Letters To Luca

by M. R. Joseph

  I don’t really know what to say to that. There was just something about them, about the words that gripped me like a vice, but I can’t let her know that. I don’t want her to know any more than she already does.

  “It really doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s done and over with. I’ll move on, and you will move on. Unfortunately, since you’re miss hot shot book writer, I’ll see you everywhere, hear people discussing you everywhere, especially at home, but I’ll learn to live with it. Hopefully for my sake you will just be a flash in the pan, a novelty that will wear off like some kind of clingy girlfriend.”

  I see her start to cry even harder. She moves to the sofa, and sits with her arms folded around her, rocking back and forth, and it makes my heart ache, seeing her like this, but I need to stand my ground. I’m so damn mad at her.

  “Ok, cut the bullshit, Leighton. Give me a break.”

  She sobs as she tries to speak, “You can’t hurt me anymore, Luca. Your words have cut me to the core. I have nothing more to bleed. I’m empty.”

  That’s it. Me hurt her? Oh dear God give me strength. I want to hit something, hard. I’m burning with rage, fire is flowing through my veins, and I want to grab her, make her mine again, and forget this whole thing ever happened. I stalk over to her, crouch down in her face.

  “I can’t hurt you? I’m pretty sure that should be the other way around, sweetheart. You think my words hurt you, the words only meant for your ears? What about the fucking words you wrote for millions of people to read, all along poor Luca’s sitting home twiddling his thumbs, wishing for something that didn’t exist.”

  She stands up abruptly, and pushes against my chest, and she keeps it up until I’m in the foyer again. Mascara running down her cheeks, edges of her hair soaked with tears, and my heart pangs against my chest because I love her, and she’s so beautiful, and it hurts like hell.

  “I did exist, God damn it! I was real; I loved you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. It wasn’t your looks or your talent. I saw inside you, the real you. I wanted my heart to tell you all the things I wrote, but my head was telling me something else. To run away from it, be afraid because someone like you couldn’t exist. I swear to you, with my heart and soul, I loved you with all that I was, for so fucking long, and was so tired, so tired of fighting what I felt for you. “

  “Well then you had a pretty fucked up way of showing it.”

  The anger in her eyes intensifies and she grabs the small porcelain vase that’s on the table beside where she is standing. I can already sense where it’s going so before she can hit me with it full force, I duck as it crashes into the wall behind me.

  “Oh real mature, Leighton.”

  “Fuck you.” She screams at me. “I wasted so many years loving you, worshipping you, I lost some of my youth because of you, and I regret it. I wish you never helped me up that day in the hall. Loving you…was a big mistake.”

  I can’t stand it. I hate this, seeing us this way. Yelling and screaming, and enraged with one another. I can’t bare it. I grab her by her bare shoulders and shake her, not knowing what my purpose of doing it is, maybe out of frustration, maybe because she truly doesn’t understand the things she has done to me.

  “Really? You’re telling me you regret loving me? Answer me, damn it! You regret the six weeks we spent together, the most perfect six weeks of my life! All the years we were in school that you claimed to love me? You say it right now, you look into my fucking eyes and you tell me you regret it. I fucking dare you!”

  And she can’t. She looks into my eyes, jaw open, haunting me with her expression. I need her, like I need fucking air. My body betrays me, it calls out in my mind to take her, so I don’t hesitate and I grip the back of her head, and crush my lips to hers. At first she doesn’t move. I feel her tense up as I push my tongue into her mouth and massage hers with mine. She loosens and wraps her arms around my shoulders, bringing me into her tighter, more forceful. I pull away from her lips only to find the curvature of her neck begging to be licked, so I do it, tasting the salt on her skin from her streaming tears, and her head falls back.

  Her hands find my hair, and she tugs at my locks the way I love so much. My hands make their way down her back, slowly, but aggressively. I can feel the heat of her skin through her clothes. Her breathing rugged, and heavy in my ear as she straightens her neck back up. I haven’t touched her in so long, and her softness makes me grow weak. The way she holds onto me, sending shivers onto my skin, just one touch is all it takes. My lips brush her forehead, giving the perimeter of her head small kisses around it. I slide my hand up her dress, dying to touch what belongs to me. When I find her center, I can feel her dampness through her panties, and I let out a moan when I touch it. She follows me up with the same sound. I speed up my contact gently, then rapidly, and she raises her leg, and hooks it onto my hip, giving me better access to the inside of her lace covered pussy. I push them aside and when I make the contact, she is swollen, wet, and the heat radiates off of her. I rub her clit with my thumb in circles, just how she likes it. She grabs hold of my shoulders, digging into my flesh through my shirt, all the while making sounds that make my dick so hard it hurts.

  “Take off my shirt.” I whisper.

  One by one at an accelerated pace, she undoes my buttons, and I pant at the aspect of her touching my bare skin, her fingers tips against me, and when she finally gets there, I tremble.

  I continue to work her over, slipping two fingers into her, and moving them in and out relentlessly. She’s about to come, I know her face, I know her body, and when she finally does, it’s the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

  “Oh, God, Luca, I’m coming.” She rocks her hips against my hand, greedily taking all I’m giving her.

  “I know you are, baby. Let go, come all over my hand.”

  And she does.

  After she comes down off her high, the need to be inside her heightens, and I’m pretty sure she wants it just as much as I do. I lift her up by her ass and place her on the glass table next to us. I undo my belt, unzip my pants, and let them fall before her. I take out my cock and begin to stroke it. As her legs are spread I can see her wetness lingering, and I want to taste her. I missed her smell, her soft center, so I go for it, no holds barred.

  I drop to my knees, spread her legs even further, and devour what has always been mine. She sucks in air at the first contact of my tongue, and I make an “mmm” sound when I finally take my first lick. Her hands go immediately to my hair and she pushes my face deeper into her. She’s wild with lust, moaning incoherently, and I know I’m not going to last long because of the sounds she makes.

  After several minutes of feasting on her sweet flesh, I push down on her chest slightly, and she understands what I want her to do. She lies back and without hesitation I enter her, full force. I fucked her hard, fuck her strong, fuck her until my mind spins into oblivion. Sweat pours from my body as I growl and push farther into her. My hands continuously slip on the glass table where I have her caged in both sides. She claws at my chest, leaving streaks of red marks for sure. It’s been way too long since I’ve been with her like this and I come way too soon for my liking.

  I fall on top of her and she weakens. We pant, we are still, hearts beating against each other’s chests, and I fear I can’t move. When I finally get my bearings, I raise myself up and look at her.

  “Stay with me,” she whispers. Do I stay, or do I go and forget this night ever happened? Do I allow the pain to still linger in me after what we just did, or do I forgive and forget. I can’t deal with that decision right now. I can’t speak. All I can do at this point is nod my head. All I want to do is hold her and figure it all out in the morning.

  I help her up off the table, pull up my pants, and she grabs my hand and leads me to the bedroom of the suite. When we get there, she strips out of her dress, puts on a fresh pair of underwear, and climbs into the bed. It’s a little awkward, not speaking, only moving from o
ne end of the bed to the other. Our eyes, never meeting, and I don’t know why we are doing this to ourselves. If I stay, will it make matters worse?

  I can see the top of her naked breasts over the sheet. She holds her hand out for me to join her. I drop my pants again but leave on my boxer briefs.

  I climb into the bed, and snuggle behind her, and fold an arm over her body. We are chest to back. Her skin is so warm, so smooth, and it feels like home. I try and put the past out of my mind. The sound of her breathing helps me get to that place, but I’m not quite there, just yet. She wriggles in a bit closer and says sleepily, “I’m so sorry, Luca.” I say nothing, I can’t bring myself to. I just sigh and pull her tighter to me. I can tell by her breathing that she has fallen asleep.

  I can’t even begin to think about shutting my eyes. My mind is racing so I lean over Leighton and grab the TV remote that’s on her end table. I turn my body a bit so I can get a better angle to see it as I turn it on. I lower the volume so I don’t wake her up. I come across a repeat of one of those stupid tabloid news shows and that’s when I see it, the image of Leighton and I outside the theater tonight arguing.

  Fuck.

  The female news reporter starts to talk about who the mystery man is with Brianna Maxwell. Another reporter sits next to her, and starts to explain how sources have told him that the mystery man is me. He says my name, tells them how I am a bar owner from her hometown. They continue to discuss how we were briefly together then we weren’t. The blow comes when the reporter asks what Brianna Maxwell of all people, is doing with a sleazy bar owner from Ocean City, Maryland, and then I feel sick. They continue on to say how Ms. Maxwell’s status went from being an independent author, to total book domination, and they wonder how many more boy toys of hers will be the muses for her future books.

  I shut off the TV and move my arm from underneath her body. The final touch of her skin as I pull back pains me because now I know, this will be the last time I ever feel her.

  I wake up at the sound of the hotel phone signaling my wake up call. I pick it up, a recorded message telling me it is 5 am. I reach for him across the bed, but where he was laying is now cold. I can see a crack of the sunrise through the drapes, and I know it’s morning. I sit up and look around the room. He’s not in here. Maybe he is in the living room or on the balcony. I rub my eyes and adjust them to the perpetual light. I throw on my robe and go out into the living room. I call to him, but he doesn’t answer.

  I pad over to the door of the balcony and slide the curtain open. It’s empty. I don’t hear the water running in either bathroom, I hear nothing. My heart begins to go into panic mode and I feel frantic. Did he go down to the restaurant and get breakfast for us? Yes, that’s it. He’s surprising me. We have a lot to talk about and what better way to do that then eat eggs and banana pancakes together, sans clothes. I walk around the living room area of the suite. I see the glass table where it all happened. Luca splaying me across the glass, devouring me, tasting me, fucking me. It was ravenous, primal, and now as I relive the events of last night, I want him again, and again, forever, but is forever what he wants?

  When I pass by the infamous glass table, I run my fingertips across it. I savor the memory of my nakedness on top of it, Luca fucking me relentlessly, bringing me to the parallels of ecstasy. I shiver at my thoughts and how I want to go there again, often, and always. Something catches my eye on the other side of the table and it looks like a piece of paper. There’s a note, written on hotel stationary… and it’s from Luca.

  I guess I’m the one who’s wrong. He’s not coming back, he’s not out getting coffee, or banana pancakes. He’s gone, for good, and as I look towards the door and see the shattered pieces of the vase I threw at him last night scattered across the floor, I realize those pieces resemble what my heart feels like… broken.

  My flight back to Philadelphia is nothing, a hop, skip, and a jump from New York, easy and relaxing thanks to my friend Mr. Xanax. I sign a few autographs after I get my bags off the carousel, a photographer I spot takes a few pictures of me and I thank the makers of Ray-Ban for creating dark lenses of sunglasses. If anyone saw my eyes, they’d think I was on drugs. Which I sort of am on right now.

  Kenzie picks me up at the airport, and when she does, I see my brother in the car with her.

  Just great. I look like hell, I’m still loopy from my little pill, and now I’m going to have to explain myself to them because I can’t hide this. I’m not that good of an actress, in spite of what Luca says.

  Luca, oh God, Luca. Saying his name inside my head makes me spin, then want to vomit, cry, run. Any kind of adjective you can think of, I feel it.

  The remnants of our mangled relationship is all my fault.

  “So my famous little sister, how was New York? Your interview was great, broke my heart, but none the less, I was very proud of you.”

  If he only knew how New York really was. I’m not going to allow myself to fall in that depression again. I flat out, fucking refuse to lie in my bed, pull the covers over my head, and weep the world away. I can’t do it anymore. My mind won’t let me. I have to move on, go forward, and realize that Luca isn’t coming back.

  “It was great,” I lie.

  “Did you go see Adrianna’s show?” Kenzie asks.

  “Yes. She’s an incredible dancer.” I keep my answer short and sweet.

  When we arrive at my apartment, Wes and Kenzie come up with me and Wes carries my bags. He sets them in the living room for me, and I excuse myself for a moment and wheel the suitcase into my bedroom. I hear Kenzie tell Wes she will be right back, and she trails behind me. She shuts the door and locks it. She sits on my bed and criss-crosses her legs and rests her elbows on her knees.

  “So.”

  “So what?”

  “So are you going to tell me what happened in New York, or do I have to call Luca myself and ask him.

  Son of a bitch. How’d she know he was there?

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the crap. I knew he was going to be in New York to see the show. Luca told Wes one night when they were out playing pool. Wes didn’t tell him you were going to be there.”

  I rip open my suitcase and start unpacking. Not saying a word back to her.

  “Damn it, Leighton. Something happened, I know it. Look at you, you’re a wreck.”

  I slam the lid of the suitcase down and shove it as hard as I can.

  “What do you want to hear, Kenzie? How I saw him at the show, that Adrianna orchestrated the whole thing, how we sat next to each other, how he came back to my hotel room after we argued on the sidewalk in front of the theater? How we continued to argue when he came to my hotel room, how he gave me a mercy fuck, then wrote me a goodbye letter? Is that what you want to hear?” I fall to the ground, sobs begin to pour out of me and I clasp my hand over my mouth so my brother doesn’t hear me cry. Kenzie leaps off the bed and sits next to me on the floor. She wraps an arm around my shoulder and I bury my head in her chest and cry, and cry, and cry. The uncontrollable kind that makes your head feel like mush, and your body ache.

  “Oh, Leighton, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You should have called me.”

  “I didn’t because it all happened last night. He stayed, and when I woke up I found this.” I hand her the note that was in my pocket. She reads it and stays silent.

  “I messed up, big time. I thought he could move past it, realize how sorry I was, and that we could start fresh. Something happened between when we fell asleep last night and I woke up without him beside me.” I look up at her and she runs her thumbs under my eyes to wipe away the smudges of ran mascara.

  “He will never be beside me again…never.”

  “I really wish I had some words of wisdom for you, anything to take your pain away, but I just think maybe what happened last night was closure for him, as awful as it sounds. It may be the truth, and I know it hurts. It hurts like hell, but you have to move on. You fought a goo
d fight, you gave it all you had, you tried to hang on to him Leighton, and maybe there’s hope somewhere down the line that he will wake up one morning and realizes he loves you and is ready to forgive, but for now, move onward and upward.”

  “So closure, huh? He got his, and I should take last night as mine.” I breathe out a big sigh when we hear my brother knock at the door. Kenzie gets up and unlocks the door. Wes walks in and Kenzie goes to him and wraps her arms around him.

  “Everything ok in here?”

  “Everything’s fine, love. Leighton’s just really tired.”

  “Good. Ok. You want to go eat something or order out?” He kisses the top of her head. I stand up and Wes holds his free arm out for me. I stand up and go to my big brother.

  “Aw, my two favorite girls. I’m a lucky man.”

  We decide on Chinese, watch a funny movie, and I can’t help to notice how much in love Wes and Kenzie are. He’s so attentive to her, grabbing her a beer from the fridge, dishing out her food for her, the way he circles her shoulder with his fingers as she snuggles into him. I see him every once in a while kiss her temple, how she looks up at him and he taps her nose with his finger. I love seeing this, and I also hate it. Not that I hate the fact they are together and happy, but that I won’t get my happy with the man whose heart holds mine.

  During the visit with Wes and Kenzie, she at one point corners me and tells me that she wants to throw a surprise party for Wes’s 30th birthday in November. It will be the weekend of Thanksgiving. I’ll be home to spend it with my family, and my new book will be done by then, awaiting a Christmas release, so it will be perfect.

  October comes and before I even realize it’s gone. I’ve been so busy writing, throwing myself into the story, a new story, not one based on actual events in my stupid, silly life, but a whole new kind of series. I write about ten hours a day, sometimes more. It’s so quiet in my apartment. Maybe I should get a cat or a bird or something to keep me company. The only company I have are my thoughts, my memories, of him…especially at night. I hate sleeping in this cold bed alone. I miss his smell, his smile, laugh, arms around me. I’ve lost weight, I’m sure of it. My clothes seem baggy, my fingers leaner, as I watch myself write. It’s getting better day by day. At least that’s the lie I’m telling myself. I have to convince myself to let go, that I’m ok. I will love again, the hurt will diminish, and I’ll be new, reborn.