Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 (2 page)

He nods, blinking at me like he doesn't really see me. And maybe he doesn't, maybe this time the wind finally blew me away.

CHAPTER TWO

I sleep clear through the night, and don't wake up until nine the next morning. Mom's still asleep so I take my coffee up to her room and get in bed beside her. Her rasps jar me each time she takes a breath and my hands are shaking so hard I dare not even drink the coffee, sure I'll spill it all over the sheets. What if she suddenly just stops breathing in her sleep? What if I never have the chance to say goodbye?

I concentrate hard on the band of light extending from the crack in the heavy drapes almost to the bed. Maybe this is the light of Heaven coming to collect my mom, inching closer, almost here. Almost time. I bite down on my hand, wanting that pain to erase the stupid thoughts from my mind. Even if I believed in Heaven, I wouldn't want my mom to die. But I hope there is one, for her sake.

Edna pokes her head into the room. "I'm just going down to the pharmacy. Do you need me to bring you something?"

I shake my head. "Hurry back." If my mom woke up, I wouldn't be able to give her any medicine, because my hands are shaking too much.
 

She smiles softly. "I won't take more than fifteen minutes."

Edna leaves the door open slightly so another sliver of light is now snaking into the room. Soon they'll meet in the middle, right on my mom's chest. I can't let that happen, I can't let the lights meet. When they do, she will die. My heart explodes in longing, making tears gush from my eyes, and I know I'm being silly, somewhere way in the bottom of my thoughts I know it. But I still climb out of bed to secure the drapes more tightly.
 

The doorbell echoes downstairs just as I'm closing the door.

Thinking Edna must have forgotten her keys, I rush down the stairs and open the door wide. But it's not Edna, it's Scott, wearing a grass and soil stained white t-shirt.

"What are —?" I say and stop, not knowing what I was going to ask. There's nothing I want to say to him, nothing that will lead to anything good. Not in the long run.

"I just wanted to see how you were?" he says. His eyes are deep, calm blue lakes and I want to jump right in. "And to say I'm sorry I called you a bitch. I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, well, you were right," I say. "And now we're through."

He smiles and it spreads into his eyes, making them sparkle. "We hardly even began."

He smells like freshly mowed lawn, the breeze from the sea, and Scott. What I really should do is lean against him and let him hold me. But that won't lead to anything good, not in the long run. And I can't start anything with him, because only days from now my heart will break completely.

"Which is how it will stay. Goodbye, Scott. Don't come back, I don't want to see you ever again."
 

I slam the door shut, and run back upstairs, back to my mom. It's for the best. He'll give up now. But the sadness bringing tears to my eyes now is of a different quality, softer but still relentless.
 

I stay beside my mom until nightfall, and then let Dad take my place.
 

In my dream, I'm walking beside my dad, my mom's casket gleaming in the piercing white rays of the sun. Every step I take sends a shooting pain through my feet right to my heart. I can't stop walking. There's a hole in the middle of my chest that the pain can't touch, a void, like a piece of me is missing. It's only me, my dad and the casket in the whole cemetery and now the casket is descending into the ground. I want to hold it back, scream, tell my mom to wake and come back. But I'm frozen, unable to move, unable to make a sound. Darkness covers the cemetery, and I'm standing at the edge of a grave in which earth churns, rolls and swallows my mom. It's too deep; I can't reach down and pull her up. I lose my footing and then I'm falling into the terrible, roiling, bottomless darkness, soil filling my mouth and my nose.
 

I jerk awake, my cheeks wet with tears, my head where my feet should be, the bed a mess. My heart stops and I hold my breath as I listen for my mom's breathing. A gasp comes, followed by coughing, and I finally inhale.

Outside, the sky is an inky blackness, covered by speeding grey clouds. The house is quiet except for my mom's gasps and the silence presses on me with a physical force. The image of my mom's open grave below my feet is still vivid in my mind, so clear I can smell the rotting earth.

I pull on my jeans and grab my jacket, my only thought escape. The numbers on the dashboard of my car flash to 00:00 AM as I speed out the garage. I should just drive to the beach, but the waves and the sand will not make the world stand still, will not fill me with warmth even for just a little bit.

The windows of Scott's apartment over the bakery are dark. My legs shake as I walk down the alleyway and let myself in through the side door on which the lock is still broken. I bang on the door loudly before my courage fails and I have to return home. There's no indication anyone's home. Maybe he's just asleep. I bang louder still, but nothing moves in the apartment. He's not home, I realize. I don't feel him anywhere.

I sit on the top stair and lock my fingers around my knees, trying not to rock back and forth. I should just go home, forget all about him. But it's after midnight; he's bound to come home at any minute. He has to work tomorrow.

The silence is not as oppressive here, without my mom's labored breathing. A flash of guilt shoots through my heart, and I check my phone, making sure it's on and fully charged. I can be back home in fifteen minutes if Dad calls. The numbers on my phone flash by, and at 1:00 AM the door downstairs finally opens and a moment later I hear Scott's heavy footsteps on the stairs.

I rise, my legs all pins and needles. He's wearing a zipped up black windbreaker, which makes him look menacing and strong, like a bouncer.
 
He stops when he sees me and looks up from under his black cap, so I can't really see his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Gail?" he asks. There's no surprise in his voice, like he'd been expecting me, and my chest floods with warmth at the thought. I don't fight it this time; it's what I came here for.

"I just couldn't stay away. But I'm not here to talk," I say and smile, hoping it will transfer to his face.
 

He looks away and climbs up the rest of the stairs, brushing past me on the way to unlock the door. I follow close behind, noticing another thick envelope sticking out of his back pocket.
 

He doesn't hold the door for me, or look back to see if I followed him. I finally catch up to him in the kitchen, just as he's reaching into the fridge for a beer.

"Aren't you going to take off your jacket?" I ask and run my hand down his back where the muscles strain against the nylon fabric.

He straightens up, slamming the fridge door and sending a magnet bouncing to the ground.
 

His eyes are black, the air between us charged with such anger and hunger I feel tingles all over my body.
 

"Why don't you show me just how mad you are at me?" I purr, still smiling, unsure where the words are coming from. Certainly not my brain.
 

"You should leave, Gail," he says instead. "I'm not in a good mood today."

It sounds like a warning, but I only hear invitation. I've clearly left my brain back in my own dark bedroom.

He tries to walk past me out of the kitchen, but I don't let him. I stand in his way and lock my arms tightly behind his back, pressing into him. He tries to pry my arms away, but I'm holding on too hard. Leaning my head back I find his lips and run my tongue over them.
 

He yanks my arms apart and pushes me away. "I can't deal with your shit today, Gail. I have enough of my own."

He stalks out of the kitchen and sits on one of the chairs, tossing the envelope on the table with such force it topples off the edge and money spills out; a couple of thousand at a guess. I should turn around and walk out right now. Instead I hear myself say, "It's sex, Scott. Wouldn't sex make you feel better?"

He's on his feet and towering over me before I have a chance to blink. His eyes are dark green now, and remind me of the grave from my dream.

"Sex, Gail? That's what you came here for? Sure, I can fuck you." He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bed.
 

Stopping at the side of the bed, he unzips his jacket and unbuckles his belt. I'm still reeling, stuck between desire and flight.
 

"I'm in the mood for a blow job first, though," he says and pushes down on my shoulders. I'm on my knees before I have time to react, his erection pressing into my chin.
 

"Open," he instructs. His cock slides over my lips and I lick the head, warmth pooling between my legs. I'd expected him to kiss me first and lick my neck, but this works better. At least there's no romance involved. I open my mouth and let him enter me, my teeth grazing against the soft, hard flesh.
 

"No teeth," he grunts, and grabs the sides of my face, making me look up at him. "And if you bite, you'll be the one needing the hospital."

The sharp stab of his words makes me gasp. He pushes his cock in farther as I do, making me gag.

"Oh come on, Gail, you can do better than that," he snorts harshly. He doesn't sound like himself, it's like we're in separate rooms. Yet the rest of the world is still safely outside this building, even if we're not sharing it. My panties are wet, the seam of my skinny jeans pressing into me in just the right place.
 
He pulls out a little and pushes back in, again hitting the wall in my throat.
 

"Let me help you," he says, and for a moment, his voice is soft like he cares. Then he grabs my nose and clamps my nostrils shut. I retch and swallow, his cock filling my throat.
 

I beat at his hand to make him release my nose and he yields, pulling his cock out too. I retch again and tears are streaming down my cheeks, but I'm not crying. Anger is crackling through me like the Fourth of July. All I want to do is make him pay for this humiliation.

I shoot to my feet and slap him. For a split second I'm certain he'll hit me back, then he tosses off his hat and pulls me towards him, our lips colliding in his hungry kiss, which is all velvety soft and gentle despite its urgency. Not what I want.
 

I bite down hard on his lip, tasting blood. His shocked look bores into me. It's immediately followed by a sharp tug as he rips my pants down, the button of my jeans tinkling across the ground. He flips me around and tosses me, face first, onto the bed. I bounce on the air mattress. But he's already straddling me, pulling my jeans and panties all the way down. He rams his cock in and I scream.
 

His thrusts feel like stabs from a hot iron sword, urgent and vicious. But I'm wet enough and the blinding heat builds and builds.

"Just tell me when any of this starts to hurt, Gail," he grunts on top of me. I bite down on the comforter, but not in pain. The heat from his thrusts is building, forming a burning, searing tornado. Each thrust pushes me into the mattress, but I bounce right back, moaning, grunting through clenched teeth, because I don't want it to stop. The snaking tornado heat erupts into a million, billion sharp pieces just as he shoots inside me.
 

He pulls out and the icy cold is terrible.

"Now you got what you wanted, so leave," he says.
 

I turn on my side, and blink at him.
 

He yanks me up to my feet and I stumble forward, getting tangled up in my jeans. I reach down to pull up my pants, but my hands are shaking and I can't get a good grip.

"Hurry up."

Tears are balling up in my throat. His voice is so cold and so distant, and I'm afraid to look into his eyes, because I don't want to see my mom's grave there again.

"Are you deaf? Hurry up and get the hell out."

I finally manage to get my pants up, but the button is missing and I can't close them. He pushes my jacket and purse into my arms, then grabs me and leads me out of the apartment, slamming the door shut.

The overhead light is flickering, and a cat screams somewhere above me, sounding like a baby crying. Tears are streaming down my face, and I'm shaking so hard I bite my tongue, pain exploding in my mind. The hall light pops then goes out with a hiss.

New light comes on as Scott opens the door. "God, I'm sorry, Gail."

I whimper and run down the dark stairs, clutching the banister hard so I don't fall, just as I should have done earlier. I never should have come here.

Scott catches me right before I reach the front door. "Stop, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to treat you like that."

I twist my arm out of his grasp and sprint down the alleyway and to my car, digging for my keys. I lock the doors as soon as I'm inside. The windows are misting from my hard breathing and I can't see very well through the tears, but I turn the ignition and floor it anyway. Scott was just a huge mistake, and I'm an insane mess, but he still didn't need to treat me like a complete slut.

CHAPTER THREE

Back home, I tiptoe up the stairs, listening hard for my mom's breathing, having to know she's still alive. I turn on the shower as hot as I can stand it, and slide down to sit on the floor, letting the water beat against my back. Steam rises, fills the bathroom, clogging up my lungs with moisture.

The heat adds to the anger still boiling inside my chest, breeds off it and expands. My heart is racing furiously, pressure rising in my head. I can't believe Scott would treat me that way, can't believe I expected anything else. He's just a dumb manual worker type, and I can't believe I let myself be stupid enough to pursue him. I knew it all along, and I should've stayed away.
 

His soft gaze and caring words promised so much more than he could ever deliver. I was insane, crazy; probably saw only what I wanted to see. Then my messed up mind made it real. Only it was never real, never could be; just a figment of my imagination, a stupid fantasy that could never be in real life.