t impact my life in any real way except that the apartment would be empty for two weeks. I’d miss her, though. Being alone wasn’t something I had been looking forward to. Despite our conflicting schedules, it was still nice to come home at night and know someone else was there.

“I am. I need a tan, and I’m sick of this weather.” She turned toward Evan, watching him from across the room. “And this shit stresses him out. He’s smiling now, but tonight, it’ll be a frown. Especially if he doesn’t close the sales he’s banking on.”

“Your job seems stressful too, you know,” I told her.

“It can be. It’s mostly just catering to people higher up the corporate ladder, which sucks, but I’ve come a long way. Now at least I have someone catering to me, too.” She pulled her phone out of her bag, checking notifications, the screen dancing in her brown eyes. “I’ll be glad to shut this thing off for two weeks, though, let me tell you.”

“I bet.”

She put her phone away, tucking her hair behind her ear. She wore it loose tonight, her curls looking extremely shiny in the bright lights of the gallery.

My own phone buzzed in my bag, and I pulled it out, flipping it open. Shannon snorted at me, and I waved her off. It was a text from Iain.

When will you be done?

Was he as eager to see me as I was him? He had told me earlier that he was going to see his mom at the hospital. I wondered how that went. I hoped that they had broken down some walls, but I knew that Iain held a lot of hurt because of his mom.

I texted him back, my fingers awkward across the small keys. Soon. Maybe an hour tops.

“I think it’s time for you to get a real phone,” Shannon remarked as I put it away. I laughed, shaking my head.

“You can’t trace a burner phone,” I said.

She sighed, obviously distraught by that statement. “You can’t keep living like this, Michele.”

“You’ve said that before,” I reminded her.

“Well, I’m saying it again. You keep living your life like some… I don’t know. Like some criminal.” She quieted as a couple walked past us, their voices hushed over glasses of red wine. When she continued, her voice was a near-whisper. “I know you said you weren’t ready to file for divorce. But don’t you think it’s time? Hell, I’d even go with you if you needed me to. And… I’m sure Iain would too.”

I wasn’t ready. It was only three days ago we discussed this last, and she was already asking me again. What could I do? I couldn’t agree to it yet. Brandon was a constant threat, never far in the shadows of my mind.

“I’ll think about it,” I said instead.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth, either.

 

xxx

 

Less than two hours later, with an overnight bag in hand, I knocked on Iain’s door, my heart in my mouth, eager to see him.

A few moments later, the door opened. I’d only seen him just this morning, but somehow it felt like ages ago. I followed him inside, and he shut the door, locking it.

“Hey you,” he said, taking my bag and placing it on the floor. He pulled me close, his face nuzzled against my head. His hand went to my face, leaning it toward his, meeting my lips for a kiss.

“How was your day?” I asked him, picking up my bag and moving it to the bedroom. He followed me, the wood creaking under our feet, crossing his arms and resting against the door frame.

“It’s better now,” he replied, something distant in his eyes.

I shrugged my coat off, draping it over his desk chair across the room, before returning to him. “How was the hospital?”

“I didn’t bring you here to depress you,” Iain said. His gaze darkened, and he slipped his arms around me, his lips grazing my ear. “If I recall, I brought you here to show you dirty.”

My breath caught, my body responding to his words. I leaned against him, surprised at the hardness pressing against my belly through his jeans, looking up at him questioningly.

“You don’t want to tell me anything at all?”

“Not yet.” His voice was soft, his eyes pleading, and I relaxed against him, knowing that I was beat.

His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, his eyes fixated on my mouth. Despite how tempting he was, I wanted to press him about his mother, but told myself not to pry. He would tell me when he was ready.

I smiled, allowing myself to give in to him, my fingers skimming up his back. He leaned in and kissed me properly, deeply, his tongue meeting mine. It didn’t feel like just a kiss. It felt like he was trying to tell me something that words couldn’t say.

As his hands reached under my dress, cupping my ass, I quieted my mind, letting myself succumb to his lips, his touch, his warm body. He pulled me to bed, stripping me; all the while, his dancing eyes drank me in.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, pushing me back onto the bed. He was above me, his hands everywhere, leaving hot-white trails of fire in their wake. I moaned, the sound feather-light, my heart swelling, my mind reeling.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” I gasped, closing my eyes, raising my heaving chest. Iain’s lips grazed over my breasts, lingering on my pebbled nipples. It was like every part of me was made for him, every nerve ending, every expanse of skin, every heartbeat. I bit my bottom lip as he pressed his hips against me, my legs spreading instinctively, his jeans rough against the most sensitive part of me. His hardness was straining against the denim, heat radiating toward me.

“Please,” I cried, inching my hips against him, pressing. I had to feel something, anything more than what he was giving me. “Please, Iain.”

I thought he would ask, Please what? like he’d done in the past, but instead, I only heard the sound of his zipper. I opened my eyes, watching him remove his shirt, then his jeans, his own eyes never leaving mine. He stepped forward again, poising himself, his head running up and down my slick wetness. We both hissed at the same time.

“Yes,” I gasped. I wasn’t seeing anything anymore, only whiteness, only stars. I reached for him, urging him on.

“Goddamn, Michele.” He growled, his body tensing. “I need to put a condom on.”

I gripped at his wrist which was resting against my hip, looking at him. “No. I want to feel you.” I swallowed, not caring how crazy I sounded. I needed this, I needed him. “I want to feel all of you.”

He didn’t move for a moment, only watching me. Then he cursed under his breath, and then in one, quick movement, he was inside of me.

It felt different this time. Maybe it was because I was feeling him without a barrier, or maybe it was something with me, but it was amazing. My face flushed, my breaths coming in rapid bursts, his hips working as he filled me. Up until now, sex with Iain had been great - but this? This was something else entirely.

He leaned over me, his mouth hovering centimeters away from mine. I ran my hands through his hair, warmth spreading through my body, our hips slapping together with each thrust, his breaths coming out in strangled gasps against my lips.

How did I get so lucky? Not even three weeks ago, we were strangers on the street. Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

I couldn’t imagine my life without him. That thought rang through my head, over and over, and as if he could read my mind, he leaned down and kissed me, roughly, teeth biting my lips, his tongue dancing with mine. He was consuming me, his body, his heart, his lips, and his eyes, which were burning into mine when he drew back from our kiss.

“Come for me,” he whispered. He licked his fingers, reaching down and landing them on my clit between us, rubbing in small circles there. An orgasm I hadn’t even known was coming hit me like an electric shock, and I cried out, moaning his name as warm, liquid waves rushed through me.

He was still thrusting into me, his hands splayed against my hips and belly. I could see that he was close; his lips parted, his eyes locked on mine. And then, without warning, he pulled out, spilling himself onto my stomach with a groan.

“Shit,” I said, after I’d caught my breath. We both laughed, and then Iain jumped up, rushing to the bathroom, the sounds of running water coming shortly after. He returned to the bedroom with a washcloth, cleaning my stomach, grimacing.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that, but….” He bit his lip, looking at me, his eyes trailing down my flushed, warm body. I used my elbows to lift myself up, letting him look. I remembered being in this very spot, not that long ago, wanting nothing more than for him to look away.

Now I couldn’t get enough of that gaze, and I soaked it in, aware of each and every breath, of my steady heartbeat in my chest.

“Don’t be sorry,” I told him. He threw the cloth at the hamper in the corner and then climbed onto the bed, lining his body up with mine.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against my ear.

My hand flew up, fingers curling through his hair. My skin buzzed at his words, and I smiled, giddy and carefree.

“Then don’t,” I said.

 

xxx

 

Later, we lay together in bed in the dark, his fingers trailing lightly up and down my bare arm. It was late, just after one, the street outside quieter and darker. I’d dozed off earlier, falling into a strange dream, the kind that seemed so obvious as I was having it, but when I woke up, I only felt listless.

He still hadn’t told me about his mother. I watched him in the dark, tracing the outline of his profile, wondering what was going through his head. I shifted in bed, allowing myself to lean into him, to let him know that I was there.

He cleared his throat, a soft sound, his face turning toward mine. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

He rolled over on his side, fully facing me now. A single finger traced my cheek, his face unreadable as he watched me in the dark.

“Do you worry about Brandon?”

I pushed some hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Yes. Sometimes.”

“What do you think about? When you worry?”

“I….” I let out a breath, thinking of ways to put it into words. Iain was patient, his face stoic, his lips parted as he waited. “I worry that one day I’ll walk into the bar and he’ll be there. I worry that I’ll be waiting to cross the street somewhere and he’ll just grab me. I worry… he’ll take me back home.”

Iain nodded, his face rubbing against the pillow as he did so, his hand cupping against the back of my neck, rubbing circles there.

“That is not your home.” His eyes darted across my face. “That was your prison.”

He was right, of course. This was my home now, Brooklyn, this city. I let my gaze drop down Iain’s face, following the shadows until I could only see darkness where his chest would be under the blanket. I reached out to touch him, feeling the heat of his skin. His heart was beating there, steady and strong.

“This is your home,” he said, barely above a whisper, bringing his own hand up to rest over mine, pressing it against his heart. “If you want it to be.”

I couldn’t put into words how it made me feel. All of it, all of him: the security, the warmth, the affection, all things I’d only dreamed about before. Things I once had with Brandon that were ruined, made unclean. Somehow, the future looked bright. I imagined settling here, getting my own apartment, getting a job I really cared about, living the life I’d always wanted to.

Living it with Iain.

At that thought, I smiled, my heart swelling with hope.

It all felt within reach… but oh, how wrong I was.