Just A Woman (The Porter Trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

It was time to start winning her back, piece of piece, brick by brick. I loved her and I refused to watch her waste away in front of me. Shoving the last of the strudel in my mouth, I closed my eyes and pictured a radiant and glowing Charlotte in my bed, wrapped around my waist. It wouldn’t be a dream for long. Soon, it would be a reality. Soon, she would be back in my arms and back in my bed, and until then, I would do anything and everything to gain back her trust and win her love. The problem was, how did I win this war raging within myself? Tell her everything and scare her to death, possibly traumatizing her further, or tell her only a little and continue lying to her? My instincts wanted to protect her, as did my heart, but my brain knew keeping secrets was no longer an option. I needed to tell her everything I knew. But how?

Daydreamer Musings
July 23, 2015
Followers- 72

I’m not sure where all of these followers are coming from, and I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of weird. Maybe you all are doctor friends of my darling shrink? Or maybe my best friend has been telling his model friends of a new blog to read? *If you did Danny, I’m gonna kill you* or maybe, you all are just interested in reading my story and reading about my day to day life and how I feel. It’s still a little creepy, but welcome to you all anyway. Maybe, one day, I can be a famous blogger? My life does seem to have that certain flair for drama.

I’ve gotten a few comments from some of you anonymous folks so I figured I would answer a few since they are all pretty much the same thing. First and foremost, I would like to thank each and every one of you who reached out to me with your condolences. They really meant a lot to me. He may not have been a model dad, but he was still my father, and I’m truly saddened by his passing, it’s been a bit hard on me.

The next question I seem to be getting quite a bit of is about “him” and I’ll be honest, it’s a touchy subject, but since you all seem to want to know, and there’s no way he’ll ever find out about this blog, I guess there’s no harm in telling you all what’s happening and how I am feeling about him. (Besides, that’s the entire point of this blog to begin with--to express my feelings.)

Anywho, as you all know, my father’s funeral was a few days ago and he showed up. I knew he would. A day or two before that, I received a beautiful bundle of flowers from him. It softened me up enough to text him thank you. I still wonder if I hadn’t made that initial contact if he would have shown up at all, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that, and it’s a resounding YES! He’s pushy, and he doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘No.’ Sometimes it’s endearing, other times it’s annoying as hell.

So, he was there, and I knew exactly the moment he spotted me, when I came in. I could feel him. I know that sounds ludicrous, but it’s true. I felt my body come alive. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but not in a creepy, serial killer in your house kind of way. I felt tingles run from the tip of my hairs to the tips of my toes. It’s quite an odd sensation, and my back straightened involuntarily. I honestly didn’t want to turn around and face him. I wanted to ignore his presence, but I knew it was impossible.

I turned and scanned the crowd, my eyes naturally drifting over the other people, until I locked gaze with the most beautiful man. I knew my eyes were giving me away, but I couldn’t seem to detach them. An immense bout of longing and, surprisingly, lust surged through my body making me quiver slightly. His gaze held for a moment longer before he offered up a smile and a nod to me. I was never more happy than I was in that moment, that he stayed sitting and didn’t approach me. I’m pretty sure I would have given in and cried in his arms. I wanted him to hold me and tell me things were going to be ok, but my pride was still out for blood. I wasn’t going to cave at this funeral and give in to the lovey dovey feelings inside me. I would stay strong, and distant.

I gave him the best small smile I could and nodded back at him before I tore my gaze away and focused on the woman standing in front of me. She worked for my dad and was rattling off some sort of redundant and overused apologies for my loss. Honestly, I tuned most of everyone’s words out. I didn’t really want to hear it. I wanted this day to be over so I could get home to Danny and relax. Every once in a while, I scanned the church for new arrivals, but secretly, I was looking for him. Every time I found him, his eyes were instantly glued to mine and every time, it got a little harder to look away, but I managed.

Eventually, the funeral progressed as normal through my own eulogy and those of his co-workers and friends. I sobbed at appropriate times and laughed when was needed, and I was starting to feel comfortably numb. That was, until the funeral was over, and I realized that everyone in the church would come up to pay their respects and condolences to the family. EVERYONE, would come up.

It dawned on me that I would have some sort of contact with him, and I was both nervous and excited by the prospect. He was in the back of the church so he would be one of the last to come up and I waited as patiently as I could, hurrying the procession of people along but trying to slow it down all at once. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Run from him, run to him, hug him, slap him, hate him, love him? I just didn’t know.

When I saw him approach the front of the line, I assumed he would make a beeline for me, and maybe, if he had, it would have been easier to brush him off, but he did the respectable thing and paid the respects owed to my father. I should have known, he is a smart businessman and knows how to conduct himself appropriately, and he knew if he didn’t do this the right way, he’d look like a fool, and he is anything but a fool.

After some time with my dad, he came back to my family, hugging my stepmom and shaking my step brothers’ hands. I felt a slight pang of jealousy over the hugs she received, but I pushed it away. When he got to me, I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I shake his hand? Nod and smile again? I was so confused that I didn’t even realize when I pushed my hand out, offering it up for a manly shake.

He chuckled to himself before grabbing my hand and pulling me into his embrace. I’ll admit, it caught me off guard and I was probably a little tense, but my body recognized its mate faster than my head did and I melted into him. I closed my eyes and let a single tear fall from my eyes onto his suit jacket. I almost melted when I felt him kiss the top of my head. My head was swirling with indecision, and love, and hurt, and even now, I still don’t know what I plan on doing. But there’s more to this story, so let me continue.

Seconds before I planned on pulling away, since the line to greet me was getting longer, he lightly pried me from him but kept his hands on my shoulders. I looked down at his lips and felt a stir of life within me that I hadn’t realized was missing. When he leaned in, I truly thought he was going to kiss me, and I knew I would not have had the strength to push him away. Instead, he leaned in and asked me to go to a cafe with him after the funeral.

Of course I was torn, like a sail in a vicious storm. When I get nervous, I have a bad habit of chewing on my lip, and at that moment, I was chewing on it like it was made of pure chocolate. I didn’t want to go. I did want to go. I didn’t want to go. I did want to go. I was picking off the petals of my mental flower. Finally, with a sigh, I nodded at him. I would go, only because, if nothing else, maybe I could gain a little closure. Closure I so desperately needed, but didn’t truly want.

Fast forward a bit and there I was, sitting in his car, making my way to the cafe. Let me tell you folks, It. Was. Awkward. I sat there staring out the window, wrestling my fingers together in my lap. I wished I had taken my own car, although, I know if I had, I would have changed my mind so many times I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on the road, and after what just happened with my dad, it was not a situation I wanted to put myself in.

He tried to break the silence by telling me I looked beautiful. It was a lie. No, let me rephrase, he might have meant what he said, but I had a hard time believing it. The last few weeks had not been kind to me and I knew that I looked like roadkill warmed up. Nevertheless, I felt my cheeks blush under his compliment and gaze. I’ve never taken well to compliments as it was, and today was no different, and honestly it was probably worse because I knew the state of my appearance.

When we pulled up to the cafe, I got out of the car, preparing to put some much needed distance between us, but he was fast on my heels, and the moment his hand hit my back, I shuddered and let out a moan. Embarrassment almost made me keel over and die, folks, and right then, I wanted the ground to open up in a miraculous earthquake and swallow me up. I actually moaned in the middle of the sidewalk with a miniscule touch to my covered back. We weren’t even skin to skin!

I’m telling you guys, it may seem far-fetched to you out there in bloggy land, but his touch resonates within me. Every square inch of my body, including every single hair, is alert to him and his touch. He knows what touch makes me come (I’d apologize to my mom, if she were reading this), he knows every touch to make me hot, he knows every move to calm me down. He owns me body and my soul and I hope he never understands the power he holds over me. My only saving grace in all of this was that I felt him shiver as well. I smiled to myself, knowing I affected him the same way he affected me, maybe not to the same extent, but I know I get to him.

I felt him back up and give me some space and I inwardly thanked him. My mind was literally turning into jelly with him so near and touching me. I made a resolve in my head that, no matter what, I wasn’t going to let him get to me. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. Not enough to seem defensive, but enough for him to know that I was in charge of myself and would and could leave if I needed to.

I walked in and chose a booth at a table looking out over the street. I love people watching, I really do, so this seat was perfect for me; it also gave me the opportunity to watch him discreetly. Anyway, he got us some coffee and some snacks and came and sat down, letting me choose which pastry I wanted.

I could tell he was impatient to start talking and I was not really too surprised to hear what he wanted to say. I don’t know what came over me and, before you ask, I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking or what I even said, but it wasn’t very nice and I’m pretty sure I snapped at him. He apologized for betraying me and asked me not to shut him out. At those words, I almost lost it and, as it was, I lost my confident demeanor and withdrew back into my shell. The pain isn’t as bad there and honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time hiding underneath it like a scared turtle. It keeps me from shattering into an even bigger mess.

But then something happened. *cue dramatic music* He started talking, like really talking. Spilling everything he wanted to say to me. I just stared at my muffin, absorbing his words until right in the middle of his sentence, he abruptly stopped and wouldn’t finish the sentence!! I haven’t gone from so sad to so incredibly enraged so quickly, ever in my life. This is the kind of bullshit that split us up to begin with. Lies and secrets and withholding the truth from me. I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out, and let me tell you what. It felt great. It was cathartic to yell at him. I have no idea what I said, and before I knew it, I stormed out onto the sidewalk and right into his driver.

I wanted to continue yelling. It felt like I was releasing years of pent up frustration and rage, but his driver never did anything to me, and as much as I would have preferred to walk back to the church, it was a few miles away and my heels were not equipped to deal with a trek like that. Over and over again, I debated going back inside and giving him another piece of my mind. The rubber band holding my temper in check had finally snapped and it wasn’t going back to normal anytime soon. Instead though, I kept it together and jumped into the car, leaving him at the cafe.

And with that, we drove away. Away from him, and I’ll be honest with you, as good as it felt to yell at him and let it all out, I now feel even worse than I had, before I met up with him. Even today, as I’m writing this to unknown faces and unknown followers, I feel alone, and I miss him even more. I can’t even put into words how much I love him, and yet I’m still so angry. My thoughts are torn. My mind keeps telling me to cut the strings and get over him, but my heart and my body disagree vehemently.

I don’t know what to do, followers. What do I do?

Alex

I’d waited a week and I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. It had been seven days since the funeral, and I hadn’t heard from Charlotte outside of her blog post, although I had a feeling that if she knew that I was reading it, I wouldn’t have that connection either.  It broke my heart and healed it, all at once. I couldn’t believe how incredibly in tune we were with each other. Going back over everything that happened at the service, every word of her post, was like a mirror to my own thoughts. It was, alarmingly, in sync.

Too bad the last chapter of her blog ripped me into two pieces. The love she expressed was the same love I had been feeling every day, but I didn’t know what I could do to make her understand that. I needed to figure out a way to get her back, and fight for this crazy love that we shared. I almost contemplated writing her a comment on her blog as “anonymous”, telling her to give “him” another chance, but if she ever found out about that, I knew I wouldn’t be able to live through the pain of losing her again. I vowed to myself I would never downright lie to her again.

I had never felt so agitated, as I paced in front of my desk in my home office. I hadn’t gone to work for three days because I just couldn’t concentrate on anything. I thanked my lucky stars the company could run itself in my absence, or else I would have been fucked, and as much as I loathed admitting it, Bridgette had been a great asset and a damn good personal assistant. I was still weary of her past and potential future involvement with Robert Nelson, but so far, she had proven herself useful at Porter Industries.