Delayed

by Nathan Kingsly

  I’m determined to go back to the room, I am soaked, and I need to get out of these clothes. Though that’s not happening until I find Emma, and she is not where I left her. The room is empty.

  Panic spikes my blood. My breathing becomes shallow and comes fast, my hands now slicked with sweat slide against the door frame, my head feels light as I look around. In fact, I don’t see anyone. Eating up the distance between where I stand and the next corner feels slower than I know it to be. I’m impatient, my mind creating endless circumstances that would cause her to leave, but moving too fast to pinpoint one that’s most likely.

  Soon, I’m running, and I’m not sure where I'm headed until I come to someone and I’m gripping them by the arm.

  “Have you seen, Emma?” I ask them.

  They shake their head, eyes big in their face, and I move onto the next one standing next to the first. This one knowing what I’ll do, slaps my hands away and shakes her head.

  “Liam?”

  I twist as if on a sick carnival ride that won’t stop. The one that spoke my name is unfamiliar. “Do you know where Emma is?” I ask.

  She nods and approaches like I’m a wild animal spotted out of its cage. “She went back to her room. Are you alright?” Her hand hangs in the air but never makes contact. For which I am grateful because the wild part isn’t unfounded.

  “Thanks,” I say before brushing past to reach the stairs.

  I’ve never taken a pair of stairs so quickly in my life. I likely look like a lunatic as I come upon our door. It rattles under my fist. It escapes me to use the key card.

  Emma opens the door, looking happy to see me, but her smile fades. “Liam ... ”

  Pushing into the room, I close the door; she moves into the corner out of the way as I lock it tight. Twisting to her, my fists go on either side of her head.

  “Why didn’t you stay where you were?”

  Her mouth thins and turns white. “The staff told us to return to our rooms.”

  “Why?”

  “To check our water,” she bites back as if she has a right to be pissed, but it’s only then that I hear the running water behind me in the bathroom. Part of me knows to be relieved. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You should have stayed; what if something happened to you?” My question comes out low and rough, exposing me. I take in my first real breath, and it rattles in my chest. I force my hands to unclench and rest them flat against the wall and door.

  Her features soften, “I’m fine,” she breathes. Her hand strokes my face, then slides to brush back the hair that made its way into my face.

  As my eyes can attest, she is fine, but am I?

  I’ve done so much in the past years to distance myself from everyone, even blood, to avoid this feeling. Yet here I am, bringing myself down from an anxiety attack.

  Her hand grabs hold of my arm and tugs until it slides down the wall, and her hand is in mine. She leads us to the bathroom. “You look stressed; good thing I drew a bath, huh?”

  I don’t respond, not yet trusting myself to not snap at her again. As I take several more breaths in, the nausea leaves me, and so does most of my anger.

  She lets go of me to turn off the water. Looking around, it’s lit with at least ten candles in various colors and scents that settle heavy in the room.

  Resting my eyes on Emma, her lifting the shirt over her head has me holding my breath. Her bra, dark black with gold trim, has my hands tingling with the remembrance of how they feel squeezed in my palm. With a quick flick of her wrist, it slides down her arms and to the floor. I swallow back my moan. My eyes move from her exposed breasts to her thumbs hooked inside her leggings as she wiggles from them. My palms curl at the urge of wanting to touch her. The simple act of removing her clothes seems like a seduction though there’s no eye contact, and it is over quickly. I suspect no matter what she’s doing, I will find the pleasure in it, even more so if it results in her nakedness.

  She lowers herself into the bath. Her breasts, perfect globes, peek out as she settles, her nipples hardening in the air. When I tear my eyes from following the curve of her body all the way down to her feet, she reaches out an arm to me.

  What will it mean if I give in to her? To this feeling that is replacing my panic? It’s only for a little while, I remind myself, and once it’s over, I can go back to what I know. Right?

  Stripping, I can feel her eyes on me, and my body starts to respond. I hear her shift in the water, and I turn my head as I drop my pants to the floor. On her knees, her fingers reach for me, and I reach back. Once I’m standing in front of her, she drops my hand.

  Shivering, I watch her two index fingers glide across the matching pistols on either side of my hips. They rest at the end of the barrel, not even a centimeter away from my dick that jerks in anticipation.

  “So.” She looks up, her breath coming quicker. “What are these for if everything means something?"

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Sucking in a breath, my body stiffens as she wraps a firm hand around my dick. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  I swallow. “I’m a sharpshooter.”

  One second she’s as lost as I am, then the giggle erupts from her, and I find I’m laughing along with her.

  “Oh my God, please tell me that was a joke,” she says as she covers her smiling mouth with her free hand.

  “Only part..., ” I gasp, and my chin hits my chest as I watch through lowered lids as her hand moves to the tip. Her thumb glides across the slit already beading with precum.

  “You were saying?”

  I swallow as the breath from her question brushes against the reddening head. She’s so close; if she stuck her tongue out it would reach me. Her plush mouth smiles as my hips move forward.

  She looks up and repeats her question.

  “I’m a marksman.”

  “So you could be a killer, or perhaps an assassin?” She tilts her head and smirks.

  “I’d be one for you.” I’m not sure I’m kidding, and she doesn’t seem to notice either way. Her gaze is on her hand as it slides against my length to the base. My mind goes blank as I watch myself disappear into her mouth.

  So warm, wet, and when she glides her tongue like that as her cheeks hollow, I will let the devil take me to hell if it means I can have another second in this heaven. My hands go in her hair on either side of her head, and when I jerk my hips forward, I’m not sure I haven’t.

  She shifts forward, the water sloshing against the edges of the tub. It shivers where the dimples in her back rest at the base of her spine, making it appear like a translucent skirt. Her fingernails dig into my thighs, and it’s the amount of bite to keep me rooted to here and now.

  It’s her eyes, however, a bright spark in the shadows that steal the rest of my resolve.

  “Fuck, Emma, I’m going to cum.” I try and pull away, but her hands move and grip my ass, pulling me forward, and I slide deeper in than before. The humming in the back of her throat shivers my last restraint away, almost helplessly out of my control. I let out a huge breath I didn’t realize I’m holding as I cum, each extension of my release better than the last.

  The flickering light around us makes her look like an angel. Beautiful, so damn beautiful. Her hair is wild, knotted because of my hands. Eyes, usually bright, are now dark with her desire. Mouth swollen and pink. Gripping her jaw, I kiss her. Her lips hot against mine and her moan is sweet like honey.

  "Better?" She asks as I straighten.

  Though I'm still riding what's left of my high, it's not why I nod. She took control when I was out of it as if she knew it's what I needed before I did.

  Getting in the bath, I thank her by massaging and washing her until she lays limp against me.

  When we get out of the bath, the water is cold. We bring one candle with us, blowing out the rest as we head back into the bedroom. It’s not long after we lay in bed that she rubs her eyes and yawns.

  Nights are when my memo
ries are vivid. In my sleep, they hook their claws in, knowing resistance won’t meet them. Peace isn't something I know much about. Yet as I lay here, watching her fall asleep, there's something other than resigned acceptance of my fate. There's something comforting about watching the rise and fall of someone's chest. Soothes a place deep, that in my case, is long forgotten. To be innocent. To be peaceful, vulnerable while laying companionably with the warmth of the person lying next to you. It feels closer to peace than I’ve allowed myself to feel in a long time.

  As I allow it to wash over me, I close my eyes. I sleep without fear.

  I give a damn what comes out of this girl’s mouth. Maybe it's the way she forms her letters, the sound of her voice, or how she talks with her hands when telling a story. Putting my finger on it may take some time, but I only have a few more hours left, a day if I'm lucky.

  I never thought I would feel disappointment knowing that soon I’d be alone again. We’ve been awake since the generator kicked on at four this morning, the lights from the nightstand flickering bright against our closed lids, and I am thankful. News of the storm clearing dinged on her phone an hour ago at six am. I want to appreciate her while I still can.

  We've avoided talking about our destinations or where our homes reside. It will make this too real, rather than the momentary distraction it’s meant to be. Instead, we share memories, and I am starting to see the downfall in that as well. It should be impossible, but I am getting attached. I want to mean more than an in-between flight fling.

  Her hands are at it again, directing the story at the ceiling while her head lays on my stomach. She is sharing the time that her brother, Mark, found her smoking in the parking lot, and while he lectured, wound up following her inside the girls’ bathroom. She’s already starting to laugh as she replays the memory in her mind.

  “Maybe, we shouldn’t get to know one another. It might make things harder when we leave.”

  She twists to look up into my face. “What if we don't say goodbye yet?”

  She doesn’t give me the second I need to tell her no, before she’s sitting up, folding her legs Indian style, and talking on.

  “When my ex left me to take this trip alone, it also left me without a date. It wouldn’t matter, but my ex had another role in the wedding. One of my brother's friends won’t be able to make it, and his soon-to-be wife is over-obsessed with having the wedding party be equal for photos.”

  “I don’t like where this is going.” I fold my arms behind my head.

  She holds out her hand. “Wait, let me finish. He’s asked everyone he knows, and I promised him a solution. You wouldn’t want to make a liar out of me, would you?”

  Again she doesn't allow me to respond before going on.

  "The hotel is already paid for, the meals taken care of, and the tux shop prepared to size one more. You’ll be there two days tops.” I open my mouth again, but she holds up a finger. “And, wherever you’re headed after, I’ll go with you, if you want.” She holds her hands in front of her, against her chest, in a prayer.

  Her going home with me? Not a chance. The thought of putting her in potential danger isn’t an option. I’ve already experienced the panic, and I didn’t handle that gracefully, but she ended up safe. Going through that for real is not on the agenda.

  The thought of having more time with her, however, is appealing. What’re another two days? Mom is safe, my sister is safe, and I would be helping Emma with keeping a promise. Extending my fun for a while before having to accept my reality doesn’t seem like an all-out bad option. My family may be mad, but they already are, have been for years. Emma is a new slate, and I’m not prepared yet to see disappointment in her features.

  “Fine, but I’m okay to go off after the wedding on my own.” Raising my eyebrow, I wait for her understanding.

  “Oh.” Her mouth forms a white line, but she nods. “Thank you. You’ve saved me from more arguments than you know.” She lays back like before. Freeing a hand from behind my head, I run my fingers through her hair.

  “Maybe, after the wedding, I can give you a call sometime?”

  She bites back a smile. “Only if you’re on your best behavior and make every other girl jealous I brought you.”

  “So, I have to earn your number now, too? Is ‘free’ even in your dictionary?”

  “Nothing worth having is free. Everything you earn costs something, even if it’s not bought with currency.”

  I’ve never heard a more true definition of the concept of free. Nothing, not even love, is free. No one gives up their heart without you giving up something, even unknowingly or by accident. That lesson's burned into my subconscious, and I thought I was alone in knowing the truth.

  “There you go making poetry again.”

  Her nose wrinkles, already shaking her head. “That isn’t poetry.”

  “Parts of it rhymed; that’s good enough for me.”

  Snorting, she glances over. “You have an underappreciation for poetry.”

  “I appreciate it fine. That’s the beauty of interpretation. Art's made by the artist, yet understood by the individual taking interest. I can call anything art, and hear or read anything like poetry.”

  We stare at one another in silent contemplation, but when she sticks her tongue out at me, both our bodies shake with laughter.

  “You’re wild and a rebel,” I tell her as I tug on her hair.

  “You’re no better.” She smacks my hand, and I release my grip.

  “Only since I’ve met you.”

  She snorts. “Why do I doubt that?”

  Because we’re strangers to one another in almost every sense, yet, I feel you know me better than anyone else I know. When I leave the room silent with no response, it doesn't take her long to fill it.

  “Want to go to the pool? We only leave to get food. I’m starting to feel like a hermit.” I must have made a face because she goes on. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m a very satisfied hermit, that loves everything you do to her behind the doors of this hotel room, but let’s exercise other muscle groups for an hour or two.”

  “I didn’t bring any swim trunks.”

  “Wear shorts; nobody will care.”

  “I care.”

  “Please?” Her tone flirts with whiny.

  I sigh. “An hour, then food.” I raise an eyebrow, and she nods enthusiastically. She sits and bounces off the bed toward her suitcase.

  Three days and this is only the second time she’s had to go in there for clothes. I’ve been keeping her out of them most of the time. As she strips to put on the striped bikini she pulls out, I’m tempted to show her how much better it would be to stay in here. We’re safe behind this locked door, and leaving presents all types of dangers. I don’t like it, but when she turns around, showing off that smile, I decide an hour can’t hurt if it makes her happy.

  I’m surprised when we reach the pool and see no windows. Most hotel’s I’ve been to have a pool situated close to windows so it cuts the cost of heating and lighting during operation hours. It does explain why every time we leave the room, there are people in swimsuits. It’s the only thing here, besides food, to entice them out of their room and distracts them from the storm.

  What I’m not surprised about is how packed it is. My heart rate speeds up, and it muffles my ears as I take in everyone in the room. Dizzy with all the sounds I grip Emma’s hand and manage to weave us to the far corner, and put my back to the wall. Her mouth is moving, and I only grab the last word. ‘Alright?’

  No, my mind screams out. I’m not alright, but by some miracle, I offer her a smile. She gives me one in return as she sets the towels we brought from the room on the table and strips her over-shirt.

  “You coming?” She asks.

  I nod, not ready to use my voice. I take another look around before slipping off my flip-flops. The first step I take must reassure Emma because she skips like a little kid before splashing in. A second later, she surfaces and waves at me with a smile. Carefree,
she goes back under the water and swims farther away from me, which has me taking another step towards the pool, and that's when I notice the eyes of the other swimmers. Most of them on her as she resurfaces again, and I know why. She’s beautiful, the kind of beauty that’s not exclusive to her appearance. She’s like sunshine on a cloudy day, and the men watching her know it too.

  Making it to the pool, I sit on the edge and lower myself in. I don’t go after her, my back on the wall, not willing to leave the protection of it, but I don’t allow her to get out of sight. She stops a few times and locks eyes with me, coaxing me to follow, but I can’t. Instead, I do my best to reassure her with a smile and let her have her fun. Only another forty-two minutes to go.

  “You’re watching her like you’re afraid she’ll disappear.” I jerk from the voice.

  The older lady that’s becoming all too familiar looks at me with wide eyes. “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.” She pats me on the arm.

  Taking a deep breath, I will my heart to slow and shake my head. “It’s fine. I just didn’t see you there.”

  “It’s no wonder. You're looking at your wife like you never want to be apart, even if it's across the room. I remember when my husband looked at me like that. Sometimes I swear he still does.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to her.” My eyes flick over at Emma. Her face beaming as she starts to swim towards us.

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “You think?” When I search for Emma again, I notice she stopped on her way over. Her smile is gone, and she keeps glancing my way. I notice the hand on her arm, and I can’t see anything else.

  The lady says something, but I can’t hear her as I leave the edge. I eat up the distance like a shark honing in on its prey. My fists ball as I tower over them. Emma spots me and her eyes widen.

  “Yeah, the partying has gone non-stop. You sure I can’t …” The guy with his New York lilt yammers on, seemingly oblivious to me behind him.