Between Black and Sunshine (23 page)

I want to tell him. The words are on the tip of my tongue as I watch his brain scrambling to figure out what I did. He tells me he will forgive me anything. God, I wish that were true. Even if it were, I will not forgive myself. I will hate myself. I can’t let him sit here while I tell him that I love him, that I forgive him, but that he can’t have me. I can’t look at the pain in his eyes. I can’t handle physically feeling how much he loves me. I can’t be near him. “Go, Luca. Just leave.” I tell him these words and then I have to look away. I can’t watch his eyes as I break his heart. I can’t stomach the fact that I just told the only person I will ever love to leave me.

“I will never leave you,” the sound rips out from his gut and then he’s on top of me, guiding my back until it’s resting on the futon, until his beautiful, intense face is inches from mine.

In that instant I feel my body come alive. Being woken from death. It pricks and tingles as the blood begins moving through my body. My heart beats furiously as it becomes invigorated with life. The need for him, the urge to feel connected with him overtakes me and I don’t understand how I suppressed it for so long.

His eyes bury themselves in mine, breaths fall out of his mouth and onto mine. He inches his way closer to me and I am breathing so intensely that the air between us is not enough for me.
I need him. I want him. I love him so much.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “but I am not letting you go.” His lips crash down on mine. The hot, full, sweet lips that I forced myself to forget are back on mine. They pull me in and move on me and I can feel it- I can feel my body mending, I can feel everything bonding back together. His tongue is on mine and we connect. We feel right. We move together: fast, slow, deep. Our bodies reunited. He feels so good.

His hands are holding my arms in place and I can’t handle it. I pull, I yank until they are free and I am allowed to touch him. My fingers find themselves back in his hair, like they never left; and I pull his mouth deeper into mine. That seems to do something to him. He lets out a deep, feral sound and then his hand is under my shirts, on my skin, touching my stomach. It feels so good to have his flesh on mine. On part of me that only Luca touches. I want to touch him too. I yank his shirt up. His lips separate from mine for the smallest moment as the shirt passes between us. My hands, on his beautiful skin, on his perfect muscles, on his breathing stomach and his beating heart is almost too much.

When he starts to pull my shirts up I feel like I am going to hyperventilate. Because I know, I know that in a second his naked body will be covering mine and that our flesh will be touching. I pull my shirts off because I need that. That is something I need to feel. He unfastens my bra and pulls it away from my skin. My nipples harden, wanting to feel him. It’s a slow, agonizing process as he gently lowers himself to me. His stomach is on my stomach and my inside crawl, his ribs touch mine and I want to scream. Then his chest, his beautiful chest is on mine and I let out an audible breath of relief.

“Ahh,” Luca says, as if this is as painful and euphoric for him as it is for me. I let myself feel him, let myself enjoy how his skin feels moving on top of mine, I memorize it. He wraps his hand around me and pulls me up to him, until I can feel him against my stomach. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. My arms are around his shoulders, my tongue is buried in his mouth, trying to disappear inside of him.

“God, I love you,” he growls into my mouth.

“I love you too,” I breathe the words into him. I love Luca. I love him too much to let him go. 

My lips feel worked over and swollen and I wonder if I am a masochist; I seem to enjoy pain. Especially the kind that comes from making out with Luca for an undetermined amount of time. I stare at his naked body standing before me- this view that I love so much. He slips his clothes on one piece at a time and I can’t stop staring at him.

I think about the way our bodies are affected by each other. The need they seem to have for each other. The ecstasy they feel when they are finally allowed to reunite seems real, like I could grasp the air and feel it. My body is definitely smiling at me. It’s definitely happy with me. And I’m happy too. Euphoric. A feeling I never thought I’d know again.

When Luca is fully dressed he stands above me, staring down at me. Looking at me like he did for those days when we were happy here – content and peaceful.

He gathers my clothes, separating Clara’s shirt from his sweatshirt. There is a sinking feeling in my gut. He hands me Clara’s shirt and I take it. I walk over to my suitcase and shove it to the bottom before taking out one of my own and slipping it over my head. When I go back to Luca he has a questioning look on his face.
Shit
. I sit back down on the futon and resume staring at him. Eventually the happy, peaceful look returns to his face.

“She was right,” he says thoughtfully.

“Who was right?”

“Rose, my therapist.”

“Your therapist?”
Luca… seeing a therapist?

“Yeah. I’ll tell you about her when I get back.” He gives me a quick kiss and then turns to leave.

“Luca?”

“Yeah?” he asks, turning back to me.

“What was she right about?”

“She said it was possible- for me to heal, to get better, to let go of my anger… if I had you.” He smiles and then he’s out the door.

Oh no. What have I done?

It’s hard to sit still, I’m bouncing off the walls; my body is impatient to get back to Jude. It wants her back and it’s pissed that I left and now it’s acting up. It was damn hard to tear myself away from her this morning but Jude wanted to go see Piper and Anton and I have a session with Rose in an hour. As insanely good as it feels to have Jude back in my life, there are still some things I need to talk to Rose about.

In fact, now that I’m alone, there are a lot of things I’m thinking about. Mainly, how up until the second I kissed her, Jude was wrecked; adamant that she had done something that I couldn’t forgive her for. I know there is no such thing- I world forgive her anything. But what the hell could she have done that she thinks is so bad? The Jude that I found in that studio was probably the blackest Jude I have ever seen. Why? What happened to her? What had she been doing for those weeks, cut off completely from everyone in her life? Where did she go, in her head or otherwise?

And has she really forgiven me; will she allow herself to be mine? Or was it just a moment of weakness for her- a last hurrah? I don’t know.

I had to leave her to go get us food and her a new phone. I worried that she wouldn’t be there when I got back. But she was and it was a huge relief. But as I walked in I noticed something I hadn’t before – her art space. It was a mess; tore-up even. There were charcoal drawings everywhere. I could tell they were figures and faces but I didn’t walk over and check them out. I just wanted to get back to Jude, so I let it go.

When I returned Jude was different. Not sad anymore, but anxious….worried. After we ate and I was ready to have her back in my arms, she stopped me. She said she had to tell me what she did. That it wasn’t fair to let me have her, to hold her and kiss her, until I knew what she had done. As I looked into her eyes I felt fearful. It was true- whatever she had done she believed I would not forgive her.

I didn’t want to know, I don’t want to know. But I have to let her tell me, but I didn’t last night.
Not now, sweet girl. Later- tomorrow, or never, I don’t really care. Why don’t you just not tell me, why don’t we just forget about it?

She told me no, that I had to know before she let this go on anymore. I told her okay, that she could tell me, but that I needed one last night with her sleeping in my arms in case I really couldn’t forgive her. I was being a smartass, but her eyes instantly filled with tears.
I’ll forgive you, Jude. I swear to God, I will forgive you. Just don’t tell me now, just let me have tonight.

And she did. She let me hold her and touch her and kiss her. She let herself be with me last night. She slept soundly in my arms and I woke to her smiling face and the reality that she was with me and nothing else mattered.

But before I left, when she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, I walked back over to those drawings- the ones I had put out of my mind completely. I stared at them and felt my heart ache. They were angry, bitter, painful drawings… of me, of Clara, of me and Clara together: the two of us naked in bed; Clara and me at a table, drinking coffee, in robes; the two of us in a tub; Clara between my legs, me washing her back. They were disturbing, each and every one of them- deeply disturbing. I didn’t hear her come out of the bathroom, just a quiet,
Shit
, muttered behind me.

“What the hell is this?”

“They were before I knew… that you didn’t cheat on me with her.”

“This is fucked up.”

“I know, Luca. I was fucked up, I am fucked up. We need to talk…”

And then I turned around and kissed her, like the coward I am. I kissed her until we both forgot about the drawings. But now I remember. I can see them clearly.

Away from her, it’s not as easy. Away from her it feels like things are still fragile and breakable.

There is a knock on the door, forcing me out of my thoughts.
Rose must be early.
But when I open the door it’s not Rose, it’s Clara. “Oh my god, have you willingly left the land of lust and love?” I ask, knowing she’s been preoccupied with Blanca
.

“Funny,” she tells me.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” I ask, heading back to the couch, Clara following.

“I’ve been holed up in my apartment for four days, I thought it’d be healthy to get out of there for a little while. Plus, I wanted to come check on my guy. How are you doing?”

“Oh, hell no. You don’t get to tell me you’ve been holed up in your love den and not elaborate.”

She smiles, excitement in her eyes. She wants to tell me about her lover.
Her lady lover
. That’s still strange to think about. “It was great. It feels weird being away from her.”

“So the two of you are together, dating or whatever?”

“Hell if I know. Do I do that, ask her if she wants to be my girlfriend, like some high school boy?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“It’s weird, Luca, it really is. I don’t know what the hell is going on. I mean, I think I love the girl. She’s so sweet and innocent and beautiful; the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Holding her, touching her, kissing her feels so much better than any other intimacy I’ve ever experienced. But she’s so young and she just got her heart broke by some asshole and sometimes I feel like a creepy predator.”

“What? Did you have her chained up to your bed?”

“Yes, Luca- gagged and bound… you know me. No, I didn’t. But I could just feel it from her sometimes… like I was a little intense. Like she just needed some comfort and I was always trying to put the moves on her. I’m sure you know what that feels like, being a man and all.” She stops. “Holy shit, that’s what I am- some creepy man trying to coerce a beautiful, young girl into my bed!”

I laugh. “And did she go?”

“Yeah, we spent a lot of time in bed. But it wasn’t what your sick mind is imagining.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. My mind wasn’t really imagining anything. In fact I’m having a hard time feigning interest in Clara’s relationship because all I want to think about is my own.

“We mostly just held each other. She slept in my bed and let me kiss her – nothing even close to serious. But it felt so emotional. I can still feel her lips on mine. I wanted to know what it felt like to have my lips on all of her. But every time my hand would wander or I looked at her like I needed her, she would retreat… move out of my arms or turn her head. It’s frustrating, being a horny guy.”

“Is she even into girls?” I ask. It sounds like maybe she’s not.

“I don’t know? I assume so. Who hangs out in bed with a stranger for four days, lets them hold you and touch you and tell you how much you care about them? Why would she tell me that she loves and cares about me too if she just wanted to be my friend? Right?”

“I don’t know. You said she got her heart broke, right? Maybe she does just need a friend.”

“I don’t know. It didn’t feel like we were just friends.”

“So where is she now; how did she escape your claws?”

“She went home I guess. Not that I know where that is, she doesn’t share much. She doesn’t even have a phone. She never talks about her friends or family or anything. I don’t even know if she has any….” Clara’s eyes shift from mine, hopefully she’s realizing how strange this all sounds.

“Um… Clara”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you might have been right about the homeless thing? I mean, maybe she’s just looking for a hot meal and a warm bed… I think you might have fallen in love with a vagrant.”

“Oh shut up, Luca. She is not.”

“Umm, hum,” I say, fully worried about Clara’s ability to make rational decisions.

My phone buzzes and I look down at it. It’s a text message from Jude.
I’m back. Come over when you can, I really need to talk to you.

My stomach churns. My body is a tangled mess all over again.
Okay. Send me a picture, I need to see your face.

Ugh
she responds but then the picture comes. She’s on the futon, her eyes neither sad nor happy, but worried. Her tongue is sticking out at me. I smile.

Cute. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.
I don’t know if I can wait for Rose, I need to see her now. But then again, I don’t want to hear what she has to say.

“What’s the smile for?” Clara asks me.

“Jude,” I tell her.

“Jude, as in
Your Jude
? You’re talking to her again?” Clara’s face lights up with her excited smile.

“Yeah.”

“That’s great. I mean, you’ve been doing so well and everything, but you’re still kind of a moody ass. Maybe that will change now?”

“Maybe,” I say, thinking that it might have the opposite effect. Depending on the news.

“So what’d she have to say?
I love you so much Luca, I can’t wait until your sexy ass is back in my bed
,” she says in a very non-Jude, winey voice.

“No, it was just a cute picture.”

“A picture? Of the legendary Jude? Let me see.”

She holds out her hand and I give her the phone.

She looks at it, smiling. But then the smile is gone, something comes over her eyes.  “Blanca,” she whispers.

“What?”

She looks up at me now; her face awash in confusion. Pain in her eyes. “This is Blanca.” Her voice is still barely audible.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, ripping the phone out of her hand.

Clara’s expression is frozen, her eyes focus on nothing. “Oh my god,” she says suddenly, “Oh my god, what the hell?” she says, her voice painful now, and I’m still trying to understand. “I’m such an idiot. Why… why would she do that to me?” She looks at me now, wanting an answer.

“Clara, it’s not Blanca- it’s Jude. Maybe she looks like her, but it’s not her.”

“It is her, Luca. It’s fucking her.”

“Clara, calm down, it’s not.”

She rips the phone out of my hands. She looks at the picture again before showing it to me. “This- is Blanca.” She looks back at the phone, running her finger down it. She shows me the picture of Jude on her pillow. “This- is Blanca.” She runs her finger down it again and I rip it out of her hand.

“It’s not.”

“Jesus, Luca, it is. God, it makes sense. She kept asking me about you… about us. I told her everything, every damn thing. The asshole who broke her heart – that was you. She did this just to screw with me, because of you. Jesus.”

Reality starts seeping into my mind. The thing that Jude had done, the thing that was unforgivable… is this what she needed to tell me? Those pictures that she drew that were so accurate, that looked so much like Clara, even though Jude had only met her once. And the t-shirt I handed her last night before I left to get us food, the one that I had stripped off her body, the one that made me think,
Clara has this same shirt,
but I didn’t say it because I didn’t want Clara’s name hanging in the air. The shirt that Jude refused to put on, going to her suitcase and pulling out a different one.

“When did you see her last?” I ask Clara.

“Yesterday, she was with me yesterday. When the hell did she have time to reunite with you? She didn’t leave me for four days, four fricking days.”

“What was she wearing when she left?”

“What?”

“What did she have on when she left your apartment?” My words are drawn out and forceful.

“My leggings, my Sex Pistol’s t-shirt.”

No, fucking no.