Everyone has something on google, but there was nothing about my Peter that we could find. However, as I sat there feeling totally frustrated and defeated Steven finally drew my attention to the obvious.
“There was no mention of a Peter Connor being shot or dying, Soph. There is no mention of anyone being killed last night or even recently. So maybe your dream was just a dream,” he said bumping my shoulder with his own.
“I know. But I'm sure something's wrong. Maybe he wasn't shot. Maybe he died doing something else,” I cried. “I swear, I feel something bad happened,” but I too was fading out of my conviction.
It was 5:30 in the morning, and my mom and brother had come running for me in the middle of the night because I was mental. They had come again to my rescue like I was beginning to expect from them.
For all the independence and solitude I had had self-imposed growing up, I suddenly realized the comfort and love I had missed out on by being my formerly completely independent self.
“Thank you so much for coming over. I'm really sorry this seems so stupid now. But when I woke up I was just so sure he was dead. I was sure the horrible feeling inside me was him dying.”
“And now?” My mom asked gently.
“Now I feel a little stupid, and very confused. I can't explain it. I know logically I had a bad dream, but the emotional part of me says it was for a reason. But I'm okay now. You can go home. Actually, please go home. Dad’s probably still waiting to find out what his psycho daughter is up to, and I still need you to go with me tonight to get the paintings,” I said leaning into my mom on the couch.
“We’ll be here at 4:45 to pick you up.”
“And I'm coming, too,” Steven piped up.
“Ahhhh... I don't think you want to see one of the paintings. It's a little sexy,” I laughed embarrassed.
“I doubt it,” Steven teased. “They’re of you,” he said laughing as my mom swatted the back of his head making Steven and I burst out laughing.
For such a strange night, that swatting of Steven’s head was so nostalgic and funny to me after all the years my mom did that when we were teenagers, I suddenly felt a little warmth creep under my skin for the first time since Friday night.
“I'm so sorry for freaking everyone out again,” I said embarrassed.
“It’s okay, Sophie. This has been one hell of a weekend for you so don't worry about it. I'll curl up to your dad and sleep till noon, which I suggest you do as well. We'll see you at 4:45, okay?” Nodding, I walked both my mom and brother to my door.
Once they left, I was alone again with Peter all around me as I walked back to my bed. Crawling in, I snuggled up to his pillow and whispered a lonely goodnight to him again, like I did every night since he left me.
CHAPTER 29
After I woke up at 10:00, I obsessively googled Peter until 12:30, when it was absolutely time to quit. It was so hard for me to let Peter go, but by 1:30 I eventually struggled to my car with my 3 boxes of pottery.
Walking in at 1:55, Cori met me near the door and took one of the large boxes from my hands immediately. Helping me to my designated shelf, I told Cori I had one more box in the car, which she was happy to hear as I walked back outside.
Grabbing the final box from my car, I looked across my front seat to see Peter leaning against a street sign. Unbelievably, Peter was standing across the street watching me.
Peter!
Screaming his name, I smashed my head on the roof of my car as I jumped back out and tried to run for him. Screaming, my door was left wide open, my purse was on the seat, and I was delirious trying to cross the street. But he was gone.
Standing on the side of the road, where the cars passed me slowly and infrequently, I scanned everything I could. I looked from left to right, and even up in case he was somehow in the little building across the street. I looked everywhere, shaking and out of breath, as my heart pounded and my mind raced, but he just wasn't there.
Crying out my frustration and sadness, I turned on my heels, walked back to my car, grabbed my purse, and the last box of pottery. Slamming my door with so much force it sounded like a bullet ricocheting down the sidewalk, was a little too ironic for me in that moment.
But after the near miss with Peter, I collected myself as best as I could and I entered Java Bean Cafe as calmly as possible. I pulled myself together enough to pretend to be calm, cool, professional Sophie Morley, when inside I was so hurt and angry I wanted to hit someone. Specifically Peter.
Once Cori and I had placed and priced all my pottery, we made a little handwritten receipt that we each signed. I would always just break even with my pottery, which really, was only supposed to be a little adventure designed to help me move past Peter- The asshole.
I knew as I left the café I really was deranged at that point. I was angry and frustrated, and quite frankly, if I ever saw Peter again I'd probably punch him in the face before I kissed him to death.
When I sat back in my car to return home I tried to remember what he had looked like in the street, finding it almost strange that I spotted him immediately. Peter didn't look like himself at all, though I recognized him instantly. Bundled up against the cold in the green bomber jacket I knew, it looked like Peter was much heavier, with a lot of facial hair he never had with me. But even with the physical changes, I was sure it was him watching me from the sidewalk across from Java Bean.
I was sure he was there which meant he was alive, and everything I had thought I knew to be true the night before was completely wrong. He didn't die beside me- he was alive and well, just not beside me anymore.
Peter was alive and I felt more stupid than ever after the night I put my parents, brother, and even myself through.
Evidently, I had been wrong about my dream though I would have sworn on my life that Peter was hurt just an hour before. I was sure he was gone, and this new reality hurt me as well. I was happy he was alive, obviously, but I was pissed again that he was alive without me.
And so I continued- around and around again.
By 5:10, my parents and I arrived at Perry's, as Michael and another man opened the locked door for us. Smiling widely, the other man introduced himself as Perry of Perry's while shaking my hand, followed by my parents who introduced themselves as well.
“You're quite the little story for us around here, Sophie,” Perry smiled.
“Am I? Well, that wasn't my intention,” I said a little uncomfortably.
“There are a few pieces over the years I have thought of and studied nearly religiously, and the darker charcoal drawing of you was one of them. I had hoped I would meet Peter's muse one day, and here you are,” he again said brightly, which only added to my discomfort until my mom suddenly jumped in.
“Yes, here she is. Peter's muse. Do you mind if we get the paintings now? We have plans this evening and we'd really like to be on our way,” she said in a tone which ended any further conversation.
“Of course. I believe you've paid the required 5 dollars-”
“Yes...”
“And the letter?”
“I have.”
“So we'll just finish packing up the paintings for you,” Perry said walking away from us in the entranceway.
When Perry left us Michael leaned forward a little and whispered, “Sorry. Perry's a bit intense, and this whole thing bothers him for some reason, but I don't think it's because of the money. He just seems a little intense about Mr. Connor, I think.”
“Why? Does he know him?” I begged.
“I don't think so. Well, no more than the rest of us do. I think he was pissed that the paintings are leaving, and because he couldn't convince Mr. Connor to paint any more for the gallery this afternoon. Actually, he vehemently refused saying he only painted for you, and Perry felt a little slighted I think,” Michael admitted to me and my listening parents.
“You saw him today?” I gasped.
“Briefly.”
“And? How was he? Did he look weird?” I asked stupidl
y as we walked closer to the wall of me.
“Weird? Not really. He was very quiet though and very shaken that you finally found them, I think. I guess he's been waiting for months for you to find them, so he was almost freaked out or something now that you have. But that's just my guess. He didn't talk about you at all, no matter how much Perry tried to engage him in conversation over you.”
“Thank god... I don't like to really talk about myself, and these paintings are kind of personal,” I said pitifully.
“Of course they are. I'll try to get you out of here with as little Perry as possible, okay?” Michael smiled, and I swear I loved him a little in that moment for his kindness.
“Thank you...”
45 minutes later with my mom running interference every attempt Perry made to engage me in personal conversation, we were heading to the front door with my dad carrying the final drawing, when Perry tried one last time.
Pausing before speaking to me, it was obvious he didn't like me, but for reasons I simply couldn't understand. I had never met the man, nor was I any trouble. I was just a woman picking up paintings she had bought, albeit for only 5 dollars, but still. There was NO reason for me to be disliked by Perry, which I clearly was.
“Ms. Morley... I do hope you appreciate the beauty of these paintings and I hope you appreciate the significance of the artist who painted them,” he asked as I stood shocked by the tone he gave me.
Recovering quickly from his tone though, I whispered, “I do.”
“So you understand that it's not every day a woman is the subject of such a beautiful series of paintings from a very talented artist such as Mr. Connor,” he again almost sneered at me.
Annoyed, and suddenly feeling strong against his misplaced aggression, I answered as best as I could before my mom ripped him apart, like I could almost bet she was gearing up to do.
“I am well aware of how beautiful these portraits are, and I'm also aware of Peter's talent. And seeing as I'm the subject of these paintings, it would seem obvious that I understand the significance behind them. More so than you ever could,” I snapped.
“But Peter is-”
“None of your business, in regards to me. This is my life captured in multiple paintings, so unless you want to tell me where Peter lives, or how I can get in touch with him, we have nothing else to say. I'm sorry I only had to pay you 5 dollars for them, but that's what you and he decided. Not me!”
Looking totally insulted, Perry continued to my growing frustration. “It’s not about the money. It's about the pain Peter must be feeling about-”
“ME! This is between Peter and me. And I'm really sorry you got in the middle of it. I don't know what you know about Peter, but we're in love, and these are apparently the only way he can show me his love, so please stop being a dickhead to me. You know nothing about me, and I doubt you know anything about Peter. Do you?!”
“Not really... He just comes in sporadically and leaves quietly. I know nothing about him which adds to the mystery of you both, I guess,” Perry finally added a little embarrassed, I think.
“Well, there’s no mystery other than Peter himself. We love each other and he painted me as I loved him. End of story. But if you do ever find out anything more about Peter, I'd really appreciate you letting me know. Michael has my phone number,” I finished with my own sneer, as my mom pulled my arm with a smirk on her face.
Walking to the front door with my mom, my dad smiled at me and said quietly, “You get that scary from your mom,” as I laughed a little huff of frustration while walking out the door.
After we arrived home my parents stayed quiet. They again let me lead the tone of our night based on my mood, and I was horribly sad again. After the false bravado I held yelling at Perry had worn off, I fell into a sad exhaustion as I unlocked my door and walked inside with the drawing, while my mom and dad carried 2 paintings each.
I was home with my paintings and I wanted to be alone. So begging, I finally told my parents where I was at.
“Thank you for everything this weekend. Thank you for coming to me last night,” I said hugging my mom after she had propped my paintings against the living room wall. “And thank you for coming with me tonight. I don't think I would have been half as brave with Perry if I hadn't known you were standing there reading to jump in,” I grinned. “But I really want to be alone now.” And when she looked like she might protest I finished quickly. “I’m okay, I promise. I'm not super depressed, or even super sad. I'm more numb actually, but I'll be okay. This weekend has been very hard, so I want to just make a sandwich and eventually go to bed early. I have payroll tomorrow, which always stresses me out, and I need some sleep.”
“Why don't we just grab a quick bite, and then we'll leave you alone? It’s only 6:30,” my mom pushed, but I shook my head no.
“Do you want me to help you hang these, Soph?” My dad asked quietly.
“No... I'm not sure when I can hang them, but I don't think it’s tonight. If I need help tomorrow though would you come after work?”
“Sure, honey,” my dad nodded.
“Thanks,” I replied happily, with an obvious falseness we could all read on my face.
I truly appreciated my parents, but all I wanted was to be alone. I wanted to try to understand the beautiful woman Peter painted as she used to be.
Walking to my door my mom asked, “Are you sure you-”
“I'm absolutely sure. I'm okay, I promise.”
“Will you call me if you need to? You can, Sophie. You can call me any time tonight. Even at 3:00 in the morning if you need to,” she grinned.
“I will, thanks. But please go home now, no offense,” I grinned back as she hugged me and left me alone finally.
And once they left, I was truly alone. I was alone in a way I hadn't felt in months, and I was alone in a way that hurt.
Peter was everywhere and nowhere at once. He was holding my hand, and pushing me further away. He was breathing me in and blowing me away. He was everywhere and nowhere all around me.
So I did what was natural. I took the drawing, and crawled on my bed with Peter's letter, which I read over and over again until I finally passed out cold.
*****
I continued the 'I'm okay' facade for my friends and family all through the holidays.
I still missed Peter like hell, and the near misses were killing me, but eventually our story slowly warped in my mind as a different story for us entirely. A revised story was born that I actually started to believe.
Peter didn't dump me- he left me. He had somewhere to go, like abroad for work, or away for school, or on sabbatical elsewhere. He didn't leave me, he just left. I may have been totally delusional, but I felt better with my delusions. So I accepted the delusions and I made my way through the holidays like I was better.
2 weeks later, I opened and placed my paintings against the wall in my bedroom, and though I didn't remember exactly the feeling I had at the time, it didn't matter anymore. The paintings themselves were so expressive, I felt what the beautiful green-eyed blonde felt at the time, and I smiled for her.
Afterward, I walked to my living room and placed the sad, tragic ending, LOST on my fireplace mantle in the center and I walked back to my bedroom to the happy paintings, which made me feel loved again.
And on New Years’ Eve, I said my goodbye, finally. I told Peter I wasn't going to live for him anymore, because I decided to live in the new year Peter-free and happy.
I had one drink at home by myself, toasting in the New Year, of course thinking of Peter. But instead of missing him, I wished him well, and I prayed he was safe in whatever life he was living.
I said goodbye to the love of my life, and I crawled into bed alone.
CHAPTER 30
Sleeping with Peter was always beautiful.
Making love with Peter was always an amazing experience filled with love, and pleasure, and a connection so deep between us, we were each other within the space between us.
&
nbsp; Peter and I learned how to move, what to do, and how to feel. We learned each other until there was no longer thought, but mere reaction. We learned each other so intimately, a gentle smile alone could announce all the expectation, love, and want between us. And as I moved with him again, it was no different no matter how much time had passed between us.
Moving against him, I knew how to arch, and how to breathe to experience the connection between us. I knew how high I had to reach, and I knew how painful the reach would become until my ultimate release. I knew how to push past the building intensity to reach the height of our love and pleasure together, and I was almost there.
Pushing a little further and breathing a little deeper, I writhed and moaned until the building intensity crested, and I lost myself to the release.
Breathless, I came on a rush as my body arched and my mind caved to the pleasure. Releasing with a fractured scream, I was boneless and replete. But the intensity continued.
Struggling to keep Peter away like he knew I always needed, he continued inside me. Begging, I tried to breathe and speak but I wasn't able. I was struggling for breath as the weight of Peter began to slowly suffocate me.
Gasping, I tried to move my head but the weight continued to hold me down. Shaking and crying out, I tried to move my hands, only to realize I was pushed flat into a pillow by my head. Trapped, my arms were held tightly, one behind and one beneath me.
I was drowning among the cotton and down and I couldn't get out. Panicking, I fought as best as I could, but the force against me was too strong. I was held down on my stomach with an arm lifting me under my waist, as my body throbbed and screamed with each thrust I endured.
I was suffocating and unable to move the weight that crushed me, but I was aware. Finally.
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