Beautiful Confusion (New Adult Romance) Room 105

by Whitefeather, Sheri

  After we were both dressed and ready, we climbed into her BMW and sped off. She was taking me to a lingerie shop that offered custom designs, as well as items straight off the rack.

  “They have costumes, too,” she said.

  “Like sexy maid outfits and stuff?”

  She nodded, and we burst into a quick laugh. I wasn’t going to show up at Duncan’s loft in a costume. “Thanks for doing this for me.”

  “Not a problem. That’s what friends are for.”

  I smiled, glad that she’d called me a friend. “What do you think happened to Kirk or Dirk or whatever his name was?”

  “I have no idea, but if I ever see him again, I’m going to tell him what a jerk he was.”

  “Do you ever tell Martin that he’s a jerk?”

  “All the time, but it never does any good.”

  Because she kept letting him use her. “What type of family does Martin come from?”

  “His parents are still married, and he has two younger brothers. His dad is a mechanic and his mom is a nurse. Martin works at his dad’s shop. He’s really close to his family. They seem happier than most people.”

  I wouldn’t have predicted that type of home life, given Martin’s bad behavior. “What do you think the deal with Duncan is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When he was a kid. How do you think he ended up on the streets?”

  “I don’t know. But if I were him, I would try to find out. And if I discovered that my family hurt me or threw me away or didn’t care about me, I would go gunning for them.”

  “I wonder if his memory will ever come back.”

  “I think he needs to see a shrink. A good therapist might help him remember. My mom is a firm believer in therapy. She gets help for all of her issues, no matter how petty they are.”

  I’d probably had more therapy than anyone, only I couldn’t recall my sessions. I remembered Abby getting treatment, though. Everything about my sister was ingrained in my mind, along with the fear of what was going to happen the next time I went to The Manor to see her.

  “Where’d you go?”

  I started. “What?”

  “You seem a million miles away.”

  A trillion. A zillion. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Because we’re here.”

  Sure enough, she was pulling into the cramped parking lot behind the store.

  The salesgirls probably would have been snooty if I’d come here by myself, but with Lori as my companion, they fussed accordingly.

  We scanned the racks. There was a lot to see, a lot to take in. Lori analyzed the colors that were available in the styles I liked. According to her, white was too bridal, yellow was too sunny, red was too flashy, and black was too sophisticated. Paisley, polka dots, and animal prints were out, too. Solid pink was what I should wear.

  I agreed, especially when I uncovered an Italian lace boudoir bra and matching panties in a soft shade called cotton candy that Lori claimed would melt in Duncan’s mouth.

  She came into the dressing room with me. I tried on the bra and did a happy dance in front of the mirror. It made my tiny boobs look scrumptious. The panties also appeared to be a phenomenal fit, at least as far as I could tell. I had to try them on over my other underwear.

  She grinned. “You need to get that set. It’s just what a newbie seductress needs.”

  I danced another jig. “I can’t believe I found something so quickly and easily.” I caught my breath. “I hope Duncan likes it.”

  “Are you kidding? His eyes are going to pop out of his head when he sees you.”

  “I thought I was going to blow his socks off.” I repeated her phrase from last night.

  She shrugged and angled her head, studying my full frame. “You should wear some thigh-high stockings, too.”

  “That won’t be too much?”

  “I think it will add just the right amount of fuck-me flair. He’ll know you mean business if you wear thigh-highs. It’ll be perfect.”

  It did seem perfect, and even if I got scared when the time came, I wasn’t going to back out. I was going to forge ahead and get my pretty pink cherry popped.

  By the man of my cosmic dreams.

  Chapter Nine

  To keep the week from ticking by so slowly, I did everything I could to keep busy. I worked, I watched TV, I read, I took pictures of myself for my Facebook profile. Finally, after several days and dozens of shots, I settled on one with my hair falling in wild disarray. I thought it looked artsy and windblown and mysterious, with my eyes peeking out from behind the blondeness.

  The Facebook thing took up a lot of time, because after Duncan accepted my friend request and I had access to his wall, I spent countless hours researching the girls on his page and trying to figure out which ones he’d slept with. Some had public settings, where anyone could see their posts and pictures. But some didn’t, and they were the ones who bothered me the most.

  But I had to stop worrying about his previous lovers because I was on the fast track to becoming his current lover. Lori had gotten Duncan to commit to a meeting with her on Friday night, when she was supposed to go to his loft so he could help her with some sketches for school. The funny part was that he’d asked me if I wanted to go out on Saturday afternoon. Lori and I thought it would work out beautifully because I could sleep at his house on Friday and remain with him on Saturday since he was planning on seeing me anyway.

  So now, as I sat in my room on Thursday, just one day from the big event, I prayed that it didn’t blow up in my face. If Duncan played the gentleman and turned me down, I would be left in an emotional lurch.

  I needed to feel free and beautiful, like the picture I’d posted on Facebook. The picture was a lie, of course. No one who saw it would know that I was a tormented girl trapped in a schizophrenic’s mind. No one except Duncan.

  I wished he didn’t know, either.

  I rocked in my chair, staring at my computer screen. There were lots of disturbed people out there, like the catfish types who created fake profiles and pretended to be something they weren’t. But me, I was worse than them. I’d created a whole other person.

  A sister named Abby.

  I felt so damned guilty for not going to see her. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t real because to me she still felt real. I loved her, and I knew that she loved me, too.

  Was she missing me? Wondering why I was avoiding her? For her sake, I hoped that her people were hanging around, keeping her company and making her smile.

  My goal was to go to The Manor on Sunday, after my sexcapade with Duncan was over, so I could give Abby my undivided attention.

  If she was even there, I reminded myself. For all I knew, she might be gone already, floating in a sea of nothingness.

  Troubled by the pain that thought caused, I got up, went over to the mirror and imagined her scattered appearance. If I chopped my hair off, I would look just like her.

  “Don’t be gone,” I said. “Please don’t be gone.”

  The girl in the glass didn’t respond. She didn’t morph into my sister and start talking to me.

  If Abby was a hallucination, why couldn’t I just conjure her at will? The answer was simple. Schizophrenic hallucinations were often likened to dreams, where the patient couldn’t control what he or she was going to hear, see or feel.

  The patient.

  Such an odd way to think of myself. But at least I wasn’t having frightening hallucinations, where someone was threatening to kill me or my family.

  No, that wasn’t true. There was someone whose death had been manifested in my mind.

  I walked away from my reflection, refusing to think those thoughts. Duncan assured me that he wasn’t going to die.

  I returned to my computer and warned myself to relax. Tomorrow night at this time, if all went as planned, I would be naked in his bed, with his life force, his spiritual energy, swirling around me.

  ***

  With my bra and panties in place and
my thigh-high hose skimming the length of my legs, I finished getting dressed and slipped into a pair of nude-colored heels.

  I didn’t look like a flasher. I actually looked quite respectable with my cute little garment all buttoned up. Even my hairstyle had an air of perky innocence. I’d clipped some butterfly barrettes into it for effect. They were the plastic kind that kids often wore. With the dress, they were sweet. With the lingerie, they were unexpectedly sinful.

  Earlier, I’d snapped a picture of my ‘do and texted it to Lori. She’d sent back a smiley face. She was at home, rooting for me to make a naughty splash.

  I walked into the living room, my pulse pounding like a powwow drum. Carol was dozing in an easy chair. She awoke when she heard me approach.

  She blinked and squinted at me as if I was a mirage. She righted her slumped posture and asked, “Where are you going?”

  I adjusted my vintage suitcase. I’d nabbed it from the store this week, knowing it would look chic with my outfit. It was beige, like my dress. “I’m spending the night with Lori.”

  “You spent last weekend with her.”

  “I know, but she invited me over again. Besides, I have a date with Duncan tomorrow afternoon, so I figured it would be easier for him to pick me up at Lori’s instead of coming here.”

  It was a clever yarn, a believable lie. I could tell that she bought it. But why wouldn’t she? As far as she knew, I didn’t have any reason to dupe her.

  “You look cute,” she said. “That’s a smart outfit.”

  “Thank you. Lori and I are meeting for dinner before I go to her house.” Another lie.

  “Did you pack your medication?”

  “Yes.” I wasn’t going to forget something as important as my pills, not on a night like this.

  “I’ve never seen you fix your hair like that.”

  I fluffed one of the bouncy waves. “It was a whim.”

  “You had barrettes like that when you were little, only they were bows, not butterflies.”

  My panties had bows on the sides, but I couldn’t tell her about my underwear. “You gave me a butterfly book when I was young. It was one of my favorite books.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” She touched a hand to her heart. “I don’t remember it, but I’m glad you do.”

  “There’s a species of butterflies with Vanessa as part of their name.”

  “Really? How interesting. You never told me that before.”

  “Mostly they’re orange with black spots and white tips on their wings. But it depends on what region they’re from.”

  “Well, the pink ones in your hair look pretty on you. You should wear them on your date tomorrow with Duncan so he can see them, too.”

  I had every intention of him seeing them this evening. “Maybe I will. We’re going to hang out at Griffith Park.” That much was true. “It’s what Duncan has planned for us.”

  “I’m happy you’re dating him. You’re good for each other.”

  I agreed, except that I wanted more out of our relationship than I could admit to her. “I better go. I don’t want to be late meeting Lori for dinner.”

  “Have a great time.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  She stood up, and I put down my suitcase and hugged her. Her body lotion smelled like cinnamon, the spicy scent infused with warmth.

  “I love you,” I said, wanting her to know how much I cared.

  She sucked in her breath and held me closer. “I love you, too,” she replied, before she let me go.

  ***

  An hour later, I pulled into an underground parking lot a block from Duncan’s loft. I took the ticket from the machine and placed it on my dashboard. Lori told me it was the safest place to leave my car overnight. She’d also cautioned me to watch out for beggars and homeless people who might approach me while I was walking to Duncan’s place.

  I got out of the car and clutched my boxy suitcase, probably looking like a throwback from the sixties, like a Pan Am stewardess or something.

  As I walked to Duncan’s loft, my shoes clip-clopped on the sidewalk. Luckily, no one approached me. In fact, I only saw one homeless person, an older man, huddled against a building with his belongings. I strode past him, keeping my gaze straight ahead.

  But the farther I got from him, the worse I felt, leaving him behind. He could have been Jack or Duncan or anyone. He could have even been me, in another place or time.

  I stopped and turned around, taking cautious steps toward him and hoping I was doing the right thing.

  He looked up at me, but he didn’t say anything. He had a lean face, haunted eyes, and thinning hair plastered to his head. It was impossible to know how long it had been since he’d bathed.

  I thought about Abby’s bad grooming habits, and how I overcompensated for them, becoming fanatical about my appearance when I was in recovery. This man might have been a clean freak at one time in his life, too.

  I put my suitcase down and reached into my purse. I removed a twenty dollar bill from my wallet and extended it to him.

  His voice quavered when he said, “Bless you.” It sounded so much more profound than, “Thank you.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked. I didn’t want to walk away without knowing something about him.

  “It’s Ron.” He clutched the money tightly in his hand. “Ronald.”

  “I’m Vanessa.” I almost told him that I was schizophrenic, but I didn’t want to scare him, so I didn’t say it. Instead I said, “I have a sister named Abby.” A sibling that I didn’t know if I was ever going to see again.

  “Bless her, too,” he replied.

  Yes, I thought. Bless all of us. “Bye, Ronald.”

  “Bye.” He gave me a shaky wave.

  I continued my block-long journey. When I came to Duncan’s street, I turned right, as Lori had instructed me to do. She’d told me that he lived above a textile shop and that I needed to take the stairs around the back to get to his place. I noticed a gated parking area and saw Duncan’s truck. There weren’t any extra spaces. It was for tenants only.

  The steps to the lofts were narrow. I took each one carefully, lugging my suitcase along.

  I reached the landing and breathed deeply. Duncan lived in the first unit. As soon as I pressed the buzzer, there would be no turning back. Not that I wanted to leave, but I was nervous just the same.

  Without further delay I rang the bell, praying that I could pull this off.

  Duncan came to the door with a startled expression. “Vanessa?”

  “Surprise,” I said. It was the only thing I could think to say. My heart was playing leapfrog with my throat. I was lucky that I could even talk.

  “You surprised me all right. I was expecting to see Lori.” He spotted my suitcase on the ground and asked, “So, what’s going on? What’s in there?”

  “It’s just some stuff,” I replied. He obviously didn’t associate it with being an overnight bag. I used his bewilderment as an opportunity to settle into the environment. “Can I come in?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, you just threw me. And you look so pretty, fixed up the way you are.” He sounded intrigued by my proper little appearance.

  I was intrigued by him, too. He was wearing sweat shorts and a Batman T-shirt. His hair was in a ponytail and his feet were bare. To me, he was as gorgeous as ever.

  “Is Lori still coming by?” he asked.

  “No. She can’t make it.” I entered his loft and set my suitcase off to the side. I put my purse down, too.

  “So you decided to visit me because you knew I’d be home by myself?”

  “Yes.” I wasn’t ready to peel off my dress, though. I needed more time to tackle that. “This is a great place.”

  I took the liberty of wandering around. As far as I could tell, it appeared to be about two-thousand square feet, and he used half of it for living space and the other half for his studio. Aside from the bathroom, everything was open and visible. His bed was near a window, flanked by mism
atched nightstands. The floors were concrete, painted in mottled shades of clay, and the walls were covered in graffiti. He’d even scrawled some profanities above his bed, using the words like dirty poetry.

  My gaze strayed back to the bed itself. It was unmade. He wasn’t ridiculously messy, but he wasn’t overly tidy, either. I noticed empty food wrappers on his kitchen counter. His computer table was cluttered, too, his laptop surrounded by paperwork. I didn’t try to make sense of his studio. I didn’t know heads or tails about art supplies.

  He caught my attention and asked, “When are you going to tell me what’s in the case and why you brought it with you?”

  Now, I thought. Right now. Stalling wasn’t going to get me anywhere. If I was going to offer myself to him, then this was the time to do it.

  “It’s an overnight bag,” I said. “I want to spend the night, Duncan. I want to stay here with you and sleep in your bed and wake up in your arms.”

  He stared at me, as if he’d just forgotten how to breathe. “You and Lori planned this?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Vanessa. You’re still so…”

  “Fragile? Shattered?” I lifted my chin, standing my ground. “Schizophrenics are allowed to have sex.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want to take advantage of you. We should probably wait—”

  “I don’t want to wait.” I summoned the strength to undo the first two buttons of my dress, exposing a lacy glimpse of my bra.

  He swallowed so hard, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Oh, Christ, Vanessa. What are you doing?”

  It was a redundant question, so I didn’t answer it. I kept undoing buttons. I made eye contact with him, too. I refused to show fear, otherwise I would seem fragile and shattered, and I couldn’t bear for him to think of me that way.

  “Holy fuck,” he said when I opened my dress all the way.

  There I was in my sexy ensemble: bra, panties, and thigh-high hose. My strappy heels were an added bonus. I smiled, ever so softly. I was wearing pink lipstick, the same lustful color as my lingerie.

  This time, he said, “Holy fucking hell,” and moved closer.