Love, Blood, and Sanctuary

by Brenda Murphy

  But she was done begging people to love her, especially those who’d promised to stay.

  “I didn’t abandon you,” Marun said, her voice low and softer than it was a moment before. “My plan was always to come back. When I left, you had everything, including all the money in our accounts.”

  Marun was lying.

  The accounts were nearly empty by the time Izzy had gotten herself together enough to look. Shock and denial had her scouring the banks, hunting for proof that her wife hadn’t abandoned her and taken most of their money with her.

  Had the woman she loved ever loved her at all?

  Tears stung the backs of Izzy’s eyes, but she tried to blink them back before they fell. Her throat tightened and it felt like a vice was squeezing her chest. She couldn’t do this.

  “Please!” With a slash of her hand, she tried to cut off the flow of lies. “Just go. If you want to talk again, call me like a normal person and—” She swallowed the rough sob threatening to choke her. “Actually, don’t call me. Talk to Taylor. She’s handling everything, including the sale of that useless thing we own together.”

  With tears blurring her eyes, she shoved herself away from the wall and stumbled into her bedroom. The door rattled as it slammed behind her. Unable to walk another step, she collapsed to her knees and gasped in pain from the hard contact with the floor. Her towel loosened and fell. As if the physical pain shook free the other hurt inside her, the tears began to fall, hot and fast, scorching down her cheeks and dripping into her mouth. She gripped her chest, willing the pain to stop.

  “Izzy. I didn’t come back to hurt you.” Marun’s voice was just on the other side of the door, muffled by the wood.

  “Then what the fuck did you come back here for?” She screamed out, slamming her hand against the door. Her palm stung, but she did it again, and again, pounding the door like an alarm drum, drowning in the pain.

  “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

  “Go! Leave my fucking house!”

  “Okay, I’m leaving. Just—just stop hurting yourself. Please.” Faint footsteps sounded across the wooden floors. The front door opened and closed.

  Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

  Izzy didn’t know how long she stayed on the floor, but by the time she stood up, her knees hurt, her back was cramped, and the tears had dried on her face. Silence was the only thing she heard beyond the bedroom door. And, for a moment, that empty silence stabbed her deep and hurt worse than anything she’d ever felt before.

  Chapter Two

  Izzy went into the living room and, as expected, found Marun gone.

  An undefined pain throbbed in her chest. It seemed so damn easy for her ex to leave.

  After getting her trembling fingers under control, she picked up her phone and sent Taylor a text.

  If you haven’t already, please get the paperwork for the bakery’s sale ready for her to sign.

  Seconds after she hit “send,” the phone vibrated with a call.

  “You found her?” Taylor sounded shocked.

  “No, she found me.” Izzy coughed and cleared the sound of tears from her throat. “She’s—she came to see me this afternoon, just now.”

  The sudden silence on the other end of the line was loud enough for her to hear her own internal screams. She pressed her lips together. “Say something, Taylor.”

  “I know this hurts. I’m sorry.”

  Hurt. That seemed like such a mild word from the boa constricting her lungs and her heart, making it impossible to breathe without agony.

  Out of anyone else, Taylor knew what Izzy had been through when her wife suddenly left her without a word. She’d been a mess for weeks, months, and with too much of that time spent on Taylor’s couch.

  “I—I can’t talk anymore about this right now.”

  “Okay. I’ll get the paperwork together and call her number again.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She hung up before Taylor could say anything else.

  In the bedroom, she closed the curtains and curled up on top of the covers, the heater blasting hot air over her bare skin. With even a little bit of chill in the air, the cottage hoarded all the cool air until it felt colder in the house than it was outside. Outside the bedroom, it was freezing.

  Izzy grabbed the unused second pillow on the queen-sized bed and pulled it against her stomach. During the winters in their old place, she and Marun used to cuddle in the middle of their huge bed, keeping each other warm in their drafty but perfect two thousand square foot midtown apartment.

  A tear burned its way down the side of Izzy’s face.

  Seeing Marun again brought all the pain back as bright hot as it had ever been. For the millionth time, she wondered what she’d done wrong for Marun to leave, not just leave her, but to leave without giving any hint that the life they’d built together wasn’t what she wanted.

  It hadn’t all been a lie, had it?

  Before she consciously knew what she wanted, Izzy was on her knees in front of the open closet door and searching through the overcrowded mess for things from her old life she probably should’ve thrown out years ago.

  Like the cigar box.

  The wood was rough between her hands as she opened it, freeing the faint smell of an old perfume. Inside the box lay things she didn’t have any use for.

  The coffee-stained napkin from the diner where she and Marun went the night they met. A love letter with a dried African violet pressed between its pages. Her wedding ring.

  Nudging aside the platinum and diamond band, she reached for a small flyer announcing an art gallery show and cooking exhibition. The paper crackled between her fingers as crisp as the night she’d first slipped it into her purse.

  It came back to her in flashes. That night.

  Getting dressed in her single dorm room with excitement fluttering in her belly. The black dress that hugged her from collar bones to calves, and the sky-high heels to match. She’d straightened her hair and worn it in a French twist, trying to look grown-up for the man she was supposed to meet at the gallery: her culinary school professor who’d been flirting with her for weeks.

  He was French, charming, and brilliant with a cutting torch. Half the class had been in lust with him, and Izzy felt lucky he’d chosen her.

  In class he was cool to her, almost too professional in a way she realized now probably hadn’t fooled anybody. In his office, it was another story. There, with no classroom between them, he’d gone to his knees to pleasure her and then begged to be allowed inside her. Izzy didn’t give in. She held on to her virginity with both hands until, one day, it just seemed ridiculous to wait.

  They’d planned it. For them to meet up at the gallery and then go to his apartment together. There, she’d finally give in and she’d know what the fuss was all about.

  In the mirror that night, her lips had gleamed a deep red from the new lipstick. A packet of condoms sat next to her compact and a fresh pair of panties at the bottom of her tiny purse. Butterflies dive-bombed in her belly in anticipation of what she was going to do later that night. She was ready.

  The gallery wasn’t far away from campus so, despite the chilly night air and high heels that tortured her feet with every step, she walked there. She’d be leaving the gallery in his car anyway.

  At the entrance to the gallery, a long line snaked away from the podium and the woman behind it who was stamping the hand of everyone she let in.

  “That’ll be ten dollars,” she said when it was Izzy’s turn.

  Izzy dug into her purse, frantic fingers bumping against the few things inside before she realized, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, that she’d remembered to pack everything except her wallet. “Ten dollars?” She looked up from her fruitless search, snapping the purse shut. “I’m meeting someone here, the chef performing. Sébastien. Is there—am I on the guest list?”

  The woman glanced down at her clipboard. “Everyone on the guest list is already accounted for.�
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  The grumbling in the line behind Izzy turned up the heat in her cheeks. Muttering apologies, she backed out of the line to allow the next person to pass. As she backed into a nearby corner to shield herself from some of the cold, the glass doors of the gallery slid open spilling out the sound of laughter and, she imagined, the sexy rumble of Sébastien’s voice.

  Would he expect her to be in there while he performed? What would he do once he realized she wasn’t there and waiting for him?

  The questions tumbled without answers in Izzy’s head. As she usually did when she was nervous, she nibbled on the corner of her thumb, teasing up the remnants of a cuticle that the woman at the nail salon had done such a good job of eliminating hours before. The smell of her deep-red nail polish teased her nose and mixed with the taste of blood as her raw finger started to bleed.

  A pair of women slipped out of the gallery, one of them gnawing on some sort of meat on a stick, and stepped into the nearby alley. Their jackets looked warm.

  “That chef really put his foot in it,” one of them said in a Southern drawl. “The girls in there are just eating him up.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that he’s a cutie with a booty either.”

  They both laughed. Seconds later, the scent of cigarette smoke snaked from the alley toward Izzy. She wrinkled her nose. Then shivered from a sudden breeze.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be in there too long and she could just wait for him out here. It wasn’t that cold anyway.

  “Is your human popsicle act part of the performance for tonight?”

  An unfamiliar voice jerked Izzy’s attention from the gallery’s entrance. A woman stood in line, dressed properly for the weather in a long and shimmery yellow dress and with a fur stole, golden and soft-looking, draped around her shoulders.

  “Huh?”

  The woman was remarkable. There was no other word for it. Her hair, a thick forest of natural coils and curls, absorbed the light and rested gently on the thick pelt draped over her shoulders. Her impressive hair framed the most beautiful face Izzy had ever seen. The yellow dress hugged her tall and lavishly curved body, showing off thick breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that begged for worship. This was a woman the term “hourglass” had been made for.

  And Izzy had never thought of women as being sexually attractive before. Well, at least not outside of a television or movie screen.

  The stranger’s skin glowed a lustrous ebony and her eyes were sharp like a hunter’s and seized Izzy as if she were prey.

  She clenched her hand into a fist, tucking away her bleeding thumb. The pain from it throbbed dully but was easy to ignore under the intensity of the woman’s gaze.

  A smile skimmed the stranger’s painted lips. “Why are you out here in the cold?”

  Too flustered to lie, Izzy stammered out the truth. “Uh… I, um, I’m meeting someone here, but I—I forgot my wallet so don’t have any cash for the cover.” She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, trying to generate some heat.

  “You don’t need money. It’s supposed to be a suggested donation.” The woman cast a narrowed glance at the hostess who wasn’t paying them the slightest attention. Her gorgeous hair fluttered like a dark dandelion in the breeze.

  “Um,” Izzy said again, apparently having forgotten how to speak actual words.

  “Come.” The woman plucked a twenty from her purse and gestured with it for Izzy to step in front of her. “No point in you standing out here looking like a sacrifice.”

  The heat of arousal scorched Izzy from head to toe, with too much of its fire lingering in her nipples and between her thighs for comfort. She wanted to run away from the stranger. She wanted to press closer. The contradiction made her quiver. At least she wasn’t cold anymore. “You don’t have to. I mean, I’ll just…do something else.”

  “Don’t be a martyr when you don’t have to be, love.” The woman’s voice suited her body perfectly. It was lush and deep, infused with the lilting melody of an accent Izzy couldn’t place.

  “Oh, okay.” More than a little mesmerized, Izzy nibbled on her thumb again before she realized what she was doing. She dropped her hand down at her side and stepped into the space the woman made for her, ignoring someone’s mutter of objection from behind them in the line. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

  The woman waved away her thanks.

  As they waited, they exchanged names.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Izzy,” the woman—Marun—said. She offered her hand and Izzy, in a daze, reached out to take it. A sizzling current passed between them and Izzy shivered, burned. Marun smiled as if she knew exactly what Izzy was feeling. She brushed a finger over Izzy’s bleeding thumb. “Yes, my absolute pleasure.”

  At the podium, she offered up her twenty-dollar bill and the hostess took it, stamped both their wrists before inviting them inside. Izzy sighed with relief when the gallery’s warmth washed over her bare shoulders, arms, and legs. Her skin prickled as her body returned to something like its normal temperature.

  In the middle of the gallery, Sébastien held his audience as he played with leaping tongues of fire at the cooking exhibition station he’d shown the class photos of days before. His laughter was low and thrilling, his French-accented words distinctively flirtatious. Just like Izzy remembered. Just like she wanted. She should head over there and let him know she was there.

  But she couldn’t make her legs move her away from her savior.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, looking up at Marun. “Let me get your number and I’ll arrange to pay you back. I have money, I swear.”

  The woman glanced toward Sébastien and then turned her back to him. “You know, if you’re in such a hurry to give your virginity away, you should give it to me.”

  “What?” Did this woman just…?

  “Your ears didn’t deceive you, darling girl.” Another smile. This one teasing yet with a touch of gravity Izzy couldn’t ignore.

  Izzy’s mouth dried. Her heart thudded, wild and out of control. Mostly because she was rocked to the core by Marun’s boldness yet wanted so very badly to give the woman…everything. Instead, she drew back, trying to save herself from this unexpected desire. “Do I have ‘virgin’ carved into my forehead or something?”

  “Not there, no.” Dark eyes wandered down her body, scorching Izzy like a physical touch.

  Heat engulfed Izzy from head to toe, but it wasn’t the blush of embarrassment. Instead, it was arousal, thigh-slickening and swift. The sensation roared through her in a way it never had for anyone else. Under Marun’s intense regard, her belly tightened, her panties grew wet. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide the hardness of her nipples that had nothing to do with the cold.

  Yes, Izzy wanted this strange woman, but she was also nervous. And frightened.

  She willed her voice not to tremble. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll come home with me.” When Marun lightly touched her shoulder, Izzy couldn’t stop the shiver of reaction that rippled through her. “But if that’s too much too soon, we can meet for coffee and just talk. You intrigue me, and I want to know everything you’re willing to share.”

  She should have said no. She should have told Marun she wasn’t willing to give just anyone her virginity. Especially not another woman. But after knowing her for only a few minutes, Izzy knew Marun wasn’t just anyone, wasn’t just any woman. And if she walked away from this heady desire that pushed her own fears and expectations far out of sight, she suspected she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

  “I want to know you too,” Izzy said, and it felt like a confession.

  Without a single glance toward Sébastien, Izzy left with Marun. They went to a nearby café with Marun’s golden stole thrown over Izzy’s shoulders. There, they drank coffee and talked until the sun brushed the sky with the first traces of color. Marun listened and flirted and teased secrets from Izzy she didn’t even know she had. Then, when nighttime gave way to the morning,
Izzy went with Marun to her penthouse apartment on the river.

  In the master bedroom’s decadently large bed, Marun’s touch took Izzy to a world beyond her wildest fantasies. She screamed her pleasure, clawed and begged and cried until her throat was raw and her very being was saturated with satisfaction.

  That day, she skipped all her classes.

  It should have felt strange—or at least more strange—to be picked up by a woman when she’d been at the gallery to give her virginity to another person, a man, but Marun made it seem normal. Perfect even. For two years, their entire relationship had been like that. A surreal but splendid dream.

  Until she woke up one morning to find Marun gone.

  It should have worried her, how effortlessly Marun seduced her and took her home. As easy as it had been for her ex to come into her life, Izzy should have realized it would be equally easy for her to leave it.

  The edge of the cigar box dug into Izzy’s palm as she firmly closed it. Enough of that. The tiny latch clicked, and she swallowed past the thick lump of emotion that threatened to choke her.

  She should just throw the stupid box away, once and for all.

  But of course, that’s not what she did. Instead, Izzy shoved it back into the mess of a closet and stood up. She couldn’t afford to let Marun’s unexpected visit derail her normal routine. The night would come quickly and with it, work.

  Her job at one of the most popular restaurants in town as an overnight baker wasn’t enough to allow her to live and pay all her debts but she needed to keep it. And for that, she needed sleep.

  With the broken promise of warm sunshine beyond her closed curtains, she climbed back into bed and tried again to rest.

  Chapter Four

  “Nice suit, sis.” A woman passing by gave Izzy an appreciative glance and a smile on her way past her in the bank.

  Even though it was more of a nervous twitch, Izzy returned her smile. “Thank you.”