Heartbreak for Dinner: It's Kind of a Long Story

by Rondon, Annah

  “You’re alright, now,” he said, rocking me back and forth as cars continued to zoom by. I faced him and began to apologize for my irrational behavior, but he simply held me and forbid me to speak. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll take the dog home now and figure it out tomorrow,” he said, rubbing my back over and over as I melted into him. I was consumed with such emotion that I felt compelled to tell him I loved him, consequences fully irrelevant. Yet when I focused on his face, so beautiful and burdened with genuine worry on that dark fall night, I experienced an abnormal lightness of being and my world gradually collapsed to black in his arms as I fainted.

  Twenty Twenty

  I don’t think this merits any sort of introduction except, my first big purchase when I’m rich and famous will be Lasik surgery.

  Well, Lasik and a pony. I love ponies.

  Inside

  Jonah’s car pulled up to the driveway and the gates closed behind us as the car came to a complete stop. A guard opened my door and I stepped out with unsteady feet, thanking him in a voice barely audible over the roaring thunder on the horizon. In an instant, he was by my side, handing his keys to the same gentleman. He opened the back door and the dog – who we’d named Lucy – jumped out, violently wagging her tail. The guard gave Jonah a confused look, but took her to one of the guest rooms as instructed. As we walked up the steps arm in arm, Jonah babbled about some wine Eleonore had brought him from her last trip to France. He continued on, my mind too wrapped around the implausible events of the night to focus on his ramblings. The door clicked shut and he looked at me expectantly, repeating something.

  “So, yes to the wine and Richart?” he inquired in a terrible French accent and I grimaced jokingly. “I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

  I inspected him standing in the faint hallway light, concern invading his features as he leaned down and kissed my forehead. Struck by a premonition, I felt a sudden pang of nerves and anxiety when his lips left my skin. He ultimately decided for me and grabbed my hand, gliding us through the main area to reach the back. Sliding open a colossal door, we descended steps worthy of Versailles and he led me to a pavilion to the left. Beyond it, a garden spread out brimming with flowers and plush greenery. There were a few canopied couches to my right and four swings facing the pool, which glowed with iridescent light before me.

  “I think I’ll sit here,” I suggested, my spirits lifting as I took in the water shining in a night that would soon break day.

  He nodded and absconded into the massive expanse that was his home. I readjusted his jacket on my shoulders, my astonishment bleeding into complete awe as I absorbed my surroundings. A static noise startled me and almost immediately, I recognized a familiar voice filling the air from nearby speakers. John Mayer crooned about lost lovers and I inhaled the sweet bouquet of the impending dawn, unfazed by how little time I had left before life resumed its normalcy. Jonah returned to me after the first song stopped playing. He held a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. Handing them to me, a dark red liquid swirled in them with the promise of the unknown. Once again he was gone, reappearing with a box of truffles and making a home on the swing next to me. We ate and drank in comfortable silence.

  It’d been so many years since I first placed eyes on him, oblivious to just how much he would alter the course of my destiny. Years since the first time we’d kissed, a thousand strangers shielding us from the stares of those we dared not hurt. Years since he’d stolen my heart and I’d allowed it, the right time to express my reciprocity always a constant fugitive. It’d been years since I’d realized our love was only a lesson in torture that would never materialize into anything but pain. Years of an agonizing futility marked with calculated escapes and unplanned returns. Years . . . and there we were.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance and Jonah turned, raising an eyebrow at me. “That sounds ominous,” he got off the swing and walked over to where I sat. I wondered what he had up his sleeve as he grabbed our drinks and set them down. “Are you tired?” he asked eventually, boldly reaching around my neck and unpinning my hair slowly. I remained still and allowed him to, holding back my piqued curiosity. He opened his mouth as if to say something but chose otherwise, playing with a strand of my hair instead. I was tired, but I was also fueled by alcohol and wanting him more than ever. Grabbing his hand, I kissed it softly and rested my face on his palm, eyes shut tightly so as not to betray my forbidden thoughts of him.

  “Get up,” he commanded after a while, and I gladly obeyed.

  He pulled me in gently for a dance and his laughter pierced the atmosphere – sweeter than his beloved Richart and more intoxicating than any expensive wine from Bordeaux. I placed my head on his shoulder and gradually shifted the weight of my body from side to side as we moved. Caring about fights at a country club I’d never set foot in again, taking shots with friendly strangers we would never see again, avoiding cars while running in heels through an expressway, competing for his affection with someone who belonged in his world more than I ever would, it was all part of a trivial actuality. I took comfort in knowing that when it came to our story, no one else in the history of ever would have the pleasure of duplicating it. Because that is the essence of love, constructing a song that will never be copied by anyone else. Surrendering to the moment, I allowed myself to hazily picture how it could’ve all been. The rain began to come down in the garden and I shivered slightly in his arms.

  “I love you,” the words escaped him and I pulled back instinctively, frozen. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been waiting to say that all day.”

  “Jonah . . .” I heard myself breathe his name, my heart hanging on a string he held loosely around his fingers. I clasped his hand and gestured him toward the swings, sitting alongside him. “Maybe you do,” I reluctantly conceded, my voice shaking, “but what exactly do you intend to do about it, cancel your million dollar wedding to Miss Texas and elope with me? Get real.”

  He grabbed the bottle of wine and inhaled the remainder of its contents in one gulp, throwing it on the grass carelessly once he was finished. “I don’t know what I intend to do,” his scowling profile alarmed me. “I just love you. And you know what? Your reply is pretty damn low, even from the likes of you.”

  The intuition I should probably go before the conversation escalated into something I’d likely regret washed over me, yet I did nothing to dodge the oncoming tidal wave. “The likes of me?” I huffed. “I’m sorry I don’t fit into your perfect little world, Jonah. If we’re being honest, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing with you right now. It’s not like I asked to be here.”

  “You are here because you’re supposed to be here,” he barked. “You’re here because I love you. You’re here because no one else matters more to me after my mother and sister. And maybe, just maybe, this is life’s way of giving us a final chance before we take roads that’ll never again lead us back to this place. You know it’s all true, Annah, so tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re wrong,” I swallowed and my eyes brimmed with tears I’d never allow to fall in his presence. “You and I, it’s like repeatedly putting your hand to a flame and actually wanting to get burned. And you know what the problem is, Jonah? I enjoy that heat, but it never fails that when it’s over, I’m in the dark on how to treat the wounds you inflict. It isn’t fair to pick at scars that have taken years to heal just because you’re having some sort of short-lived epiphany. Just go on and marry her. Live this life you’re intended to live. Play golf, buy expensive cars, go to fucking Fiji on holiday or whatever it is you rich people do,” I sighed bitterly, “but please let me go. I am beyond over the story of us.”

  He remained pensive for a moment, the sound of silence slicing air already too thin for breathing. I watched the sun begin its emergence with regret and knew it would all be drawing to its inevitable end soon, as I allowed my poisonous words to settle. Jonah got up from the swing and positioned himself in front of me, breathing slowly. “You know
something?” he said icily. “I think I should be able to say precisely what I want right now without any bullshit backlash from you. Especially, knowing none of this would’ve happened had you not been so needy and stupid back then, rushing into something you didn’t want in the first place like some spoiled child in search of a new toy. Did you like your new toy, Annah? Was it sparkly enough for you?”

  I felt a sting sear my hand before I became conscious of having slapped him. Jonah stared back at me with hard eyes, the rest of him devoid of any emotion as blood rushed to the place my palm had struck. I prayed I had inflicted the same amount of pain his words had caused and got up to leave, when I realized I had no car.

  “You’re taking me to my hotel now,” I glared at him and flung his jacket on the floor. The cool air penetrated my skin and I folded my arms across my chest, staring off into the distance and suppressing back angry tears.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, cupcake. I’m not taking you anywhere,” he replied coolly. “You’ve said your peace and now I intend to make mine, even if you never speak to me again,” he covered the distance between us in several strides. Cupping my chin abruptly and tipping it up, I was left no choice but to look at him. “Knowing you, you probably weren’t planning to at all, were you? You excel at being a cold bitch that way,” his last words were dripping with such hatred, a chill went down my spine. I headed back to the house and wondered if Eleonore would be able to hear me if I screamed. As if absorbing my intentions telepathically, he turned me and came down with such force I had to hold on to him for balance. Our lips collided without a second for processing or reaction. He kissed me roughly, gripping my waist and neck savagely.

  “Let me go, Jonah!” I pulled away and punched his chest in a rage, furious at his insolence, yet wanting nothing more than to remain there. He grabbed a handful of my hair and moved my face inches from his own.

  “I have done nothing in this life but let you go. Indulging your delusions and requests has been a greater part of our friendship, princess,” he calculated his words carefully, like knifes he’d handpicked to do an important kill. “Tomorrow, when you get on that plane, you can consider yourself dead to me, just as you’ve requested. And it’ll give me pleasure to think that every time you remember what a great job you’ve done at pushing me away, it’ll haunt the fuck out of you. Tonight though,” he sneered, “you’ll belong to no one else.”

  I no longer had the strength to fight the current as he carried me and walked to where the couches were lined up. He set me down gently in front of one and drank me in with hungry eyes, making no effort to move or speak. I was wearing my long red dress from the wedding, yet I’d never felt so starkly exposed. I saw his jaw muscles twitch as he seethed in silence, holding back words I’m sure would bruise me even further. Measuring my breath, I took a step toward him until the heat emanating from his body perforated my skin.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  He looked down and chose silence, the steady meeting of the rain and ground the only audible sound as I held my breath. His hand brushed my shoulder and he slid the strap of my dress off, biting the area where it had just been. “I hate you,” he whispered in my ear and moved away from me. Gathering courage, I slid the other strap down myself and kissed his fingers gently, the need to use words no longer imperative. I took off his tie and moved unsteady fingers to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it. Jonah allowed my longing to take me where it wanted, immobile as I undressed him piece by piece, until he stood in front of me with nothing on.

  “Are you done now?” he questioned, half smiling.

  Nodding, I said nothing.

  “Good,” he placed one hand under my waist, unzipping my dress with the other and stripping it off me as he pushed me under the canopy of the couch. I gasped as he grabbed my hips and brought his lips to my neck, alternating between soft kisses and bites. I pushed myself up toward him, eager to be consumed, but he pushed me back down and grabbed my hair to force our mouths together again. A fire pooled in my lower stomach and I dug my nails into his shoulders, begging him to stop.

  “Patience,” he growled and grazed his lips on mine. “I thought you wanted to leave?”

  I held back the urge to slap him again.

  He got up and closed the curtains that lined the canopy, secluding us from the rainy world outside. I inhaled sharply as he came down to me again, securing my hands above my head together with his tie. As I lay there helplessly, he explored every part of my body with his tongue, an explosion on the verge of approaching taking place when he got to my center. I was still shaking when he brought his face up to mine once more. We kissed for an undefined amount of time and the sun finally shone through the curtains, igniting me again to a readiness seven years in the making. He looked at me and suspended my consciousness with his blue eyes, outlining my jaw with his fingers all the way down to my neck. There he rested his hand defiantly, and I inhaled and exhaled loudly, loathing him for the first time.

  Defeated, I allowed his will to take its course. He cautiously undid his tie from my wrists and set my hands free to their path as well. I glided a hand to his hair and another to his back. Once more, his lips walked the surface of my body, settling on my hips for longer than a warm blooded human could handle. I came to the realization he was teasing me as a means of exacting his revenge with no true intent to go any further, and just when I was about to give up, he was inside. The initial pain of his manhood quickly gave way to pleasure and even quicker to my fruition. I could only imagine Eleonore and the rest of the staff heard me – along with half of his neighborhood – as he placed a hand over my mouth and bid me to exert self-control. The bite marks and scratches infused with blood I left on him proved that wasn’t possible.

  When I finally lay my head on his chest an hour later, Jonah stroked my hair and shortly after succumbed to a deep sleep. Enjoying the moment seemed counterintuitive once the spell had been broken, so I simply did what was best to protect my heart from a breakdown of the emotional kind. Detangling myself from his embrace, I dressed quietly outside of the canopy. I crawled back in gingerly next to him and committed his face to memory in the morning light. Unaware of my intentions to desert him once more, he nuzzled my ear lovingly in half-consciousness. As I lay there draped in red, I found it profoundly ironic how the place in which I wanted to be the most was the place in which I didn’t belong. In retrospect, there had never been a time when we had truly belonged at all.

  Who cares about all this shit anyway? I thought. It is done.

  But I cared, even as I shelved the idea of our paths intertwining ever again under a lock whose key I chose to lose.

  Stranger Danger

  There are times in my life when I hop aboard the philosophy train and wonder about logical things normal folk seem to know of instinctively. For example, what kind of cheese is the moon made of? Is Stephen Hawking an alien? Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? How exactly does Beyonce get her weave so shiny? And more often than not, why-oh-why do women marry guys they knew in high school? I mean, what the fuck is that all about? Are there no other men on a planet with 7 billion inhabitants? Do they not yearn for different penises experiences? Someone explain.

  I stay up nights and do my research but still I find no answers, so I wait for the universe to slap me with lessons that shed light on my endless curiosities once it sees fit. This chapter is about the clues that led me to the conclusion that, of course, the aforementioned ladies are geniuses, and I’m just a silly girl who knows nothing about anything.

  (Except about Beyonce’s weave; I know all about that and I’m not telling you.)

  The year was 2012 and we were on summer vacation in Boston. One night, Britt met a hottie named Tony before our last day at an afterhours bar. Tony was wearing a Christmas sweater and a little hoop earring on his right earlobe, signs that should’ve screamed Total psycho! but Britt found endearing. Sometime around five in the morning, a group of us went back to the hotel to continue the deba
uchery in our room or lobby or wherever they allowed noise and the unlimited flowage of vodka tonics.

  I also happened to have met someone that night –hi, Jason – who offered to be our ride back to the hotel. Not exactly thrilled about taking Britt and some strange dude in his car, Jason finally agreed after some coaxing on my part, also known as purring-in-his-ear-and-empty-promises-of-great-things-to-come. When we finally crammed ourselves in his Dodge, seven of us were on the way to continue the fiesta. Upon arriving to the Hilton, Britt simply told Tony that it was “great to meet him” and kissed him on the cheek. She then proceeded to get out of the car, leaving us all with our mouths agape as we wondered, What the fuck are we supposed to do with this fool now? After Jason dropped Tony off at a friend’s house and returned to us, the virtual stalking commenced. Now, before you read the following, it is crucial to note the following:

  A) Britt had literally just met Tony two hours before.

  B) We have no idea what “hhh” means but have deduced it’s “Ha ha ha” or “lol” or “Reply or I will find you.”

  C) You have to read this in a middle eastern accent because Tony is from Israel and his English not so good.

  D) Britt is really glad she didn’t disclose her name on “the Facebook.”

  And “huf,” Tony, this is exactly why women marry their high school sweethearts or become lesbians.

  (Unless they really have a thing for accents.)

  (Or Christmas sweaters.)

  (Or little hoop earrings from the 90s.)

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Let the hunt continue. Hhh.

  Chasing Legends

  Not long ago, my best friend became obsessed with a little piece of literature most people have come to know as, The Alchemist. Every day, I would receive a peppering of quotes from the book via text or email with enthusiastic side notes from Britt, explaining just how awesome and prophetic the whole thing was. Each positive and emphatic reference was followed with her urging me to buy the book. I felt embarrassed that I never took the time to pick it up, so I engaged my friend in her whimsical delusions that life is this journey in which dreams become reality, true love will find you if you let it, and everything else will just fall into place because being alive is a grand journey that’ll surely lead you to your rightful destiny.