Requisite Vices (22 page)

Thin, lithe fingers slowly unzip my dress, pulling it from my shoulders and letting it rest peacefully on the wooden floor. My fingers stumble against his suit as I help him undress, and I internally plead, please don’t make this sexual. This is too nice…too wonderful. I don’t want it to turn into something…primal and lustful and painful. My heart couldn’t handle it. Not now…

His hands slide up, through my hair, gently guiding my eyes into his own. He hovers over me, one hand petting my hair and the other, stroking my cheek. Those eyes…the world swirls in their depths. The room, the sky, the earth, and so much more. And I’m reflected in them. My fear and pain. My ghosts, my demons, my insecurities, are swallowed by them. Snuffed out of existence. Inconsequential. 

I don’t deserve this…

My head dips against his chest, tears threatening to pool at the corners of my eyes, and he wraps his arms protectively around me, kissing the top of my head.

“Say you’ll be mine…” he whispers against my hair, and my heart twists in its’ cage, wrung out of all its life sustaining blood. It hurts…it’s agonizing. Why does it hurt so much? I should be blissfully happy.

Pulling back, I breathe and regain my composure, shooting him a wry look, then curl a smile on my lips.

“Yours? But Mister Delacroix, I thought you didn’t
do
those types of relationships? I thought you didn’t have the time.”

“I want to make the time,” he groans against my lips. His fingers slip through my hair lovingly, then lightly brush over my cheek. Turning my lips into his hand, I softly kiss his palm.

I find myself unable to speak, and afraid to. What would I say? No? Yes? Is there an answer? His lips press against mine, kissing me with such a deep urgency that fills me with a feeling of such blinding love, that it’d rival the suns’ light. 

Breaking the kiss reluctantly, he scoops me effortlessly into his arms, carrying me to the bed, and laying me gingerly upon the sheets. Walking to the foot of the bed, he slithers up my body like a vine on a tree, leaving nectar kisses in his wake. The moon streaming in through the large windows, reflects off his shimmering skin; each strong, lean muscle defined in its purifying light.

He is gorgeous. Beauty the likes of which I’ve never seen. We are programmed to think only the epitome of manliness; some hyper-masculine being with bulging muscles and broad shoulders, is the height of sexuality. But no, no. This is… this lithe, beautiful, intelligent male has drugged me with his words, with his gentle demeanor, and I’m a puppet on his string. I ache for him, heart, body and soul.

As he slides beside me, he pulls the covers over both of us, pressing flush against my body and wraps me in his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. His chest rises and falls with each, deep, deliberate breath and for once, I feel calm and content. My thoughts are silent. The rushing, doubtful inquiries about what-ifs are gone. The insecurities and uncertainties have disappeared, as if they had never existed to begin with. This is where I’m meant to be.

I take a deep breath, soothed by the scent of his skin, and feel his arms tighten around my slowly chilling body. His heated hands run absently over me, moving to my hair and stroking gently through the strands until my eyes grow heavy.

Chapter 25

I’m cast into darkness agai
n
,
my body taking on that of a small child, and I’m pined against a wall.

He’s come home drunk again, and I was unfortunate enough to wander into the kitchen for a glass of milk at the very moment he stumbled through the door. The smell of beer on his breath was stomach-churning, and I found myself choking down vomit from the words spilling out of his lips.

His arm shot out against the wall in a sorry attempt to hold him steady him, barring my escape from his clutches, as a sinister smile curled on his lips. He was too close…too close.

The heat from his body mixes with the poison from his lips, and my brain starts panicking.

I need to get away…I want to get away. This is wrong and I don’t want this. What is he going to do to me?

My eyes dart back and forth, trying to find some gap in his defenses as he sways in front of me.

Too close…too close
.

He leans down toward me, and my panicked brain finally breaks. I push my much-too-small hands against his chest, trying with all my strength to move him, and finally manage to push him off balance. I quickly duck under his arm and race to my room, slamming my door shut and locking it, then checking and double checking the handle just to make sure it was, indeed, locked.

Shuffling quietly to the opposite corner of the room, I curl up on the cold, concrete floor and pull my legs against my chest. I stifle my cries as I stare at the door for hours, afraid that he’d break it down.

A small knock, and my whispered name from his lips, then everything goes quiet except for the sounds of the bugs screaming in the night. I stare at the door until the sun begins to peek up over the horizon, afraid that in some rush of frustration, he would break the door down and come after me,

but he doesn’t. I’m safe…at least, for now.

Chapter 26

“
Cassandra. Cassandra…”

Alex is hovering over me, propped up on his elbow and lightly stroking my hair. His eyes are dark, hooded, worried. Did something happen?

His fingers slip over the edges of my eyes, wiping away tears which glimmer on his fingertips as he holds them up to his face.

Oh, I was crying.

The dried tracks made by tears running down the side of my eyes, pull at my skin as I blink a few stray drops from my eyelashes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…” I murmur, as I pull away from him and sit up in the bed as I struggle to recall my tormented nightmare, but it’s already quickly slipping beneath the surface, filed away in some dark, dilapidated box. All I could pull from it were fragments that refused to join together into a cohesive painting.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m not really sure why that happened, but I’m okay. Really, I am.” I smile, and the corner of his lips tug downward as he regards me with a skeptical look.

“If you insist. I made some eggs, if you’re hungry. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like…”

“Thanks, but I haven’t really brought anything with me, and would feel awkward sitting about your house in a dress. I should head home…”

“Are you sure? I have a shirt and some pants you can slip on if you’d like to be more comfortable.”

“I’m sure,” I smile “thank you, though.”

His eyes are pleading for my company, and I want to stay more than anything, but the fractured remnants of my dream have left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I feel sick; on the verge of vomiting.

I make my way to his shower where I wash up and try to make myself a bit more presentable. I haven’t brought anything with me, and so, am stuck in the same gown I wore the night before. I feel a bit out of place in it, but thank him for the night, offer a hug, and slip from his home.

The desire to stay is overwhelming, but the way he was acting last night has left my thoughts in a constant tug of war over what it all meant. He took on the features of the man that my white-picket-fence side has always wanted, and those two parts of me don’t seem to mesh together all that well. There was no man who could cater to all of me; I have become comfortable with that realization, and his actions are making me question everything.

As I pull onto the interstate, the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, filling my car with an unbearably stifling heat, but I can’t bring myself to close the windows. I love the smell of the air, and so, I suffer through the uncomfortable feeling of my clothes sticking against my skin, and the frizzing of my curls to near treasure-troll proportions.

The roads are, thankfully, empty, and the near barren asphalt offers my mind a certain kind of tranquility to accompany my drive home. I begin to draw myself into thinking of golden beaches and crystal blue waters, and think of just how much I really need a vacation to get away from everything and everyone when my phone rings. I flip on the Bluetooth and hear Angela’s frantic voice on the other end.

“Cass, there’s an event I need you to cover in two weeks. Are you busy? Can you handle it?”

“Ah, Angela. Great timing, as always…” I grumble under my breath, trying to hide the sarcasm from my voice.

“You know, I could always find someone else if you don’t want the work. If you’re going to bitch about it…”

“No! Sorry, it’s been a long week. You should probably start by telling me what event, where it is, and what exactly you need me to do.”

“I was getting there! But it’d be pointless to waste my breath if you didn’t have the time free.”

“I’m free, I’m fairly certain. So, tell me about it?”

“It’s a festival for everything! Literature, performing arts, music, everything you can think of. It’s this huge thing that happens every year, but I’ve never had someone willing to stick around for the whole thing and write up anything more than a small article. I’d like for you to stay at least a full week and cover it for me, though the event itself can sometimes span several weeks. We’ll pick up the tab for your hotel stay, of course, but you’ll have to cover your own food and drinks. We already have a room booked for two weeks just in case you decide you’re up for staying longer. Are you in?”

“Sounds fun, I guess. Yeah, sure. I’ll hang out for a week. Bit late notice, though, especially for you.” I roll my eyes. Late notice? At least I have two weeks. The last job she sent me on — with Delacroix — I had barely 24 hours’ notice. This is an improvement, at least.

“Yeah, well, I had someone else all set up for it and he flaked out on me, so now I’m scrambling for a replacement.”

“Awe, Angela, I wasn’t your first choice? I’m genuinely hurt.” I chide.

“Oh shut up. You’ll have fun, I promise. Just get me something good to work with, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Good. I’ll email you all the details of the event, and the name of where you’ll be staying.”

“Sounds good.

“Thanks, Cass. I really appreciate this.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

With an audible click, she hangs up, and I’m left alone once again with my struggled thoughts of a beautiful quiet beach.

I guess I won’t be taking that vacation any time soon…

Chapter 27

It was the day of the festival,
and I was more excited than I thought I’d be. To use the age old cliché, I felt like a kid on Christmas. I picked out my outfit last week in anticipation. A simple knee length black skirt hugged my hips, paired with a crisp light blue button up shirt and a pair of black ankle boots, and now I find myself in front of the open closet, staring at it, mentally mixing and matching various accessories that may go along with it.  I’m usually more comfortable slipping into a pair of black slacks and a blouse at best, but this is different. This little work assignment has turned out to be a very special occasion, indeed.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Delacroix and I have had another chance to spend time together, though we still did manage to swap a few texts once every 3-7 days depending more on his schedule than my own.

Two weeks ago, I received a call from Angela to hang out at this big festival happening in New Orleans. It was due to be a several week event and the L
Addict
had already booked my hotel, as well as given me a list of all the events planned for that span of time.

By a very happy coincidence, it seems that my very own Alexander Delacroix was due to be a part of this fest, and my mind immediately began weaving a slew of fantasies ranging from being taken in a wild public display of passion, to a more subtle ‘Prince Charming’ encounter. And so, I picked out this outfit as a sort of introduction for my first day at the fest. I know it’s completely impractical to walk around for several blocks and stand for hours on end in heels, so I have decided to pack along a few pairs of fashionable flats as well.

I went all out. I actually paid a visit to the salon, and I’m happier with the results than I would’ve thought. No hair products needed for this girl! Just soft, shiny loose curls, and as I check myself out in the mirror, I realize for the first time that I’m pretty damn hot. Usually I only feel that way when I’m high on hormones once the lights go out, and the raw musk of sex is in the air. I’ve always felt my most confident in the bedroom, but now? Well, being embarrassed in my own skin is the furthest thing from my mind.

I run my hands over my curves, and adjust myself in my bra, leaving a button carelessly unfastened to show a tasteful hint of cleavage. I flash a smile at my reflection. Damn. I’d do me.

Laughing at the thought, I grab my bags and head downstairs. Riley is furiously writing down several numbers on a piece of paper and shoving it at me as I reach the first floor.

“Cass, you’re going to be gone forever! You have my number, but here’s the number to my parents, and to Tom, and to Ryan if you need him! And you have Ethan’s, right? Well, what help would he be. He’s not here…anyway! You could still call him if you can’t get a hold of myself or Tom. I also wrote down the numbers to our neighbors just in case you can’t get a hold of us or anything, but I’ll have my phone on the whole time you’re gone!”

“Riley, I’m staying in a nice place, and I’m not a child. Really, I can take care of myself. I’ll be just fine!”

“But it’s a two whole weeks! What am I going to do for two weeks?! And it’s New Orleans! It’s a big city! It’s big and scary and crowded and who knows what could happen!”

Amidst her mini panic attack, she stops suddenly and stares at me while I stand before her, bags in hand with the paper of numbers she so hastily stuck in my mouth, since I had no other way to grab it.

“Cass…” she whispers as she draws closer, eyeing me up and down. She pulls me to the center of the room and paces a full circle around me

“How the
hell
are you going to walk around in those shoes? Are you INSANE?”

She bolts to the closet by the door and starts rummaging through her shoes, dragging out various boots, flats, sneakers, and flip flops.

“Riley, I already packed a few pairs of comfortable shoes.”

“Oh…” she sighs “well okay...”

“You can call me, you know. While I’m away…”

“I know, but you’re going to be busy. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’ll try to call you every night. Maybe every other night, okay? I’ll at least text every day with a few pictures!”

“I guess that’s okay. I wish I could go with you, but I promised Tom I’d go with him to his parents this weekend. It’s his mom’s birthday or something. I still have to bake the cake…”

I set my bags down and wrap her in a big hug.

“I’m going to miss you too, Riley.”

She hugs back tightly and lingers for several moments before I manage to wiggle from her hold. I smile, and she places a kiss on my cheek then sets on my way.

After checking in at the hotel, I entertain the thought of letting him know I’m in the area, but think better of it. After all, it may be a nice little surprise, wouldn’t it?

I settle in, grab my camera, pull out my pen and notepad from my duffle bag and transfer them to my purse. I’m not much of a photographer, but I’m sure I can produce semi decent things to go along with the article and at worst, they will remind me of the festival and contribute to the descriptions I’ll use when putting together my piece for Angela. If she decides not to use them, it’s not like I’m losing anything.

The festival takes place a mere three blocks from my hotel, so I decide to walk there in order to get a feel of this area of New Orleans. I’ve shoved an emergency pair of shoes in my purse and pray I can hold out for a few hours before the blisters start to form.

It’s a surprisingly crisp day for this time of year, and by crisp, I mean it’s hovering somewhere around the low 70’s. That’s chilly, considering our normal weather, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. The humidity isn’t stifling for once, and there’s a gentle breeze meandering its way through the catacomb of buildings.

The music of the festival is audible from the moment I leave the hotel doors, and I’m lured towards it as if it were a siren’s song. The sounds of joy and laughter intermingle with the rhythmic notes streaming from the festival band, and as I approach it, I feel the spirit of the festival grip me.

The event is massive, and though I find the energy of the music and the colorful people exhilarating, I begin to worry that I won’t find Alex in this overwhelming crowd of people.

Closing my eyes for just a second, I push the thought from my mind. After all, he’s not the reason I’m here. I’m here to work, give a detailed account of the events to Angela and let her worry about piecing together the mass of information I’ll be sending in. If I have to spend two weeks in a hotel without a good, home-cooked meal, than she’s going to spend a few days shifting through everything I’m sending back to her!

Navigating through the festival, I dance between bodies clad in every imaginable shade and color. Some are dressed like me, models of the semi-professional, and others are a bit more outlandish.

Black business suits and ties mingle with vivid feathered hats. Smart, gray pinstripe skirts dance with radiant corsets with thigh-high buckled boots. And the alcohol overflows from every corner, freely consumed in the streets that burst with the heightened energy of jubilant laughter and excited whispers.

Shifting and sliding through the crowd, I attempt to blend with the local population, swallowing my anxiety from being engulfed by the crowd in such an unfamiliar place. A few trips for less than a few hours to this vibrant city, does not a local, make.

I stop by a stand and grab a drink - a rum and coke - and continue making my way through the crowd, snapping pictures which people all too happily pose for. They express, in their eager words, how wonderful this festival is for the local artistic community.

Jotting down names and quotes, I gather as much information as I can before the sun begins to set. I begin making my staggered way back to the hotel room. Delacroix was nowhere to be found, but the energy from the festival mixing with the alcohol, which danced through my blood stream, had a welcome effect on my body. I feel warm, calm, happy and comfortable in my own skin, which is something that, sadly, isn’t all that common. I feel completely joyous, without a single care slipping through my mind. I’m simply happy to be here, and getting to really learn about the culture of this city, is exciting! I daresay, I almost want to stay, and find myself musing over the thought of buying a place here in the city to experience all the wonderful things it has to offer.

It’s silly. I’m sure it’s just the alcohol.

Slipping past the front desk, I barely catch the elevator, and make my way to my room. Some pizza and a night with my feet up while I listen to the music slip in through the hotel window, seems like the perfect end to a fun filled day.

I let my hair down and kick off my boots, my feet numb from the walk. I’m sure I’ll feel the blisters in the morning.

The festival still pumps through my veins as a knock comes to the door. Raking my fingers through my hair to shake out my curls and massage my scalp, I move to the door. My shirt is unbuttoned to my naval from the heat of the room, and the fire that so often accompanies alcohol, but I refuse to care even if I were walking down the hall completely naked. It wouldn’t be all that much of an anomaly here anyhow, if what I’ve seen on the streets is any indication.

Wrenching the door open, I find the delivery guy, whose eyes are fixed on the crests of my breasts, and the fabric of my laced bra. With a wink and a smirk, I slip him a nice tip, and shut the door quickly, lest my body take over and act upon its heated impulses.

Fantasies flash through my mind of the oh-so-typical delivery guy sex scene, and I briefly entertain the thought of him naked and strapped to my bed.

Tossing the pizza unceremoniously on the table, I pull out my phone and am about to call Riley when another knock taps against the door. Oh how delicious it would be, if it were my little delivery guy.

I opened the door to gold-flecked brown eyes set behind gleaming silver rims, and auburn curls. His eyes quickly move from mine, slipping down my neck and breasts, then back to my eyes.

Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze; I could feel his eyes boring into me with disappointment. Biting my lip and down-casting my eyes, I wave meekly, muttering a soft greeting. This isn’t exactly the state I had wanted him to see me in. I feel like I have some image I should uphold. Some sense of sophistication I wanted to prove to him. I wanted him to look at me and feel respect first, and desire second. To feel as if I were unobtainable and yet, oh-so-desirable. I wanted him to want me the way I want him. To feel that obsession crawl up his spine. That anticipation of waiting for a call or text from me. To feel helpless, the way I’d always felt when it came to him; and all of it was slipping away from me. And suddenly I’m angry that he’s here when I couldn’t find him anywhere at the festival to make our meeting on my terms. I’m upset that he hasn’t contacted me at all, for days. Is this going to be a constant thing with him?

“Is this the way you normally answer the door, Miss Roman?” he sighs, his lips set in a disappointed line.

My lips and tongue refuses to form the syllables required for any kind of coherent sentence, and all I can do is shake my head.

No, it’s not.

I move my hands to my shirt, and begin to button it up, pulling my hair over one shoulder. I can do nothing but stare at the ground, ashamed of how I must look to him.

“Well? It’s rude to leave me standing out here. Are you going to invite me in?”

Nodding, I move aside, waving my arm to welcome him into the room.

As he walks in, I pull a chair for him to sit, and sit in the chair directly across. I rest my elbows on the table between us and lace my fingers, then cradle my chin on them, still uncomfortable with the idea of looking him in the eye. He settles into the chair and props his ankle up on his opposite knee, his hands lacing themselves together in his lap.

“I didn’t know you were staying here until I saw you walk in as I was sitting at the café.”

He points to a small coffee shop opposite of the hotel room. I hadn’t noticed it was there before.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be in town? I feel like we’ve had this conversation, already, and I do hate repeating myself.”

“I sent you a text days ago just to say hi, but you never replied. I didn’t even know you were going to be here until just a few days before I left.”

“You could have contacted me at that point and told me you were coming. You arrived today?”

“Yes.”

“And yet, I’ve no text from you today, or even yesterday, stating your plans to be in the area.”

“When you didn’t respond to my other messages, I figured you’d gotten too busy and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“When I don’t reply, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you or don’t want to see what you’ve written or sent to me. I just get wrapped up in other things. I’m disappointed. I expect it won’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” I whisper meekly, my eyes tracing the small lines in the table as a way to keep tears from welling in my eyes. Am I that intoxicated that I can’t keep my emotions in check? I feel like a child being chastised by her father for breaking the rules. “I just didn’t want to interrupt anything. I know how busy you can be…and I thought that maybe you’d grown bored with me.”