Impulses

by Brock, V. L.

  I grin down at her as she offers a tenderhearted smile, which I find myself reflecting. “No, he’s one of a kind; always believing in the best of people.”

  Her hand slinks from my shoulder and hangs limply at her side. “I’m sure he does,” she leers, and I am temporarily disconcerted by her tone. I make an effort to determine her response as her expression alters, darkens even, as though she deems a person who trusts as fools. I don’t know why, but unease begins to spread and prickle throughout my body.

  “Sam––” Hayden’s voice pulls me from my ponderings. I whip my head around and glance over my shoulder. Hayden is at the far end of the aisle strolling towards me pushing the cart. The prickling of my unease is overrun by a warm fuzzy sensation as I envision him in five months’ time pushing a stroller, instead of a shopping cart.

  “It was nice meeting you, Sam,” the woman at my right hums before turning and strolling leisurely toward the opposite end of the lane.

  “It was nice meeting you, too. Bye.”

  “Who was that?” Hayden probes pointing in the direction the woman sauntered down with his brow.

  “Just a kind, talkative shopper who offered her opinion, to help determine which canvas to get,” I smile sweetly up at him.

  He rewards me with a nervous grin. “Does that mean you have actually picked one?”

  I nod once overstated.

  “Well…are you planning on showing me, or do I need to ask for red ribbon and scissors for the big reveal?”

  I can’t help but giggle at his dramatics, and playfully swat his upper arm.

  Twisting it between my thumb and index finger, I turn the painting around to offer Hayden an unobstructed view. He sucks in a deep breath and stills.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” I glance between a motionless Hayden and back at the piece in my grasp. When I focus back on Hayden, he’s ashen. I have never seen him this pale. “Hayden, honey, what’s the matter?” I ask concerned.

  “Why that one?” he counters.

  I reiterate the conversation I had with the anonymous woman, while Hayden steadies himself against the cart.

  “And when you called, she left up that way.” I glimpse the length of the aisle and spot her halfway. “There she is,” I mutter, offering a quick, friendly wave, which she reciprocates before pulling the door open and exits the store.

  I turn back to face Hayden, who looks as if he has seen a ghost.

  “Samantha…that was, Addison.”

  “Holy fuck, what?” I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, scream, or run up the passageway, through the exit and down the block, to rip her fucking streaky hair out by the root and ram it down her throat until she chokes. “That was…”

  He nods his head faintly.

  Fuck.

  “But she seemed so…” my upper lip curls as though there is a revolting stench gracing my nostrils, “nice,” I finally enunciate, disgust enhancing the word with weighty condemnation.

  “It’s Addison, Sam. That’s what she does.”

  “The vindictive, bitch.” I feel my body shaking ruthlessly; some people have to bungee jump or sky-dive to get an adrenaline rush, stick me in front of the whore who fucked up my man’s head, who abused him for years, and I’ll give those adrenaline junkies a run for their money. “Shall we just go?”

  Hayden flares his eyes, holding me with his doubting gaze. He traces his lips with his tongue and shakes his head. “No. She’s just left; chances are if we leave now, we will only end up running into her again.”

  My mouth curls into a menacing smirk, while my stare projects a burning hatred like laser beams. “That’s the point, Hayden.”

  “Sam––”

  “Your cunt of an ex just made small talk with me, Hayden. She pulled the wool over my eyes with the vindictive streak that rivals the ones in her fucking hair. She mistreated and took advantage of you, and you want me to just…what? Let it go?” I seethe.

  Stepping away from the cart, he paces toward me. He cradles the side of my face tenderly in the warmth of his hand. Somehow, the serenity reflected in his eyes manages to quell my need to severely beat something, preferably the slim brunet whose beauty would intimidate Aphrodite.

  “We need to let it go. Stop living in the past. I have to do it, beautiful. This is a two-way street.” And from the deep desolate place within me, I actually realize that I never paid Hayden his dues when I told him for so long to let my past go. I’ve not been on this side of the fence before; I didn’t understand how hard it is to be face-to-face––to have a conversation with someone, who victimized someone who you would die for.

  This is going to be an, ‘easier said than done’ situation. I know it.

  Striving to lighten the mood, Hayden says, “I have a safer option.” He offers me the crook of his arm, and I cannot help but wonder what solution he has successfully managed to conjure up in that head of his. “Would milady consent to be escorted to aisle twelve? There, we will find an assortment of towels.”

  I lean back and mask my chuckle with a pressing scowl. “After all of that, you want to shop for towels?”

  “Towels,” he mouths with a cheeky, provocative air, and suddenly, I can’t stay angry no more. Rolling my eyes heavenward, I finally surrender to an incredulous grin; none of this is Hayden’s fault, after all.

  “I have a better idea,” I prop the canvas back on the shelf, and hook my arm under his. “Paint,” I bellow.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She told me that she had that canvas, and it worked with the palette you have in your bedroom. I won’t feel comfortable knowing that now, Hayden. I want to redecorate it.”

  Mulling it over briefly with pursed lips, he nods agreeably. “Okay. But the bed is new.”

  “That’s a shame,” I pout playfully, trailing my free hand up and down the length of his arm. “Imagine the fun to be had shopping for a new bed, all that bouncing up and down while people watch,” I peek up under my lashes and smile coquettishly at a rather relaxed, Hayden.

  “Maybe a new bed isn’t such a bad idea.”

  Not particularly wanting to be around all those paint fumes with the baby, Matt and Jessie have very kindly offered their help with redecorating the bedroom. Unfortunately, we can’t start until tomorrow––well, it would have been today, but Matt has to work, and Hayden has decided to take me to the Chinese New Year Parade, so redecorating on the day of rest, will have to suffice.

  Having had to reign in my temper for the last five days with the knowledge that Hayden’s bitch of an ex decided on the décor of the room that we sleep in and make love in, I’d be lying if I said that I have been the easiest person to get along with since that revelation. But, despite that, Hayden has quite a method of making me forget.

  “What are you smiling at?” Hayden stands at the chest of draws facing me and buttons up the last two buttons of his navy silk shirt, leaving the top two free to tantalize me with his chain contrasting against his flesh. His hair is still damp from his shower, pushed back but falling in that mouthwateringly, sinfully, seductive way.

  “I’m just contemplating your effective methods of making me forget certain…” from my position on the edge of Hayden’s side of the bed, I glance around the bedroom, “things.”

  “Well, Miss Kennedy,” he prowls toward me, and positions his hands on either side of my hips, making the mattress dip further. I lean back, supporting my weight on my elbows and bite my lip as he crawls up the length of my body. “As much as I would love to put those methods to good use right about now, we don’t want to be late.”

  He’s suspended above me, his hair hanging over his brow searching my profile with his intense, darkening eyes. His gaze flits down to my mouth and I instantaneously allow my lip to roll free before brushing my tongue over them.

  “How can you do this to me?” My voice is both guttural and innocently sensual. “Every, single, time…I don’t think I can ever get my fill of you, Hayden.” I’m panting and left
feeling like a mouse captured in the tigers paws––I just want him to eat me already. God, I can’t think of anything that is so… irresistible than having my tall, alluring, handsome man looking down upon me, pinioning me with those eyes.

  He trails the tip of his nose down the length of mine then, presses his brow against me. “Ditto,” he whispers while I watch and feel his lips, his breath, as he forms that one simple fucking word, and my body prickles, my world comes crashing down as I fall victim to the pool of unadulterated yearning between my thighs.

  I come undone, a mad woman possessed by love, lust and greed. I fist my hands through his hair and pull his head down to me. Seeking his lips, I dip my tongue into his mouth, and taste the fresh cool mint on his breath. Our tongues curl and tangle through the groans and growls that travel inside one another’s mouth with ravenous intent. His hands explore and skate their way down the contours of my body, subsequently halting at my hips. When he pulls away, I feel the sensitivity around my mouth from the grazing of his stubble in our moment of blinding passion.

  “I promised you that we would go and watch that Parade,” he softly traces my swollen lips with his thumb pad. “Don’t make me go back on my promise, beautiful.”

  I sigh, defeated. “Okay. I suppose you can make it up to me later. Let’s go.”

  We stand amongst the crowd at Union Square. It’s surreal how a Parade can pull a community together, making you feel like one, in total harmony.

  Hayden and I stand at the front along the sidewalk, my hands gripping the cold metal of the barriers separating the persons involved with the Chinese New Year Parade and the onlookers. As protective as he is, Hayden stands just behind me, trapping me as his arms grip the railings, his chin resting upon my shoulder.

  The sky begins to darken as the sun sets between the buildings, turning the heavens a burnish orange, opal and lilac. It’s beautiful.

  As gatherers assemble and take up their place for the spectacle, Hayden points down the concourse. “Hey, look.” TV Broadcasters, photographers and police bikes sweep down the runway, followed by deafening, raucous beats of drums, xylophones, cymbals and clattering.

  The masses of viewers cheer loudly as elaborate ferocious dancing lions emerge, with fur of white, pink, golden and lime green. They flutter their eyelids and I’m filled with childlike animation as I embrace the urge to reach out and touch and stoke the decorative costume.

  Like a pet being coerced into moving toward us, the dancers approach the railings. I sweep my fingertips along the length of the fur. It’s so soft and so…lifelike. I’m left reeling when they pass.

  Stilt walkers, Chinese acrobats and martial arts groups demonstrate their skills for all to witness. Males showcase traditional Chinese dances, while the women behind showcase theirs with lengthy ribbons and intricate fans. I have never been this surrounded with culture before; I am enraptured by its beauty, its extravagance. It’s enchanting.

  As the evening progresses and the streets darken entirely, ostentatious floats illuminated with an array of bright colors and snakes atop, derive the street. I am awed furthermore as yet more lions weave their way through the concourse. A snake slithers its way, following a man in traditional Chinese attire with what looks like a shining sphere perched on top of a cane.

  I don’t think I could ever bore of those lion’s.

  “What do you think?” Hayden shouts over the commotion.

  “I love it. I love you,” I retort as he lowers his ear to my mouth.

  Jessie and I only ever watch the Parade on the TV broadcast, but to be involved in it like this…it’s something different entirely.

  The Spectacle is wrapped up by thousands of bright, loud, exploding firecrackers that quickly haze everything with smoke. The two-hundred foot Golden Dragon surfaces through the haze and dances its way through the streets, with rainbow colored pompoms attached to its head. It is festooned from nose to tail with colored lights, and decorated with silver rivets on both scaly sides and trimmed in white fur.

  I stand awed at the scene that I am beholding. I’m utterly stunned by how people can make such gigantic-puppets come to life.

  When the dragon passes, and the spectators are less exuberant, I twist in Hayden’s confines. “Happy Chinese New Year, beautiful.”

  “Happy Chinese New Year, Hayden.” Pushing myself up onto the balls of my feet, I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him freely. I have never done PDA this overstated before. It feels nice. “I feel like a fraud,” I mutter when we pull away.

  He sniggers, “Why?”

  “I just watched this amazing celebration, and I don’t even know what year they’re celebrating.”

  Tipping his head back, he laughs cathartically. I swat his forearm. “Don’t laugh,” I hiss, but surrender to his infectious hilarity.

  “It’s okay, beautiful, I won’t tell anyone. But just in case somebody does ask…” he leans down and I feel his breath on my ear, “it’s the snake.”

  I subconsciously kick myself for being so obtuse. I spent this whole time wondering why there were snakes on those floats.

  Samantha, you really are an idiot.

  An acute discomfort in my belly pulls me from slumber and anchors me to reality and alertness. I glance over at the clock, 1:30 a.m., and Hayden isn’t beside me, where is he? He was here when I fell asleep.

  Weakened by another wave of the hampering pain, I hold my breath in an attempt to ride it out, but it’s of no use. The cramping in my lower abdomen begins radiating through my back.

  I notice the hallway light shining through the crack of the bedroom door as I sit myself up and rub the area soothingly.

  “Ah,” I call out, before my breath is knocked from my body. My right arm clutches my stomach as I double over.

  “Sam?” Hayden pushes the door open and enters the room. He’s in his slacks and white tank top and is at my side within a second. “What’s wrong?” He rubs his hand up and down the length of my back.

  “My stomach,” I wince, the pain intensifying by every passing second. “It really hurts.”

  “It’s probably something you ate, beautiful. Come on let’s get you to the bathroom.”

  “It feels like something’s tearing,” I mutter urgently between panting as Hayden drags the comforter off my body.

  I fight through the agonizing pain and strain to shift to the edge of the bed, but it’s too severe, too excessive and my body immediately bows to the agony once more. I raise my right leg upwards and hang my head, holding my breath in a feeble attempt to end the searing cramping in my gut that clinches at my heart and lungs.

  I am swamped by instant fear, a sheer terror. I begin to hyperventilate.

  “Hayden!”

  “Oh, fuck!”

  HAYDEN

  I’m paralyzed with fear. Oh, Rose. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

  Samantha is sat up in the bed, my white T-shirt bunched up around her hips. The snowy sheets soiled with bright red blood.

  Oh, fuck.

  Channeling my flaring trepidation and fear into judicious actions, I mutter, “Okay, Sam. Just stay there,” and lunge forward to the dresser, pulling open the second draw from the top. I recover a pair of cotton panties, gray sweats and a black camisole, before shoving the draw shut with panicking, brutal force.

  “Come on, baby. Let me help you put this on.” Grasping the hem of the T-shirt, I pull it up over her body, and slip on the black camisole. “Can you move?”

  Wincing, Samantha slowly twists herself, her legs dangle off the edge off the mattress.

  “Ah, Hayden, it hurts,” she gasps and stoops over. Tears stream their way down her face as her profile crumples with the pain. I try to oversee the panic, try to maintain level-headed and rational. But seeing her like this…oh my, God, the blood.

  “I know baby. We are going to slip this on.” I help her into her panties, pulling them up to her knees before I shred the top she was wearing a moment ago. “This may not feel comfor
table okay, but it’s only until we get to the hospital,” I fold the ragged material up, and place it inside her underwear.

  “Hayden, something’s wrong,” she sniffles, and I look up at her from my bended position on the floor. Placing my hand on the side of her face, I caress her cheek, and wipe away a falling tear with my thumb.

  The hardest thing to do in a time of crisis is to look the person you love straight in the eye, see their fear, knowing that you’re both feeling and secretly aware of the same thing, but also knowing you have to try and quell their dread.

  I stare into her frightened, guileless eyes––“Sam, we’re going to the hospital. I’m sure everything is fine, some people do bleed when they are pregnant,”––and I lie. I would lie a hundred times to get her through this. Still, the contemplation of maintaining optimism, upholds a shard of hope for myself.

  With the life raft offered in the form of reassuring words, she nods her head faintly, and places her hands onto my shoulders in an attempt to steady herself as I continue to get her clothed.

  With my arm wrapped around her waist, we make our way down the corridor. I fetch my keys and wallet from the table beside the door and stuff them into the pockets of my slacks. As soon as I open the door, Samantha stills and buckles again, clutching her stomach while groaning loudly as the pain lances through her, and it pierces my heart knowing that I cannot be of any help, knowing that I have to see her like this. But I know I have to stay strong and rational.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” I sweep her off her feet, holding her close to my chest and stride across the hall. With my left arm supporting her legs, I repeatedly push the button for the elevator. “Come on, come on, come on,” I mutter under my breath between clenched teeth.

  Watching the overhead numbers change as the car climbs to the thirty-eighth floor, I feel her entire body tense in my arms. She’s grimacing and panting, the rapid intakes of air whistling between her teeth.

  I plant a kiss on her forehead and blink away my tears. “It’s okay, baby. Everything will be okay.”