by Hart, Alana
Part I
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
- Emily Bronte
Prologue
The midday sun was unbearable. I was coming up on the final mile of my weekly 5K, and grateful for the fact that it was almost over. Even though it wasn’t healthy to run like this, unprotected from the sun in just a T-shirt and shorts, my skin took well to the heat. In a few hours, it’d be covered in a dusky glaze that intensified my complexion.
Circa Survive blasted in my eardrums as I cut through the neighborhood. They weren’t my cup of tea, but I realized they had a good tempo to move to whenever I needed to pace myself better on these runs.
That and it reminded me of my beloved.
Sensible, and unassuming, the green Kia Soul was parked curbside, as it always was those days she didn’t work at the library. I knew her routine like the back of my left hand, maybe because it was my personal alert that I had ten seconds left in my run.
Yes, I could calculate to the second how close she was to my front door.
My legs kept steady rhythm, barely stopping as I tossed the item from my hands. The ornate bouquet landed perfectly against the windshield. I was thankful for this, as I didn’t have time to adjust it, nor did I want to risk being seen.
I wish I could be there. I’d love to see the look on her face, the blush in her skin as hope radiated from her once-gloomy grey eyes. The beautiful smile of happiness spreading over her expression, as she illuminated with the glow of being loved and in loved, as she’d once hoped for.
She loved surprises. This would be the sweetest gift ever.
But eventually, she’d realize the truth. It was just a parting gift to ease the blow.
Parting being such sweet, sweet sorrow and all.
Chapter 1: Natalia
Time eeked by slowly as the day drew on. At 4:28 PM, I was free to leave, however the retreat would begin at any moment. I never wanted to be caught outside for that, especially on days like today.
It wasn’t that I didn’t respect my country, or the flag of the United States of America. I was a proud military wife, and I supported everything our personnel did to protect our freedom. My problem was I was in California, it was the middle of summer, and triple digit heat didn’t make standing in the sun pleasurable for any period of time.
Avoidance of swamp ass aside, my skin also burned easily. Living Twenty-nine Palms, California meant beautiful yet cruel summers for me. I needed to shower often, and then spend just as much, if not more time, applying and re-applying sunblock to protect my fair skin.
“Hey, can I check these out?” The young Black woman in front of me smiled as she lifted her elbows to show me the small stack of books in her arms. I smiled in return, standing up arms outstretched to relieve her arms.
“Of course. May I have your card?” I observed her as she dug in her pockets for her library card. A look of shock came across her face as she realized she didn’t have it.
“I left it in the car. I’ll be right back with it.” She turned, her lithe body sailing toward the door, just about to exit when the trumpets for retreat began to sound. The music abruptly stopped her in place, and she paused carefully before sliding back ever so slowly, turning on her heels to move out of view in case Marine Corps police were watching. (They never took kindly to anyone shirking their duties to salute the flag and pay respects.)
We made eye contact as she gracefully whisked herself over to my desk. I winked and whispered, “Give me your base ID, and I’ll look you up. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Thanks,” she whispered back. “No disrespect to the founding fathers of our country, but it’s just a tad too hot today. I would burn to a crisp standing out there.”
“With all due respect,” I lifted the heavy duty 110 SPF sunscreen sitting on the desk to my left, “You have no clue what it means to be burned to a crisp. I get severe sunburn, and I go through at least two of these babies a month.”
“I didn’t know they came that high,” she remarked. “My daughter’s skin is extremely fair, so I purchase Coppertone Sport in SPF 80.” She gestured to a young girl facing away from us. Although I couldn’t see her face, I could tell by the generously sized ringlets loosely pulled up and away from her face that she was of mixed heritage.
I smiled widely, nodded in acknowledgement, and paused to check the woman’s ID. “She’s pretty,” I offered, swallowing my envy. I loved Jordan to death, but he was almost eight years old. I was ready for another child, and I really wanted a daughter.
I bit my lip as I checked out her books. They were a mixture of books on parenting, fertility, and conception. One or two were romance novels. “What an interesting selection you have here.”
“It is, isn’t it? You would think one baby would be enough, but we’re actually hoping to have another one. My husband wants to have a son this time around. Let’s hope in a month or two from now, I’ll be here taking out books on dealing with a new baby.” She patted her tummy as she spoke, playfully referencing another pregnancy.
I pulled my lip in as I giggled, and began biting it, clearly subconscious act of personal frustration. This conversation was yet another reminder that on a base full of women who wanted children, I appeared to be the only one whose husband wasn’t on board. Everywhere I turned, women on base were conceiving or trying to conceive, and I still couldn’t get Hollis to concede.
I glanced up at the clock as the receipt for checkouts printed. The time was 4:32 PM. I could see cars on base making their exit parade as personnel began leaving for the day. Not wanting to be rude, I bagged the woman’s books, added one of our bookmarks advertising the military moms meeting, and wished the woman a nice day, adding that I too hoped to see her successfully celebrating the news of another baby soon as well. She grinned in response, asked me to wish her luck, and called out to her daughter, who happily got up and ran over to her mommy.
I sighed deeply as I watched the little girl grab her mother’s hand on the way to the car. What I wouldn’t give for a precious little girl of my own.
Chapter 2: Natalia
It was my turn to pick up Jordan from his summer daycare program. Luckily, it wasn’t too busy, and I was able to collect him without much hassle or waiting.
“Hey, mom!” My son was tall for his age, his height just one of many things he got from his father. Almost nothing about Jordan resembled me. He had his father’s medium brown eyes, dark brown hair with copper-flecks, and warm skin tone. It was a far cry from my very pale, easily sunburned skin, flat, dimensionless brown hair, and steely gray eyes.
“Hey baby.” Jordan’s arms left a wet ring around my waist. When he pulled back from me, I could see his entire shirt clung to him, drenched with sweat. I shook my head. “You sweat more than any person I’ve ever met.”
“I was playing basketball, mom,” he replied. Waving goodbye to his friends, he added. “You should play with me and dad tonight.”
“I don’t think so, honey. You know mommy sunburns easily. The weather has to let up a little bit first.”
“What if I make dad wait until its dark outside before we play? Will you play with us then?” His eyes probed mine, silently pleading for my participation.
“Sure, honey.” I couldn’t deny that sweet face. “But before we do any of that, you’re going to home and shower. You’re completely soaked.”
***
The evening went by fast. I let Jordan play video games while I prepped dinner, steak tacos served with corn tortillas, along with rice and beans. I complimente
d the meal with fresh blueberry lemonade, and topped off dinner with icebox cake for dessert.
After dinner, I kept my promise to Jordan and played basketball with him and Hollis. By this time, the sun was going down, the temperature was much cooler, and the atmosphere was much more bearable to my skin. I cheered when my son made a successful shot, and even when he missed, telling him practice makes perfect.
“You win 100 percent of the shots you don’t take, son,” Hollis said, backing up my encouragement. Jordan was competitive, and a bit of a perfectionist. If we didn’t steer his energy, he’d be a miserable tyrant without proper guidance.
We played until 8:45 PM. I ushered my son to kitchen, reminding him to take out the trash before getting in the shower. Hollis believed in keeping to a strict 9:30 PM bedtime, and I believed in making sure the trash was taken out regularly.
Once Jordan was settled in his room, Hollis and I took turns jumping in the shower. I let Hollis go first, using the extra time to pull out something special from my underwear drawer. We planned our sex in advance, preferring to avoid it on weeknights, but it had been almost a month since we’d made love. I wasn’t above giving my husband an incentive to break the rules if need be.
I showered from head to toe with rose and lemon scented body wash, toweled off, and oiled myself down with complementing body oil in the same fragrance. I studied the lace camisole in my hands. The delicate fabric was semi-sheer, but not completely transparent. I picked it up from Frederick’s of Hollywood, hoping to use it for a special time. No time like the present I suppose.
My hands slid against my body after I put it on. I admired myself in the mirror. I didn’t believe I was ugly, but a disinterested husband can make you wonder. Hollis’ attention hadn’t been on me as of lately.
He claimed work kept him occupied. This was the first time he’d ever provided that as an explanation. I believed he was being honest. For the past two to three months, he’d come home later than usual at least once a week; other times, he’d come home, only to turn around and leave less than an hour later, citing being undermanned at work.
I wasn’t in a position to argue. Marrying a man in the military meant you always came second. The military is always first, no matter how much that man loves you. And you just deal, because at the end of it all, you know you’re supporting your country. He’ll get to you when things calmed down.
My fingers nervously combed through my hair a few times, attempting to perfect the tousled waves I had. The deep brown color was so dull. I made mental note to get some highlights done, possibly a trim or cut to match. Something to get his attention, which was difficult to do these days.
Hollis was laid on his side of the bed, the one closest to the door, when I stepped inside. His eyes bored into the TV, watching Law & Order. His long, lean legs were sprawled in front of him, one hand behind his head, the other holding the remote on his tummy.
I stood just inside the bedroom, pausing for effect. Jordan’s door was closed. He wasn’t allowed to leave his room unless he had to use the bathroom or there was an emergency, therefore I wasn’t worried about him seeing mommy in a “see through dress.”
Hollis’ attention never turned in my direction, even as I stood there, smelling divine and glowing like one of those Victoria’s Secret angels. I cleared my throat, hand on my hip, once more, and stepped one foot in front of the other. Positioning myself at the foot of the bed, I tried again, determined to get his attention.
“What are you doing?” Now he was looking at me. But not the way I’d hoped. His eyes were pinched with annoyance.
“Do you like my outfit, baby?” My voice didn’t waiver, undaunted by his cranky attitude. One arm sunk into the mattress as my body leaned down and forward and I crawled to him. Hollis grunted indifferently as I made my way to him.
“It’s nice,” he offered. I leaned in, pressed my lips against his passionately. His lips were mildly responsive to mine, their half-hearted effort clear indications of our contrasting desires.
Moving my hand along his faded shirt, an old military undershirt, I whispered how I was in the mood. “I want you tonight.”
Hollis appeared unfazed by my behavior, but I felt his stiffness thicken when I grazed an open palm over his crotch.
Say whatever you want, flattery always seemed the best way to grab a man’s attention.
Even in the hottest of summers, Hollis preferred to go to bed wearing pajama pants. I gingerly stuck my hand inside his fly, grasped his shaft, and began pulling it forth into my view.
“Hello, lover.” I greeted it like an old friend gone too long. “I’ve missed you.”
I bent my head down, engulfing it with naked lips. I didn’t have time to put on makeup, at least not before bed. I just wanted to have normal sex with my husband and go to sleep. I caressed his swelling head with my tongue, exploring the erect terrain of his cock with my eyes closed, moaning in delight.
Hollis was the first man I’d ever been with, and we’d been together since we were teenagers. We were in our 30s and going on our 16th anniversary. Needless to say, I knew everything about him in the bedroom, so I knew just what to do to turn him on.
My husband, of over a decade, responded to my touch, cupping my head in his hands as I cupped his balls with mine. Snaking my tongue over the piss slit of his cock got his attention; his legs stretched outward and he groaned in pleasure at my ministration.
“Suck me, baby.” His hips lifted ever so slightly as he attempted to restrain himself from feeding me. “Take me nice and deep.”
Laying his balls with my affection, I sucked the right, then the left, and then the right once more. Kissing them with wet, noisy pecks made my nipples pebble. Rubbing them with my free hand, I moaned with his balls in my mouth. The ache between my legs began to build as my body started to demand action in return. I slowly adjusted myself to sixty-nine with Hollis. Instead of helping me position myself on his face and kiss me where I needed it most, he lifted my lacy number and told me to play with myself.
“Let me see you play with that pussy,” he commanded.
“You play with it,” I insisted. “Better yet, taste it.”
I felt his heavy palm slap down on me. “Bad girl. What did I say?”
Letting him run the show might have given me what I wanted. So I reached back and did as he said, letting my fingers tantalize themselves in the mystery of my wet pussy. As my slender digits churned smoothly in and out of my wetness, I smiled to myself. Taking control was fun. If I could just do this more often, perhaps I could get our sex life back.
But it didn’t take more than three or four minutes of my adept sucking for Hollis to cum. His leg shook, and he erupted, filling my taste buds with his thick, masculine flavor. I didn’t feel like spitting or messing up sheets I’d just changed, so I dutifully swallowed.
I turned to position myself over him, hoping to continue the foreplay. After all, I was still aroused. Even if he couldn’t fuck me with his cock, his mouth wasn’t off limits.
Hollis ignored my obvious need, the wet fountain between my legs pulsing for him to return the favor. He slapped my thigh when it reached the side of his chest, looked at me with kindness in his eyes.
“Baby, that was awesome. Lay next to me. I’m so tired.”
What?
“Baby, it’s still early. We’ve got a little time. You don’t have to go in until later tomorrow.”
He spoke from the crook of his right arm, facing away from me, as if both I and the light were just too intrusive to his need for rest and solitude.
“That changed. They need me to come in tomorrow early to set up for one of the high commanders coming in. I have to get up at 5 AM.”
Great. Leave it to the military to interfere with my sexual appetite again, although, if I were to be honest, Hollis was never the type to let an early rise get in his way.
“Can you at least help me out?” I whined for him. “We haven’t made love in weeks.”
“Why are
you complaining? You know it’s been busy on base, Natalia. You know that I’m Master Sergeant. You know that comes with responsibilities. I have several things on my plate at once, and no excuses to help me when nothing gets done.” He lifted his mouth from the crook of his elbow so I could succinctly listen to his snap. “I think you’d be much more understanding considering the circumstances. And besides, it’s Wednesday night, not Saturday, not even Friday.”
My cheeks burned in anger, and daresay a slap of shame, at his verbal explosion. Hollis sometimes had a temper. His hotheadedness was usually reserved for special occasions or times it was really called for. I wouldn’t ever have imagined the day when he’d use it on me in regards to sex.
“Hollis, it’s not that. I understand. “
“If you understood, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” His voice rose to a nearly threatening level. I could see his jaw tense. He rose from his position, just enough to make eye contact with me, to communicate his fury through eye contact. “Next time I want my dick sucked, I see I clearly have to map it out with you first. Or pencil it in on the schedule, since you can’t seem to follow the rules.”
He immediately dropped back into his position, turned toward the bedroom door. His attitude, the way he spoke to me… there was finality in is tone that let me know this was the end of that particular conversation.
His words angered me. His offensive disposition assaulted the room, its vapors clinging to me long after his snores replaced his normal breathing patterns.
His Jekyll-Hyde personality turned me completely off. I didn’t want to touch myself and finish what we’d started. I turned away from him, facing the other wall in the opposite direction, fingering the lacy hem of the lingerie I wore. He didn’t even acknowledge that I had anything special or sexy on. I didn’t know how to feel about that, especially because I never wore anything special, even when sex was his idea – or planned for that night.
Selfish prick.