She tilts her neck back, our gazes locking, and smiles softly. “Can’t sleep?”
There it is, I think as I watch her—the reprieve from all the darkness around me. Ever since I first saw her across the room, I knew I was fucked. I didn’t understand, I still don’t, but when my gaze found her, a part of me sighed and said, there she is, what you’ve been looking for—welcome to the living world once more, old chap. I wanted to taste her like a fine wine, touch her like a sin. And I did. I told myself that I was just trying to help her out of a shitty situation, but I could have simply told Margot that Valentina was with me. She would have been good. Instead, I took her in my arms and kissed her like the starved man I was. I expected a docile partner, a shy kisser, an unwilling accomplice. She was none of those things. She returned my kiss with just as much wanton need as I felt, shaking me to the damn core. As we continued to run into each other, I became addicted to the way she made me feel whenever she was near me. She was like coming up for air after nearly drowning.
“You too?”
She pushes her glasses up by their bridge using a finger. “Yeah, too much going on in my mind. Music keeping you up?” A roguish dimple appears on her left cheek, the dimple that I’ve wanted to kiss pretty much since the day I noticed it there. “Guess it’s my turn, huh? Sorry. I’ll turn it down now.”
“Music’s fine.”
“Okay, good.” She lifts a hand into the air with her palm facing skyward, collecting raindrops. “It’s the first time it’s rained since I got here. Paris is lovely when it rains.”
I tilt my head back to try to find the moon, aware I should go back inside, but just being close to her soothes me. I find myself relaxing in her company even though it’s beginning to rain harder. Bending at the waist, I rest my arms on the railing, focusing on the skyline: The glittering Eiffel Tower in the background, the zigzagged roofs, the empty park across the street, and the few cars driving on the road.
“I got a job,” she blurts out.
“You did?” I don’t know why, but the fact that she’s willing to share this piece of her with me makes me feel invincible, like I’ve been allowed inside when she doesn’t let many people in.
“Yes, it’s nothing really. Just helping a man at this flower shop. It should be interesting since he doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak French.” She chuckles. “Thank God for the Internet and dictionaries.”
“It’s not nothing.” A car drives by then, splashing the curb. “Does it make you happy?”
A pause. “Yes. Very much so.”
“That’s what matters.”
“Yes, you’re right.” She lets out a long sigh. “Joanna and her husband throw a great dinner party. Have you known them long?”
“Ever since I moved here, about six years ago. They’re good people.”
“I like them. I had a good time tonight.” She hesitates, seemingly waging her next words with great care. “What happened to your date?”
So, she was paying attention. I smile, feeling like the motherfucking king of the world, the rain temporarily forgotten. I watch her again. “Jealous?”
“Yeah, right.” Valentina crosses her arms over her chest and huffs as though offended by the mere thought. In the dark, I can almost see the sweet blush spreading under her glasses, picture the hitch in her breathing, her perfect tits rising and falling beckoning to me like a siren song. “I’m just surprised that she isn’t with you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think she isn’t inside waiting for me?” I tease her.
“Seriously? Of all the—”
“She went home, Valentina. You shouldn’t be jealous, you know? She’s just a friend. Besides, she’s not you.”
And it’s true. All my relationships after Poppy have been pleasant, full of physical hunger, and attraction. No promises, no strings, just one hell of a good time. I get to numb myself—to escape. She gets a man who will fuck every part of her body, and fuck her good. It might not be much of a life, but it’s been enough for me.
That is until Valentina and that kiss …
She’s about to say something, probably put me in my place, when my last words seem to register in her pretty head, robbing her of a quick, scathing comeback. A darling confused expression settles on her face. I only wish it was my mouth and not my words that put it there.
Entranced by her, I fail to notice the storm is picking up speed until it’s too late. A strong wind blows past us. Another angry roar of thunder strikes. Lightning falls right across from us over by the park, striking the iron bench. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I utter. Shaken, I close my eyes while trying to calm the fuck down. And then, they come—the never-failing memories that choke me. What-ifs become punishment rather than escape. Poor pathetic fuck, I think. Even after ten years I’m still affected by this shit. It’s like every particle of my body relives that fucking night. What it smelled like when I got out of my car to walk into the hospital. Driving under a night sky illuminated by lightning as thunder boomed in my ears. Rain hitting the windshield. I should remember her laughter or the exact shade of her red hair or the way she felt in my arms, but instead …
I open my eyes, watching drops land on my skin.
Instead I remember this.
After a pause, I hear her voice, soft and sweet, and it calls me back from the hell I’m drowning in. “Sébastien? Are you okay?”
I notice that I’m holding onto the railing with all of my strength while trembling profusely. “I don’t know … fuck,” I curse, disgusted by the despair in my voice. “I can’t right now. I gotta go.”
Rudely, I leave without giving her a chance to reply. In the room, I stop after taking no more than a few steps. What am I doing? Every part of my being begs to go back outside, already missing and needing her warm light, somehow feeling hollow, empty; but I’m frozen from the inside out. Unable to move. My mind won’t stop its torture, just like the rain.
I’m drowning.
I don’t know how much time passes until I hear the doorbell ring, making me aware of my surroundings. The next thing I know I’m opening the door and come face to face with Valentina.
“What do you want?” I ask brusquely, holding onto the door. I fight the urge to pull her viciously in my arms and savage her until all the ghosts have left me.
A tiny frown forms on her forehead, her gaze full of concern. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Are you sure? Back there—”
“Yeah. Go back to your apartment.” I begin to close the door in her face, but she stops it by placing a small hand on it.
“I don’t know. I thought,” she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, “maybe … Would you like some company?”