No Tomorrow

by Carian Cole

  “You don’t have to remember me. I’ll always be here for you to look at.”

  He moves his hands to my waist and he lowers his head to kiss my lips. “Time will tell,” he says, using one of his notorious cryptic replies. Still kissing me, he sways us back and forth in a sensual dance as he slides his hands from my waist to the backs of my thighs, then slowly inching the material of the dress up until his hands are cupping my ass.

  “I’m proud of you,” he whispers. “You’re so... together. You don’t give up on what you want.”

  “I try not to.” I tilt my head up to look at him and lift my hand to caress the back of his neck. “Do you, Evan? Do you give up?”

  “Why you callin’ me Evan again?” he asks, brushing his lips across my cheek as he continues to sway us back and forth.

  “Because it’s your name. And I think sometimes you need to hear your real name.”

  His jaw muscles twitch. “You might be right.”

  “So do you?” I urge gently. “Give up on what you want?”

  “Maybe what I want gives up on me.”

  Our lips meet again, and I pull away to give him a frustrated expression. “You love to talk in riddles, don’t you?”

  “I prefer to think of it as lyrical.”

  Before I can muster up a good comeback, he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me over to the couch, placing me down on my feet in front of it. When he sits, his face is level with the hem of my skirt. His smoldering eyes caress and undress me before his hands even touch me. Reaching between my legs, he hooks his finger under the thin strap of my thong and pulls it all the way down to my ankles. When I step out of it, he bunches my panties up in a small ball and shoves them into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “I’m keeping these,” he says.

  “Okay. As long as you don’t wear them...”

  He smacks my ass and I let out a yelp. “Hey.” I rub my hand over my stinging flesh.

  “Did that hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn around.”

  Turning away from him, I hope he doesn’t slap me again, but instead he pushes my dress up to my waist. I feel the warmth of his lips on my ass, right where he slapped me, kissing away the sting. He moves his hands down my thighs, over my calves to my feet, grasping the stiletto heels and spreading my legs with a faint screech across the wood floor. My heart gallops with the hooves of a thousand tiny horses when he squeezes my ass cheeks, using his thumbs to spread my lips apart. I moan and whimper, arching my back to him as he licks me from behind. His tongue and his mouth are pure ecstasy, bringing my body to sinful heights of desire as his tongue laps my pussy to my ass and back again. Quivering and shaking, I reach back to grasp his shoulders for balance. He shatters my inhibitions, making me want everything and anything. The need to have more of him, deeper, harder, longer is completely overpowering. When I’ve finally stopped shuddering against his mouth, he spins me around and guides me into a kneeling position on the couch and slides his cock into my drenched core. Leaning over my body from behind, he tugs my hair to the side and he ravishes my neck, sucking and biting, leaving branding marks I’ll love seeing tomorrow. I grip the couch cushions as he rips the deep neckline of my dress even farther and squeezes my breasts, making me come again as he pounds into me from behind.

  At some point during the hours-long sexathon, he carries me into the bedroom and we christen my brand-new bed until the wee hours of the morning. Exhausted, sweaty, and giddy, we eat ice cream out of the carton in bed and watch a ridiculous horror movie. Something so simple as watching a movie together makes my heart leap with the hope of more normalcy.

  When I wake up, Blue’s not in bed next to me but the shower water is running in the bathroom, and it makes me smile that he’s not using a truck stop shower standing in a puddle of germs. And he’s singing. God, is he singing. His deep, growly voice resonates through my small house, giving me goosebumps. Sitting up, I stretch, and my muscles ache in protest from last night’s physical workout. As I’m yawning with my arms stretched over my head, he comes into the bedroom in nothing but one of my mauve towels wrapped around his thin waist. Up until now, I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing him undressed in any kind of decent light, and he is a sight to behold—all glistening lean muscle and ink. Wordlessly, I watch him pull on his jeans and sweatshirt. I fight the intense urge to offer to wash his clothes for him while he’s here. I don’t want to do or say anything to ruin the perfection of last night and today.

  He leans down to kiss me before he sits on the edge of the bed to put his socks and boots on.

  “Red is your color, babe. It brings out your fire.”

  “You bring out my fire,” I reply, leaning my head on his shoulder.

  “I’m going to walk down to the café and get us some donuts and sandwiches.”

  “If you give me a few minutes, we can go together, or you can take my car if you want.”

  He pushes his damp hair back and clicks his piercing against his teeth. “Nah. I like to walk every morning. And it’ll give you some privacy.”

  Privacy went out the window a long time ago. He’s seen me naked and spread. His cock, his fingers, and his tongue have been on me and inside me in one way or another more times than I can count.

  “You can stay, Blue. As long as you want,” I say tentatively. “You could still walk and wander. I won’t hold you down. But this could be your home. It could be our home. If you want.”

  He strokes the back of his hand across my cheek, and his blue eyes lock onto mine for a few moments, thinking, contemplating, wandering. Half his mouth curves into a slight smile.

  Only Blue could smile half-way.

  “I know, Piper. Your heart is my home. The way you look at me, the way you make me feel, is my home.”

  “I meant—”

  He touches his finger to my lips. “I know what you meant.”

  I don’t push it. Things are too good to push. “Okay. The offer stands. Always.”

  “Always?”

  “Always. Anytime. Forever. Without a doubt. Okay?”

  Cupping my chin, he brings my lips to his and kisses me softer than he ever has. “I love you, Ladybug.”

  “I love you too.”

  Rising from the bed, he looks around the room slowly before turning back to me. “I’m leaving Acorn here instead of bringing him with me. Last I checked he was all cozy on the couch with your cat. He looked happy.”

  I laugh. “Finally, Archie has a friend.”

  From the doorway, he winks at me, and I don’t get off the bed until his boots thud all the way down my hallway and out my front door. Sighing with happiness, I crawl out of bed and grab my robe to head for the bathroom, stopping to check Acorn and Archie first. Blue was right, they’re both curled up on my new couch, napping away like they’ve been best friends forever. Smiling to myself, I glance out the large bay window to see Blue walking down the road with his guitar and his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and I wish he didn’t feel the need to have to carry everything he owns around with him constantly. Perhaps, in time, he’ll feel secure enough to leave his belongings here. And maybe, if I’m patient enough, he’ll finally agree to move in.

  I take a shower, clean up the house a little while my hair dries, then I take Acorn into the backyard and play fetch with him, just like I envisioned when I first looked at this apartment. Maybe the theory of manifestation is true—that if you picture what you want in your mind, and focus positively on getting it, it will happen. Closing my eyes, I picture Blue living here... us making dinner together and eating on my small patio. Making love every night. Waking up in his arms every morning. Listening to him sing in the shower.

  I want it to happen.

  It can happen.

  After playing with Acorn, I put a little makeup on and fix my hair. I make the bed and spritz it with some lavender bed spray I bought that’s supposed to be calming.

  I picture Blue in my bed tonight.

 
I envision us watching Titanic together, with Archie and Acorn at our feet.

  I believe it can happen.

  Acorn barks, and I run to the door, ready to throw my arms around him, but it’s not Blue, it’s just the mailman. I wait for him to move to the adjoining house and then I retrieve my mail, which is nothing but junk that I toss into the trash.

  An odd sensation comes over me as I stand in my kitchen, like a cold breeze that wasn’t there at all. The clock on the wall suddenly seems to be ticking exceptionally loud, forcing me to look at it.

  My heart jumps when I realize three hours have passed since Blue left. Breakfast time has long passed, and even though I’m up for eating doughnuts and bagels any time of day, I know it wouldn’t take him this long to walk to the café on the main road and then back here. Even walking slowly, it’s not that far. I look out the front window, thinking maybe he’ll just materialize since I’m looking, but there’s no one on the tree-lined street at all.

  Anxiety festers up, twisting my insides, but I try to squash it as I get my sneakers and jacket. People stop and talk to Blue all the time because they recognize him as the guy who plays guitar all over town. He probably ran into someone he knows at the café and is sitting outside playing his guitar and has lost track of time. It’s happened before.

  I drive to the café with Acorn sitting shotgun, and run inside.

  “Have you seen a guy with long hair and a guitar in here, in the last few hours?” I ask the young guy behind the counter.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve been here since six a.m., haven’t seen anyone like that.”

  I thank him and go back to my car with a racing heart and mind, wondering where he could possibly be.

  “Where’s Blue?” I ask Acorn as we drive through town, and he perks his ears up. Blue doesn’t refer to himself as Daddy as most pet owners do. Maybe he’s too cool for that. Or maybe he can’t deal with the underlying responsibility of the title. We drive to the park, and I take Acorn with me to walk up and down the paths, past my bench, and our picnic table, and down to the old bridge. The only things greeting us are memories.

  Fear and frustration send tears to my eyes, and I brush them away as I drive over to the shed. Maybe he got a bad headache and went there to rest, knowing I would go there to look for him. I should have looked there first, instead of wasting time rambling through the park. Acorn’s tail starts to wag as I pull in front of the old house, and I assume he thinks he’s home or he knows Blue is here.

  “Come on, pup,” I say, letting him out of the car. He immediately jumps out and trots to the backyard with me not far behind. I fully expect to find Blue sleeping in the shed, but when I pull the rusty latch and open the door, he’s not there.

  And neither is anything else.

  Acorn stands beside me, not wagging his tail, blinking up at me with a blank expression on his face that I’m sure looks just like my own.

  The silence is thick as mud. I can almost feel the emptiness, take hold of it in my hand and squeeze it through my fingers. My breathing becomes unnatural and forced in my lungs, and a deep pain throbs in my chest and down into my gut. Acorn nudges my hand with his wet nose and I pat his head absently as I stare around in disbelief at the empty space.

  Maybe he got robbed. Maybe someone came here and took everything. Or maybe the cops came, arrested him, and cleaned the place out.

  Yes. That’s exactly what happened. One of the neighbors must have caught on and reported us and now he’s probably sitting in a jail cell waiting for me to come bail him ou—

  As I spin to leave, I notice the white piece of notepaper stuck to the back of the door with an old nail. With a trembling hand I tear it off the door.

  Ladybug,

  It was time for me to keep walking.

  Take care of Acorn for me.

  If you can, try to leave a space for me in your heart.

  I’m sorry.

  I love you like no tomorrow, little slayer. Don’t ever forget that.

  ~ Blue

  Tremors rock through my body so hard my teeth are gnashing against each other. Fury and heartache rages inside me like a tsunami, and I want to scream and tear the shed apart, to somehow destroy this scene around me and bring it all back to how it was yesterday. But I’m unable to move or cry or blink or even breathe because the man who meant everything in the world to me has just shattered every little piece of my heart and soul.

  Why? How could he do this to me?

  He just walked away. From me, and his dog, and our little life, and our love. I stare at his uniquely perfect writing, wishing it to morph into words I want to read like the notes he’s left in the past. Words like I miss you and come back. Big wet, hot tears fall from my eyes like the beginnings of a rainstorm. At the thought of the rain, my fragile heart cracks and disintegrates, and I wail and shriek like a wild animal caught in a trap, mentally unhinged from the pain with no way to escape and on the verge of chewing out my own heart to get away from it all.

  Falling to the dirty floor, I sob uncontrollably, digging my nails into my palms until the soft flesh breaks open and bleeds.

  It hurts. Everything hurts more than I ever thought possible. The stabbing pain is so deep, burning in my heart and in my soul, searing into every part of my physical and emotional being. I’m sure it will kill me. Nobody can live through a pain like this.

  Acorn whimpers and lies next to me with his head on my leg, always the caretaker, and I bow down and hug him to me like he’s a lifeline. I cry into his fur until it’s soaked and curly, until I have no more tears left.

  Hours must pass, and it’s brutally clear Blue isn’t going to come back, no matter how long I sit here and picture him walking through that door, it’s not happening. I don’t have special manifestation powers at all. What I have is a terribly broken heart and lost faith in love and trust. When I can’t sit there for a moment longer, I fold the note up and put it into my back pocket, and Acorn and I close the door of the shed behind us for the last time.

  In a daze I walk past the house, and I almost don’t even notice that the door of the four-season porch is ajar. I honestly can’t remember if it’s always been that way, but curiosity draws me like a magnet to pull the door open and cautiously step inside and take a look around. The air inside is stale and musty, penetrating through my stuffy nose. Whoever lived here at one time obviously loved birds, because several old bird cages hang from the ceiling, and quite a few rest on the floor. At the other end of the porch are two huge cages, the kind a big parrot would live in. Even though they all appear to have been cleaned, there are still random feathers of different sizes and colors scattered on the floor. Stepping farther inside, my eyes are drawn to three piles of sketchbooks, each pile approximately three feet high. I grab one of the books and flip through it, but its pages are empty. My brow creases as I pull one from the bottom of the pile, letting the rest tumble to the floor. This one is also empty. I check another from a different pile—and it’s also void of any writing.

  A shiver sprinkles up my spine as I realize these are the same notebooks Blue was always scribbling in when he was having a bad day. There must be two hundred of them here.

  Why?

  Putting the notebooks back on the disheveled stack, I slowly walk over to the corner, where a sheet is thrown over a pile of...something. My heart races as I lift the sheet, and I’m not at all prepared to uncover all the objects that were in the shed. Everything—the air mattress, the candles, the curtain, the throw rug, Acorn’s bed. Next to this pile are two large garbage bins filled with empty bottles of assorted alcohol, matchbooks, and empty cigarette boxes.

  Confusion mixed with nausea waves over me. Did he break in here to hide all this stuff? Or was he able to get in here all along? There’s no way he had all those notebooks in the tiny shed, so they must have been hidden in here. But why? And for God’s sake, why so many?

  With careful, quiet steps, I walk over to the door that leads to the main house and attempt to turn
the brass knob, but it doesn’t turn. Peering through the dirty pane window of the door, there are no signs of life in the large kitchen; nothing left on the table or counter tops.

  I bang on the door. “Blue? Are you in there?” My voice cracks with hope and despair. “Evan? It’s me. If you’re here, please come out and talk to me.” I press my ear to the glass. “Please?”

  There’s no sound, no creepy feeling of being watched or listened to. I’m alone standing on a dirty porch, becoming more heartbroken and confused with each passing second. With the last tiny glimmer of hope snuffed out, I reluctantly give up and leave, grabbing Acorn’s bed from the pile on my way out. I don’t want any of that other stuff, but this poor dog deserves to have his own bed.

  “Come on, Acorn.” I head toward the car but the dog keeps stopping and looking back at the house, hesitating. “Come on, sweetie. I’m going to take you home.”

  It takes me twenty minutes to persuade Acorn to leave the property, even though he’s left with me several times in the past weeks with no problem. Somehow, he knows Blue has abandoned him, and, like me, he seems to be in shocked disbelief, waiting for him to come swaggering down the walkway.

  As I drive home, completely numb and emotionally catatonic, I replay last night and this morning in my mind, trying to pinpoint what went wrong, or at what exact moment a goodbye was said that I didn’t catch. Looking back, there were none, and there were many, depending on how I interpret each moment.

  I can’t help but wonder if nothing was wrong at all, and he chose to leave when everything was perfect, to suspend us forever like snapshots in a photo album.

  When I get home, I realize I don’t have anything I need to care for a dog properly, and I’m not going to continue feeding him part of my meals as Blue did for who knows how long. A dog needs real food, a leash, a brush, and dishes. I drive to the nearest pet store to get everything I need and leave Acorn at my apartment. As I’m browsing through the aisles, I remember the ceramic dishes I bought for Acorn just a few weeks ago, which must be in the pile of stuff on the porch. I can buy new dishes, but those were expensive, and they were special because they have the words ‘my dog rocks’ printed on the side.