ROBERT
I can’t sleep. Guilt has a disgusting ability to gnaw a hole inside a person and I already had a cavern of emptiness in my chest.
I walked away.
I can’t believe that after that mind-blowing kiss I looked at her face and walked away.
Telling myself it’s the shock doesn’t do anything to make it better. I wasn’t expecting it. We were wearing matching masks after all and mine wasn’t concealing anything underneath it. I just…
I rub my hands over my face and curse again, remembering the hurt in her eyes when I’d seen her burns and obviously failed to disguise my shock. She looked wounded in a way that speared me inside. I’d done that. I’d taken the expression of soft concern, affection, and desire and twisted it into something sad.
My apartment is cool. The weather in New York turned weeks ago. Fall arrived, another year has passed and nothing is different. I still felt the same. Whoever says ‘time heals’ was a lucky bastard because it did nothing for me.
Tiredness resides like a fog in my head. Tiredness, weariness; I no longer remember what it feels like to be truly unburdened by memories. Ghosts are so heavy to bear.
I sip my coffee, holding the cup in both hands for the warmth. It’s dark and bitter, exactly the way I like it.
Exactly like me.
If I didn’t have plans I’d be tempted to stay in bed and try to lose myself in sleep but Aaron, my brother, is in town for the weekend and I’ve promised to entertain him. The last time we saw each other had been awkward and I’d been totally to blame. He’d given me a key to his apartment for emergencies and I should have announced my presence when he’d come home with a woman but I’d been amused listening to him flirting and before I knew what had happened they were fucking on the kitchen table. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed to watch but I’m a man and I’ve always loved winding Aaron up. It’s a brotherly thing.
Needless to say, the girl wasn’t happy, and Aaron was furious. We’ve made up since then, as we always do, but I want to smooth things over in person. He’s the one member of my family that doesn’t hassle me about my life and for that, I’m immensely grateful.
The rest of them seem desperate to point out my shortcomings at every opportunity. ‘Why aren’t you dating, Robert?’, ‘Why aren’t you working, Robert?’, ‘Why are you wasting your life, Robert?’ And the worst, ‘you need to get over Bethany, Robert.’ Like that’s the easiest thing in the world to do.
They have no idea.
I know I need to do something to apologize to Analie. It was unforgivable of me to leave her looking so crestfallen and not explain why I reacted the way I did. The problem is, I could never explain. It’s a part of my life I never speak of, the block inside me like a dam against all the emotions I’ve stuffed down undealt with. If nothing else, I can tell her I’m sorry, that I was drunk and upset by Summer and her obvious distress and that had clouded my responses. It was the truth in a way. At least, half of it.
Deciding to send flowers, I call the florist that I use each week for the lilies I keep in the foyer to remind me of Bethany. She takes down all the details and asks me what she should put in the bouquet. I ask for a wild-looking bunch; a mixture of unusual flowers in different colors because somehow that seems to fit with Analie.
In the card I dictate a short message; I’m sorry I left, Analie. I needed to get away but not for the reasons you think. You’re an amazing and beautiful woman, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for my poor behavior after a very difficult night. Robert.
The florist agrees to deliver them later in the day to Analie’s department at the hospital. I’m not sure if she’s working but I hope she’ll receive them soon and understand.
After an egg white omelet and cooked tomatoes, I hit the shower. I’m not in the mood for my daily run. I know I’ll see too many friendly faces, the acquaintances that keep me busy without actually needing anything from me. The surface relationships with people like me. Trust fund kids. Lots of money and nothing to do with it except eat and drink and party. I’m good at living all my todays without ever thinking about the future. It’s as though my tomorrows had been stolen on that terrifying night. As though all my dreams disappeared.
Aaron calls me in the afternoon to say he’s flying in with his girlfriend and that they’ll take me for dinner. I have the whole day to fill so I head to my study and flip open my computer.
I first started writing fantasy stories in high school. It was something to do on nights when we were supposed to be studying. I always managed to complete my assignments quickly enough that I had plenty of time to spare. Aaron liked to read and I did too, but somehow my mind would always run away with me, trying to find a better ending to the popular books I read. The characters would stick with me for days, finding new adventures and relationships in my head. Eventually, I put pen to paper, mainly for my own amusement and I’ve never really stopped. I have so many completed stories on my laptop, some short but others that I’ve developed into full-length novels. Novels that I’ve never shown to anyone. Aaron knows it’s something I dabbled with as a teen but has never ask me about it in adulthood.
I have no intention of doing anything with them. Money isn’t a concern, coming from my family, and I don’t think my tales are good enough to put out for reader scrutiny. They’re my escape. A place I can lose myself, forget about the ghosts that cloud every day and slip into a new world. I give my character’s impossible challenges, make them face terrible tragedy and sadness and they always came through in the end. Maybe the happy endings I weave are evidence that I have hope for myself, however small and remote a possibility.
Breaking only for lunch I manage to complete about 10,000 words of a novel featuring a hero with terrible disfigurements. I suppose it will end up a fantasy version of beauty and the beast in some way; the scarred creature finding forgiveness, redemption, and love after a suspenseful journey.
I dress for dinner and take my car across to Corinthia, finding that I’m first to our pre-booked table. Aaron and Nicole arrive shortly after, beaming like two people that have been having a lot of very good sex. I know, from my afternoon of voyeurism that they seem to be on the same wavelength. Nicole blushes when Aaron introduces her and I reach to shake her hand, but then seems to find her steal and narrows her eyes.
“I should slap you in the face for being such a cad,” she says in a haughty English accent, reminiscent of the Queen.
“You probably should, m’lady,” I counter, lowering my head in a bow. “Please forgive my lack of chivalry.”
Aaron laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Robert,” he says. “I was in Rhode Island to see Nicole and she’s going back to London tomorrow morning so I thought I would bring her with me to New York so you could meet properly.” I grin at Nicole who rolls her eyes. “I’m going to stay at the X hotel with her tonight but I’ll be free after lunch.”
“Great,” I say, taking a seat at the table I’ve selected near the windows. The waitress arrives with a bottle of mineral water and the wine I’ve ordered. Aaron and Nicole sit facing me and I smile when he put his arm around the back of her chair proprietorially. I haven’t seen him look so genuinely happy for a long time. Aaron has his own demons; a relationship that ended in a betrayal so bad that I’d wondered if he would ever trust again. It seems he’s found someone who’s finally cracked his hard shell.
After some light-hearted conversation, I can see why. Nicole is funny and warm and keeps reaching out to touch Aaron when she’s talking. She makes me laugh, teasing Aaron about hiring teenage boys to help him carry extravagant bags of food shopping back her apartment when he visited her in London. I like that she seems down to earth and unaffected by Aaron and his financial status. It is hard to find women who aren’t motivated by money and the position and privilege it affords. If Aaron has managed it, I’m damn happy for him, but only time will tell.
I know Aaron is visiting because he’s worried about me. When I called him last week, it was on a day when I’d been feeling lower than usual and he must have picked up on it. Some days, remaining upbeat is harder than others.
We get to the end of the meal without the conversation turning to anything difficult. Outside the restaurant, I give Nicole a respectful peck on the cheek and promise to always be a gentleman in the future. That earns me a smile. Aaron pats my shoulder and tells me he’ll call me tomorrow. His car pulls up at the curb and I wave them off feeling lighter and happier.
It’s short-lived.
I’m about to start walking when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s hard. Way harder than what a stranger would inflict. When I turn to find out what their problem is I come face to face with a huge bouquet of flowers that are roughly shoved at me.
“Here,” a familiar voice says from behind the blooms that I’m now clutching. “You can have them back.”
Analie.
By the time I’ve worked out what’s happening Analie is on the move, striding along the sidewalk fast, obviously not wanting to talk to me.
“Analie, wait,” I call, feeling ridiculous running after her with the flowers. A dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a suit walks past and I thrust the flowers at her. “Here, these are for you,” I blurt, then dash off after Analie who’s already disappeared around a corner. “Ana…come on, don’t run off like this.”
“Why,” she yells over her shoulder. “It’s what you did last night.”
“Come on,” I say, finally getting alongside her. She’s dressed in smart slacks and a matching jacket teamed with running shoes. No wonder she’s moving so fast.
“Come on what, Robert?” She stops and faces me with her arms crossed in front of her, the picture of hostility.
“Look, I explained, okay?” I say, running my hands through my hair. Her eyes are narrowed into a look that could wilt flowers and I feel as awkward as a teen asking his crush out for prom.
“You explained what? That you’re a conceited jerk who was only interested in kissing me while you thought I was pretty, but then you saw this…” she waves her hand around the side of her face marred by the burn, “…and you decided it wasn’t such a good idea anymore.”
“That isn’t what happened, Analie. Don’t make me into a monster.”
“That’s how you made me feel last night,” she says and starts to walk again. Her words spear me but the dismissive flick of her hair over her shoulder as she struts away made me angry.
“Stop walking away from me when I’m talking to you,” I shout, refusing to chase her any further. Analie stops and turns with a shocked expression. It seems that she isn’t expecting me to be angry. I don’t know why I’m so bothered about what she thinks of me. We hardly know each other after all, but I find myself caring that she understands I’m not an asshole and even more importantly, I need to make sure she isn’t left feeling hurt.
“You don’t know me, Dr. Analie Taylor,” I say calmly. “You might think you know me, because of your job. You’re probably quite good at reading people, but not me, okay. When I apologized I meant it and I was honest in my explanation. You were hurt, and I’m sorry about that, and I’m not for one moment trying to diminish that. But I want you to stop this, now.”
Her eyes scan me, taking in everything no doubt. Her gaze is like the laser on a sniper rifle, slowly moving until it finds its target. She looks right into my eyes as if she’s convinced she’ll be able to see a lie in them. I don’t look away because I know that if I did she would never believe what I’m saying.
She shifts her bag on her shoulder as we stand blocking the pavement, never taking her eyes off me. Then, with a glint in her eye that says she’s going to prove me a liar she says, “Kiss me again, Robert.”
“What?” It’s the last thing I was expecting her to say but I understand her intentions immediately. If I don’t kiss her she’ll have her theory confirmed; that I’m concerned with her appearance. That I’m a shallow and callous man.
But if I do kiss her, where would that leave me?
I enjoyed her company at the party. More than I’d enjoyed a woman’s company in a long time, but I’m not in any kind of place to offer her the kind of relationship she deserves. I keep things light. I choose women who won’t expect much from me outside of a short-term good time.
Analie isn’t that kind of girl.
“You can’t do it, can you?” she says, as though my inaction proves her point.
I know kissing her is a stupid thing to do. Analie’s being childish and stubborn, wanting to prove herself right, but I’m not going to let her make me appear to be a liar.
The surprise on her face is almost comical when I stepped forward and cup the back of her head, pulling her face towards me. I don’t expect the rush of pure lust that knocks me in the gut when our lips meet and her hand grabs at my shoulder to pull me closer. In seconds her lips part and our tongues touch and I moan, pulling her closer, wanting to feel the curves that I know are hiding under her formal clothes, against my body. I catch the scent of her shampoo again and feel the warmth of her skin under my palm. Her hair is so silky where it tumbles over my forearm and as we come together something inside me seems to open to her.
My empty heart skitters. I’ve kept it separate from my life for so long and I don’t like feeling this desire I’m feeling for more than just the physical.
I haven’t allowed myself to enjoy the comfort of being in someone’s arms since Bethany. Even after all this time, I feel disloyal.
Analie’s hand comes to my cheek in a soft caress and it feels so good.
So good and so terrible.
What have I done?