Authors: Charlotte Swanpol
Owen took a moment and looked at her, then shook his head.
“Because none of them are you. You are beautiful, and intelligent, and funny, and we get along so well. Because you are broken, just like me.”
Reeling, she took a breath and looked up into his handsome face, his deep jewel eyes and freckles staring back.
I should go
, she thought.
I should go home right now, before I do something bad.
But she couldn’t make her mouth say it.
Spurred on by the silence, he slowly bent his neck, growing closer and closer until his lips were an inch from hers.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered. “About not letting you out of my sight. Any man who could let you out of the house looking like that deserves to lose you.”
With that, Jade released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and Owen brushed his lips against hers. Soft and plump, they hesitated just long enough to pull her into him. She could have melted. She threw her arms around his neck and sunk into his kiss with unbridled curiosity. She longed to explore his mouth, her tongue tickling and teasing as he scooped her into his arms and walked away from the ledge. He set her down on the remaining loveseat and knelt before her, kissing her deeply. His fingers explored the nape of her neck, and down, his kisses trailing along her arms and back. He found her zipper and tugged, the dress falling away to reveal her voluptuous bosom.
Something inside him caught fire when he saw them, his mouth and hands working simultaneously, tirelessly, flicking and tickling nipples now hard with arousal. Jade laid back on the sofa and Owen slid her dress off of the curves of her hips. Intoxicated by her body, he leaned above her, and she could feel his excitement as he pressed into her. She tore his tuxedo jacket off, tossing it on top of her dress, followed by his tie. Sliding his suspenders over his shoulders, she grinned.
I love suspenders
, she thought. Hands moving deftly from shoulder to hips, she unbuttoned his pants and eagerly sought his erection, pleased to discover it would be more than enough.
With each of his kisses, she became more and more turned on, her lust for him mounting. He dragged a finger up her leg, pressing into her skin hard. When the finger moved to her clitoris, she thought she would explode. Working the little button like it was his job, she writhed on the couch. He placed a hand tenderly over her mouth, whispering in her ear, “Don’t be too loud, or they’ll hear us,” but that only made her want him more, her back arching as he bent over tease with his tongue.
She grabbed his curls with both hands, wriggling with ecstasy. Then she looked down.
Somehow in the dim glow from the ballroom below, her ring caught light and sparkled maliciously, and her heart slowed. Panicked, she began to sit up.
“Stop.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Stop, I need to leave. I need to get out of here.” Tears streamed down her face.
I can’t believe I did this.
“Jade, he doesn’t appreciate you,” Owen reasoned. “I could see that from the day I met him.
“Even still, I am wearing the ring he gave me, and if anything was to happen – this shouldn’t have happened.”
Frantic, she collected her things; pulled her dress back on, and fumbled with the zipper.
“I am sorry,” Owen breathed. “I thought this was something you wanted. I thought I was --”
“I’m sorry too,” Jade huffed, biting back tears. “Under different circumstances, maybe, but --” she couldn’t continue.
“What are you going to tell him?”
“The truth,” Jade answered firmly.
“I can respect that,” Owen conceded.
Finally laden with her belongings, Jade was ready to leave.
I need to leave. I need to get out of here.
“Jade, I am sorry I upset you,” Owen lamented. “But I don’t regret this, even for a second.”
As the elevator door shut behind her, it took everything she had not to turn and look at him one last time.
***
As Jade approached the apartment complex, the pounding of her heart was punctuated by the
click-click
of her heels on the pavement. The entire trip home she went over what she was going to say. She’d lay her heart on the line, the truth at his feet, and let him take out his rage in whichever way he needed to.
The wait for the elevator was the longest two minutes of her life.
Her breathing quickened in the elevator, and she was grateful she had until the twelfth floor to calm down.
I’m going to break his heart
, she thought.
He’s going to scream and god knows what else, and I can’t say I don’t deserve it
.
When the doors dinged open, she turned to walk down the longest hallway of her life, but instead of being alone, there was another person walking ahead of her, a woman.
Odd
, she thought.
I’ve never seen visitors in the building this late, before
.
With each step she felt her heart break, could see clearer the look of betrayal that he would turn on her. With each step she counted the doors the woman passed, ahead of her. When the woman stopped, so did Jade. When the woman knocked on the door, Jade’s breath caught.
And when Lewis opened the door and greeted the woman with a fierce kiss, Jade thought she might die.
The End of Book Two
Book Three
Jade
Time froze. Each heartbeat felt as though it were being wrenched with an invisible meat hook. Her lungs felt as though they were fighting concrete blocks sitting on her chest, each breath felt like it was sifted through a feather pillow. Though Jade stood still, she felt the earth spinning. She felt the wine and dainties rising in a hot ball from the pit of her stomach, felt it searing through her guts as she forced her sick back down. As she stared down the now empty hallway, the outdated wallpaper walls seemed to swell with each labored breath, and at the same time press all the air from her, keeping her standing.
The elevator door slid open behind her, flooding the hallway with raucous Friday-night chatter. The laughter stung, mocking her; the gleeful voices and every drunken “I love you, man” paraded by her, wrapping her further and further in despair. As the party-goers made their way home, the apartment door closed and locked behind them, time became real again.
Jade’s mind and pulse raced, heart pounded in her throat. She raised a shaking hand to her forehead in hopes that it would stop the spinning, ease the dizzying, spiralling thoughts.
I need to get out of here
, she thought frantically.
Where to go?
Places and people sped through her mind – she was out of town, and he didn’t live here anymore, and they were too busy starting a family to be bothered at two in the morning.
She pressed the down button six or seven times before the stainless steel door groaned open, the mirrored walls revealing what Jade had feared. Shadowy lines crept down her cheeks where unconscious tears streaked mascara, the murky pools beneath her eyes more than just ugly shadow cast by the inconsiderate fluorescence. She scrubbed at them in vain as the doors opened into the lobby.
Where do I go?
Walking outside, she flagged a taxi and clambered inside.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked, and the speed of her response stunned her as much as the answer, itself.
He put the car in gear and they lurched into the night. Grateful for the silence, Jade sat in the backseat, understanding settling over her like a blanket. She was numb.
Lewis had cheated on her. Not just ‘had,’ but was currently cheating on her that very moment. He was kissing a stranger, likely on top of her sweating, naked body. In their bed.
How long has this been going on?
she wondered, looking at her ring.
Can you really be upset?
she laughed, bitterly.
You’d be doing the exact same thing if you hadn’t glanced at your ring. Your
engagement
ring,
she reminded herself. Guilt stabbed its way through her numbness, a new wave of tears leaping down her cheeks.
“Miss?” came a voice from the front seat. He peered at her in the rear-view mirror, a tissue dangling from his fingers. She took it with a grim smile, dabbing the sad eyes that stared back at her from the compact mirror.
As the car pulled up to its destination, she steeled herself, handing the driver more cash than was necessary. He mumbled his thanks, his utterances of ‘too much’ rolling off of her. She thanked him, and got out of the cab. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs, her midnight gown tinkling on the polished marble.
She looked around in the low light. She knew it was late, knew she’d most likely be alone, but the echoing of her heels in the silence chilled her; the sound was hauntingly hollow. Though she’d been surprised by the firmness of her answer in the cab, her sudden decisiveness, she stepped with purpose. She knew exactly why she was here. She knew exactly where she was going, and what she planned to do once she got there. Her breath caught in her throat and, despite how calm she felt, her heart thudded in her chest. She didn’t expect to be back here, and so soon. It was still so fresh.
The air felt thick again, judgemental curiosity pouring from the glassy eyes that peered up and down at her, despite the occasional smile. She ignored them; she only had eyes for one.
Eyes locked on her target, she pulled up a chair and stared across a gap that felt a lifetime wide. Leaning forward, she took a breath.
What do I even say?
A single tear belied the smile that sat on her trembling lips. She reached out and wiped away a speck of dirt on the cold, glass case.
I’ll start simple, I guess.
“Hi, Mom.”
Owen
Owen turned to look at his wristwatch, facing him from atop the bedside table. He was grateful that he was only on-call that day; he had nowhere to be besides his bed, unless there was an emergency at the hospital, or he had the sudden urge to get up and be productive. The latter, he seriously doubted.
He had a feeling he’d be nursing his hangover for the rest of the day. Normally, he kept his alcohol intake to a minimum – it was not conducive to his lifestyle. He worked too hard to throw away his progress with mindless drinking. Even the odd beer after work or glass of wine with dinner ate away at him. Though it happened rarely, he knew that when he got drunk, the productivity of the next day declined drastically, tossing his schedule out the window. Which, of course, was unacceptable.
He stretched under the sheets, long limbs reaching as a yawn escaped him. Another side effect of drinking too much – he seldom slept well when he got sloppy-drunk, tossing and turning all night, but that was only part of his lack of sleep this time.
Flashes of the previous evening scorched his imagination.
He remembered the fluttering in his stomach as he dressed for the evening, wondering if his tuxedo would be too much; wondering what she’d be wearing. The fluttering doubled when he considered all he had planned, on a hunch.
He recalled his journey to the hotel directly after work and paying a janitor to let him onto the balcony so he could clean it before the party started; recalled rushing home to shower off the ancient grime before getting shaved and dressed.
The memory bounced in his mind, of every head turning to look at him when he arrived at the party. Every one of the faces was blurry to him; he sought only one. When he hadn’t seen it in his first three scans of the room, he’d resolved to ‘mingle’ until she arrived.
He could still feel the tingle in his skin, the tightening of his dress pants when he first saw her; big, pinned curls framed her perfect face, the dark makeup made her eyes electric. The deep navy gown clung to her curves, her silhouette making the hourglass envious. The high slit in the dress teased him, her smooth legs peeking out from beneath.
Owen felt himself growing thirsty and forced himself to get up and drink all the water he could find. Standing in his kitchen, and drinking glass after glass of water, he recalled the feeling of her in his arms as they swayed to the slow jazz; the warmth of her breath on his collar, the feeling of contentment that spread through his body as she rested her head on his shoulder. The smell of her lingered, the slight spice of perfume mixed with hairspray.
He could remember the way his heart pounded as he led her to the balcony for their final dance, the nerves nearly blinding him. He very nearly stopped himself from speaking. Now, he wished he had.
He could draw the shock that had painted her face, the sadness that lay beneath the joyous sparkle of her brilliant eyes.
He remembered how it felt, forcing himself to lean in slowly, the desire to kiss her – to feel her lips on his – muddling his thoughts. He remembered every supple curve of her body, the heave of her generous bosom as he slid off her dress. He could still feel her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, the taste of her taunting his senses. He recalled the way her body responded to his touch, the memory of her little convulsions brought a smile to his face.
He filled a final glass of water and returned to the bedroom, creeping under the covers. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his head spinning from the memories as much as the hangover. He shook his head, though he immediately regretted it.
He thought on how things had ended between Jade and he. He saw the realization of what had happened strike her like a blow, her guilt broke his heart.
But what did she feel guilty about?
Owen wondered.
Was it guilt over what happened? Or was she feeling guilty about liking it?
She had been enjoying herself; at least that much was clear. He hadn’t forced himself upon her; he’d given her plenty of opportunities to walk away.
And she wouldn’t have kissed me back if she hadn’t wanted to
.
He turned over and buried his face in his pillow. After she’d left, he’d sat there in the dark a few moments, thinking. He wasn’t upset that she’d gotten him riled up and left; if anything, his heart was blue-balled. For one brief moment, he’d allowed himself to believe that she’d chosen him; that his risk had been worth it. It was situations like these that deterred him from dating, from opening up his heart. It was situations like this that caused him to throw himself into his work to begin with. He’d been a fool.
He closed his eyes and sighed, determined to fall back asleep. Just as he began to drift off, he was startled awake by a muffled gurgle next to him. A breathy, satisfied sigh preceded a light tickle up and down his back. As tender kisses found their way across his shoulders and up his neck, the rest of the night came screaming back to him. Countless drinks led him by the nose to scarcely fewer bad decisions.
“Good morning, Owen,” the words were simple, but the subtext was clear.
He tensed, shame and self-loathing surging through him. He took a breath, refusing to turn around.
“Good morning,” he began, forcing himself to be kind. He didn’t want to say it, he pleaded with himself not to say it. Saying it out loud would make it real, and he so wished it weren’t.
“Alexa.”