by Rosa Sophia
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, my voice soft, because I’m reluctant to admit it. I want to believe it’s not as bad as it sounds. I want to believe I’m exaggerating. I stop before we step inside, and I say something that’s been in the back of my mind since he knocked on my window, waking me up. “I don’t need rescuing, you know, so I sure hope that’s not what you’re doing.”
Wes steps up to me and takes both my hands in his. “I’m not trying to rescue you. You’re a strong woman, Nina. You’re not as much of a mess as you think you are. Yes, I know what you think of yourself. I can tell. I know you don’t need to be rescued. But I do know one thing you need, and that’s a place to sleep.”
He lets go of one hand, but holds my other hand in his, leading me into the lobby. His friend, the night manager, is there to give us the key. In the lobby, soft music plays, and we step into the elevator. Wes hits the button for the sixth floor, and the doors shut firmly in front of us.
If I had any misgivings about going to a hotel with him, they disappear as the elevator begins to move up, and Wes pulls me close, his arm around my waist.
***
I step out on the balcony and listen to the lapping of the ocean against the shore.
“What do you think of the room?” Wes asks.
I turn and look at the soft lighting, the small space, the immense bed taking up the majority of the suite.
“There’s only one bed,” I mutter, my face flushing. I glance up at him, and he slips a bottle out of the paper bag, handing it to me. As I read the label on the whiskey, my eyes downcast, I add, “But I trust you for some reason. I’m not sure why.”
“You don’t trust people easily, do you?” He sits down at a small desk.
“No. I didn’t grow up with many positive examples of trust. My mother was never very good at giving advice, and when I followed it, I always ended up in a mess.”
He nods, listening intently. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway, so you take the bed.” He reaches out and holds my hand again. The sensation makes my breath come quicker; my heartbeat speeds up. “You’re already in your pajamas. Go ahead and relax.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress beside me. “Let’s have a drink,” I suggest, holding up the bottle.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “It’s New Year’s. New beginnings. I may as well partake. Anyway, you brought it for us to share, didn’t you?”
“Yes, certainly.” He sits down beside me. “I thought you could use a drink after what you went through.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “You thought right.” I twist off the cap and lift the bottle. “Cheers.” The whiskey is bitter against my tongue, and it feels good going down, filling my chest with heat that seems to wrap me up and hold me close, like a cozy blanket on a chilly winter night. I close my eyes briefly, savoring it, then hand the bottle to Wes. “You know,” I begin, “I always knew when to quit. But my mother never did. I can stop drinking and not need another drink for months and months. I might want one, but I don’t need one. I wonder why that is.”
“You don’t have the same problem your mom does.” Wes takes a deep swig. “She’s an alcoholic, you’re not.”
“Thank God. But she’s always so sweet in the mornings. She makes me breakfast. Mom makes the best pancakes ever.” I smile fondly. “I just...I know she’s been through so much. But...”
“So have you.”
“That’s true.” I think of the rape. What would Wes say if he knew?
I think of it all the time. Once, I thought I was over it, but one day I realized it was always in the back of my mind, engrained in my subconscious, and I wanted so badly to be rid of it.
Wes and I sit in silence for a while, and he hands me the bottle again. I take another deep drink, and flash back to my days in high school, when I was still seeing my therapist. I wonder how he’s doing. He’s probably out of jail, and I hope he’s leading a normal life. I imagine he’s learned his lesson. How could he not? He’d helped so many girls like me. I think about him a lot, perhaps because I wonder why someone in his position could do what he did.
He’d raped a girl my age. After everything he’d done for me.
It could have been me.
“What are you thinking about?” Wes asks as I hand him the bottle.
“Oh, nothing. Just the past.”
“Live in the present, Nina. You need to let go of everything else. It’s not serving you anymore. Old thoughts, old behaviors...they’re no good.” He takes a sip and hands the bottle back to me, then gets up to go to the bathroom. When he returns, he plops down on the other side of the bed. “Okay if I lay here? I’ll be good, I promise.”
I laugh, half-wishing he’d be bad instead, then I throw my legs up on the bed and lean against the headboard, a pillow behind my back.
A few long minutes pass, and I clear my throat, clutching the bottle. “Wes, can I tell you something?”
“Of course, Nina.” His hands are clasped over his stomach, and he’s lying on the bed under the comforter, his head on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
“I...” The words break inside me. I don’t know how to say it. I’m so terrified of intimacy, so torn up inside. But there’s a yearning I can’t deny, and I don’t know how to reconcile it with my fears. “Wes, I...I really need you to hold me right now.”
He shifts to his side and lifts the blanket. “Come here,” he says softly.
And I do.
Chapter 10
Present day, Jupiter, Florida
I speed over the bridge on Indiantown Road, and it isn’t until I reach the intersection at Military Trail that I realize I’m running from him. My breath is coming quicker, my hands tightening on the steering wheel until my knuckles are white. I gasp, breathe in deep, sob uncontrollably, and each cry makes my whole body shudder as I slow down and pull over, putting my hazard lights on.
Where am I going? I don’t even know. I’m directionless, and the road stretches out before me, deserted and dark. A stranger wrapped in a dirty blanket steps off a side street and crosses, and I wonder how alone they are, how lost they are.
My head falls forward and I weep, my face soaked with tears, and I keep crying until I have nothing left. Being underneath him, pressed against the mattress, his erection pulsing against my thigh, I’d squirmed like a trapped animal, and every instinct inside me reacted with run, run, run.
Panic. Those memories return full-force, and it’s like I’m being raped all over again, and he’s driving himself inside me, merciless, chuckling like he’s watching a one-woman comedy being acted out on stage, and when he comes, he grunts and falls on top of me, and when it’s over—
When it’s over, I lay there, feeling used like trash, my body naked and chilled, and I whisper to myself, “That wasn’t so bad.”
But it was, and every time I get close to someone, I panic.
Just before I left the hotel, Wes had said, “You need to learn to be intimate again,” and I know he’s right. I remember my dreams, the word fate echoing in the back of my mind.
I pull my head up. All I can hear is the tick-tick-tick of the hazard lights as my turn signals blink, and I see the orange flashing against the dark road.
I don’t even think anymore. I turn off the hazard lights and put the car in first gear, then spin around. No traffic, no one to stop me. I shoot across the intersection, then do a U-turn, speeding back toward the bridge, back toward the beach.
Minutes later, I’m heading down the narrow drive and into the lot at Seabreeze, slowing into a spot and throwing the gearshift in first again. I turn off the car, take my foot off the clutch.
There’s no one at the front desk, and the soft music is still playing in the lobby. I head for the elevator and press the button for the sixth floor, anxious to get there before I change my mind again.
The hallway is silent, narrow, and every door looks the same. I walk along the carpeting toward the room, and knock sharply below th
e peephole. A few moments pass as I wait.
Am I doing the right thing?
Somehow I know I am.
When he answers the door, he steps aside, smiling, his eyes betraying his exhaustion. “I knew you’d come back.”
“How?” When I enter, he closes the door and turns to me.
“Fate.” He steps close to me, drawing me near.
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“How could it be anything else, Nina?” His mouth is so close to mine, and he leans in to kiss me, crushing me against his body.
As he’s kissing my neck, then my shoulder, my eyelids flutter, and I say, “Please, please take it slow, I’m scared...it reminds me of...”
“I know.” His voice is soft. “You don’t need to explain.”
He leads me to the bed and then sits down, pulling me forward. Now I’m straddling him, and he’s tugging my pajama shirt over my head. I’m scared, but I feel safer not trapped beneath him, and my heart pounds as he kisses me and we taste each other. Then he takes his shirt off, presses me against him, and his skin is so warm and soft that a wave of heat passes over me, making every part of me tingle with anticipation as my nipples harden against him.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice husky, filled with need.
“Yes, it’s okay.”
He kisses me along my jawline, then down to my neck, and I arch my back when he reaches my nipples, taking one in his mouth and sucking hard until I moan softly.
“Lay down with me?” He kisses across my chest, then licks at my other nipple, taking it in his mouth as he squeezes my backside.
“Mmm.” I can’t form words anymore, and I’m telling myself, Stay calm, it’s okay, he won’t hurt you.
Gentle and strong, he lifts me up and places me down, my head against the pillow, then he slips off my pajama bottoms and my panties, leaving me naked and vulnerable before him. For a moment, this terrifies me, but he stops, because it’s almost as if he knows, and he sits beside me, trailing his fingers along my hip and thigh, but moving slowly so as not to send me into a panic.
I look at his face, his brow furrowed, his eyes staring straight into mine. Then he tugs the comforter out from under me, covering me, and begins to unbuckle his pants. He stops.
“If you don’t want—”
“I want you, Wes. Come here.”
Wordlessly, he slips out of his pants and climbs under the blanket with me, drawing me close. There’s still a part of me that wants to run, but when our bodies are pressed together, radiating heat, his arm tight around me as we lay side by side, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be—here, by the ocean, in his arms.
He nuzzles my neck, and whispers, “You smell so good, Nina,” and I feel his kisses, wet and hungry, trailing up along my chin until he finds my lips. He kisses me slowly at first, then more passionately, and this time I force the fear away; I won’t get scared. I won’t let myself run from him ever again.
I wrap my leg around him, drawing him as close as I can, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside me. I’m pulsing, wet, wanting, and I feel his hardness against me. He pulls away slightly, and I hear the rip of foil as he unwraps a condom. Then, with my body, I guide him toward me, and he kisses me harder, pressing me against the mattress as he plunges inside me.
This time I’m not afraid anymore.
I give myself up to his affection, and I moan, my fingernails digging into his back. I run my hands through his hair, so soft, and I kiss him, gentle, more tender than before, and he matches each kiss with his strokes, moving just the right way, pressing against me until I feel a rush of pleasure and I gasp.
When he comes, he lays against me, his head on my shoulder, still inside me. We’re quiet for a long time, and I can feel his heart beating. We’re connected, more than just physically, and it’s as if I can feel our souls touching. Maybe it’s my exhaustion, but I see colors around me, his aura entwined with mine, a rainbow dance that seems to go on forever, something that was meant to be, a work of art finally completed.
He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. Seeing his gaze this close to me, heavy with satisfaction, I peer through the dark brown and beyond, and it’s almost as if I’m seeing images flash through my mind from countless past lives, where we were together, and we lost one another, then died and found each other again.
I kiss him, then look into his eyes, and he smiles, gently running his fingers along the curve of my jaw.
“I believe in fate now,” I whisper. “I had to come back. Something urged me to come back. My dreams—”
“You don’t have to tell me. I have the same dreams.”
“You do?”
He nods, then moves to lie beside me, pulling me close. “Sleep, Nina. Sleep and awaken to face your fears. And I’ll be here if you need me.”
I close my eyes, my head tucked against him. The sliding glass doors to the balcony are open, and a gentle breeze blows over us. I can hear the ocean rushing, waves breaking against the shore, and it lulls me into a peaceful rest.
When the sun breaks through and shines bright light across the room, I awaken feeling different, freer—released from the shackles that bound me for years. Sleeping beside me, Wes stirs in a dream, and I wonder if he’s dreaming of me.
I lay back on the pillow, my breasts bare to the chill air of morning, and I feel relaxed. Like a whole person again.
Complete.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Tara Chevrestt for her wonderful constructive criticism. Even though I have yet to meet her, I will always value her friendship.
The sand and surf in Juno Beach and Jupiter also deserves my thanks. It is there—while staring over the ocean—that I’ve had my best ideas.
And here’s to many more.
About the Author
Rosa Sophia is the author of two traditionally published mystery novels: “Taking 1960″ and “Check Out Time.” She is a full-time editorial consultant, and has worked for publications such as The Bucks County Writer, Wild River Review, Sunshine Press, and Limitless Publishing, to name a few. She also teaches and leads workshops on writing and publishing. Addicted to writing, Rosa is working on several projects, including a non-fiction book on South Florida that blends memoir and history. With a degree in Automotive Technology, she adores writing and editing, as well as fixing cars. Rosa currently divides her time between South Florida and Pennsylvania, and enjoys running and hiking. She is a proud member of the Editorial Freelancers Association.
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