Something Fierce (12 page)

“You call being secret lovers in a borrowed house
reality
? I don’t think you could handle the reality of us, Mr. Hardy.”

“Oh, really. And why’s that, Ms. Engel?”

Here was a chance to tell that part of her past that he didn’t know. But what if he believed there might be some truth in it? What if he wanted to talk about it (which she certainly did not)? What if he asked her why she hadn’t mentioned it before? She had to accept that this couldn’t last forever, but why say something that might end it sooner than it had to, especially when he wasn’t directly asking? “Because you are afraid of commitment.”

“Here we go,” he said. “Just because I’ve never been married, I get slapped with
noncommittal
?”

“If the shoe fits…”

He interlaced his fingers behind his head and gazed up at the skylight between the beams of the high ceiling as if he were really thinking about it. “I’m not so sure that it does fit or that it ever did.”

“So you’re ready to meet my mother, who’s not that much older than you?”

“Yowl. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Or my friends who are half your age?”

“Those aren’t exactly commitment issues, but you win. I couldn’t handle it.”

“That’s not winning,” she said, feeling a sudden, deep sorrow. “That’s losing.”

“And you could handle it, huh? You and me, a real couple in the real world?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even need to think about it?”

“Nope.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve never gone legit before.”

He was right. Though there’d always been a guy or two in the picture, she had never been serious about or faithful to any of them. Some of them had said they loved her, but she never loved them back. Not really. She got bored quickly and would start sleeping with one of her male friends or some random guy that she let pick her up at a dance club, fulfilling an urge or breaking up the monotony of an evening. The “boyfriend” would eventually find out and be gone after some high drama of one form or another. It never really mattered all that much to her. There was always someone else waiting in the wings to take his place. Her former therapists had a field day with this, calling her behavior “impulsive” and “reckless” which sounded better than what she would have called it: “slutty” and “whorish.”

“I’ve never met anyone until you,” she said, “that I’ve ever wanted to be legit with.”

“Wow.”

“That surprises you?”

“A little. I mean, you’ve…met...a lot of guys for a girl your age.”

“How sweet of you to bring that up.”

He grinned. “If the shoe fits…”

Seth didn’t know all the details, thank God, but he knew she started having sex regularly at a young age—thirteen, though she’d told him fourteen and a half—and that she’d been a bad girl and a lousy girlfriend. He’d asked her why she’d lived like that and at the time, she didn’t really know. Now, she thought she was beginning to figure it out. There was the attention—something all the women in her family seemed to have an insatiable hunger for—and sometimes it was the sex, but mostly it was to cut the loneliness she felt inside and to make her feel as if she existed. She would take shape around boys or men trying to seduce her. She’d begin to fade if they started losing interest, come into full living color only when they were in hot pursuit of her, and disappear the moment they came…and went. “I understand. You don’t want to officially be with a slut. Even a reformed one.”

“Whoa, I never called you that. Nor would I.”

“I was one. I fully admit it. That was the only way I could feel good about myself so I did it without even thinking about it. I think about things now. I think before I act.”

“What brought about the change?”

He did, of course, but she’d been through enough therapists to know that was the wrong answer. “I was just tired of the life I was living. The damage I was doing to myself and to those around me. I wanted to be different, to be better than that. That was about six or seven months before I walked into your class. Until I’d slept with you, I hadn’t been with anyone in over a year.”

“Over a year, huh?”

“Yep. Not exactly a world record, but it was a big deal for a little tramp like me. I could go legit now. With you I could. No question.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I’m just saying that I could.”

“And I’m asking you if that’s what you want? A commitment?”

“No.”

He studied her. “Your pants are on fire.”

She laughed. “I’m not wearing any pants.”

He peeked under the blanket. “By gosh, you aren’t.” He leaned up and pulled her in for a kiss.

She stopped him before it went any further. “What do you see in me?”

“You know what I see in you.”

He was free with complements and had told her many times, in many different contexts what he saw: beauty, intelligence, depth, humor, innocence, even innocence. She was asking because she needed to be reminded. She could understand her appeal to losers like Rant and Kyle or to all the other faceless men that had been gaga over a girl who almost always put out, but she couldn’t get her mind around Seth Hardy. “What happens when you get bored with me?”

“You’re expecting that?”

“Men need mystery and you already know just about everything there is to know about me.”

“‘Men need mystery?’ Sounds like the wisdom of a
Sex and the City
rerun.”

“I’m being serious here. What if you’re just…I don’t know, going through a midlife crisis?”

“Do I look like I am in a crisis?”

“No. But that’s the point, isn’t it? To avoid it?”

“I see. I can’t afford a Porsche so I went with a hot, young girl?”

“It happens all the time.”

He laid back and pulled the blanket over his head. “I’m a cliché. Common. Run-of-the-mill.”

She yanked the cover off of his face. “Will you quit it? I’m being serious here.”

He looked at her. “First of all, I am not ‘men.’ I’m me. I’m Seth, remember. And what the hell ever happened to ‘love at first sight?’”

“That was me. You were ‘overwhelmed’ and ‘off-kilter,’
remember
?”

He smiled. “Touché.” He sighed and looked away for a moment, then he continued, “The truth is that I’m still overwhelmed. But it feels good. I am drawn to you in a way that I have never been drawn to anyone ever before. I have to believe there is a reason for that.”

“But you don’t know what it is?”

“It’s a hundred little things. The mystery of a person isn’t just in their history. It’s inside them and it’s always unfolding. Every day. Every minute.”

While she loved this about him, the way he looked closely and beneath the surface, it was exactly the thing that frightened her. She wasn’t really worried about his getting bored, as she’d said earlier, but about his being disappointed or worse, disgusted with who he found her to be. “What if you don’t like what unfolds?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

The words hit her hard but she kept the fear off of her face and out of her voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not like an assassin or something, are you?”

“More like a black widow.” Because of all the broken hearts she left in her wake, that’s what Mother called her when she wasn’t mocking her as
little girl
or
drama queen
. “I mate then I kill.”

“How come I’m still alive?”

“Because I fell in love with you.”

“Lucky me.”

No, Kerri thought, lucky
me.
Then she realized that she was not only asking what he saw in her so she could be reminded but that he too would be reminded. “Tell me a couple of those ‘hundred little things’ you see.”

“I see beauty, of course.”

“I wish I could see that.”

“Come on. You know you’re beautiful.”

“No. I don’t. I mean, I’m okay. But I’m no great beauty.”

He studied her.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m wondering if you really believe that or if you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“Why fish for compliments when I don’t believe them anyway? I know you are not lying to me; I know you see the beauty you say you see, but I really can’t even imagine it. For just a minute, I’d love to see what you see.”

“Maybe you can.” He nodded toward the large wooden framed mirror in the corner of the living room. “Go to the mirror.”

“No! I’d feel stupid.”

“Do it. Go to the mirror.”

She climbed out from under the blanket and looked around for her clothes.

“Stay naked,” he said.

She stood up and walked to the mirror, meeting his eyes there.

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “Look at you. Tell me what you see.” She felt embarrassed; she wished she wouldn’t have said anything now. She glanced at her reflection and was suddenly more naked than she’d been a few seconds ago. Her face flushed. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“I see me,” she said.

“How do you look?”

She looked at herself quickly and back to his eyes. “I am naked.”

“And?”

She didn’t like this game. She felt absurd. “And what?” She narrowed her eyes and said in a phony voice, “You want me to tell you how hot my pussy is for you?”

He got off of the floor, came up behind her and slapped her ass hard.

“Ouch!”

“For real,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Tell me what you see. For real.”

If he wanted the truth, she’d give it to him. “A girl with bony legs and lop-sided tits. And a fat, bloated belly.”

“You’re not looking,” he said resting his hands on her hips “Close your eyes.”

She did. He took her hands and guided them slowly over her body. “Keep your eyes closed and keep touching yourself. Everywhere. All over.”

“Why are you making me do this? I don’t like it.”

“I want you to see how beautiful you are.” He let go of her hands and she felt him move away from her. “Keep going.”

Her movements were mechanical. This was dumb. She was about to open her eyes when he said, “How does your skin feel?”

“Soft,” she answered truthfully.

“Use just your fingertips now.”

She did and a little laugh escaped her. “Tickles.” The fingers of her right hand ran over, under and around her left boob. She moved the nipple back and forth. “It’s hard,” she said, circling it with her middle finger, feeling it in her stomach. She noticed that her hand was shaking a little. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

“Stay focused,” he said.

Her hands continued to move down to her belly. Her fat, ugly belly and she was embarrassed. “I’m all bloated from the coffee—”

“Don’t judge. Don’t explain. Just feel.”

What she felt was…nervous. “Protruding,” she said, running her hand around her stomach. It was disgusting. “Round. Hard. Ugly.”

“Stay there for a while. Go back to your whole hand.”

She sighed. Part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off, but touching with the palm of her hand felt different now than it did before. It felt…“Nice,” she said, and swallowed, feeling like she’d said something obscene. “Nice to touch. Nice to be touched.”

She explored the sides of her legs, then the inside of her thighs. Her skin was different temperatures. Cool in some spots, warm in others. “I need you inside me,” she said, wanting to open her eyes, but keeping them closed.

“Focus on what you’re feeling,” he said. “Keep going.”

She sighed and moved her fingers upward, snaking up her torso, over her face, through her hair, touching her ears, pinching them, tugging on them, then going back to fingertips, she grazed her neck, back down the sides, the small of her back, over her ass. She was covered in chills. Her ass cheeks were cold except for the spot he’d slapped earlier. It was hot. She circled it with a finger. She was trembling. She was aware of her breath, in and out, in and out.

“Now open your eyes,” he said, “and tell me what you see.”

She saw a complete stranger. “A woman,” she said barely above a whisper. For that first instant, she was no one she knew. “A beautiful woman.” Her nose tingled and she felt like she was going to cry. She met his eyes in the glass to keep from doing so. He was sitting on the couch with the blanket wrapped around him. “You make me beautiful.”

“No,” he said, coming up behind her. “You are beautiful. You saw it with your own eyes.” He kissed her neck. “Remember that.”

But she was already forgetting it.

B
y Sunday afternoon
, Seth was sitting on the king-sized bed, freshly showered, deliciously exhausted, watching Kerri perform her end-of-the-weekend ritual. He took his journal from the nightstand drawer to capture the moment in words as she swayed to the music of Sade in the master bathroom and rubbed an apple-scented lotion over her body. Here, of all places, he saw her innocence: pretending to be unaware of his attention, nonchalantly stepping into a lacey thong as if it hadn’t been carefully chosen and packed Friday morning for this private performance, still believing she had
made
all this happen because she’d done some scheming to seduce him. As if chemistry could be coerced or controlled.

No, he thought, like a force of nature, it came and went on its own accord and the only choice the smitten had was to resist or surrender to it. He was glad he hadn’t resisted long. Though this brilliant storm they were caught up in was about to change direction. Whether they were escaping reality here or living some heightened version of it, they couldn’t keep going like this. Life just didn’t work that way. Things either moved forward or fell apart. They were at that point. He could feel it. Their little fantasy was about to turn into something else and if it was between letting it go or seeing where it could go, he’d take what was behind door number two. After Megan, he’d been afraid this kind of passion wouldn’t come to him again, that it was reserved for the very young and his great loves were already behind him. He didn’t doubt that he would love again, surely, but to never
fall in love
again, to never be overwhelmed, foolish, on fire with it again was an unbearable thought. Watching her brush out her long, blonde hair, still wet from the shower, he knew that whatever lay ahead for them, he would never regret these weekends that began with an anticipated kiss on Friday evenings—her lips cold, the winter air clinging to her—and ended like this on Sunday afternoons.