Pieces of Lies

by Angela Richardson

  His facial expression changed into a quirky grin. He then hopped out of the car, hurrying around to my door and opened it for me, “You know what Norah, I couldn’t agree more.”

  Inside the range, Clint selected a couple of the bigger handguns and I chose a Glock. I liked the feel and the weight of the gun in my hands, and often resented myself for how comfortable I naturally felt holding the weapon. It gave me the worst possible thoughts, but holding it, firing it, controlling it, gave me the power I needed to overcome the constant feeling of darkness which swirled in the back of my head. Like my painting, shooting a gun was a very therapeutic way for me to vent when I felt overwhelmed by dark thoughts and feelings.

  Clint and I fired our rounds with ease. He had quite a knack at shooting and almost hit his target on a few shots. I however, hit my target perfectly every time. After my third round, I looked over to Clint who was watching me with an odd look on his face. It was as if he wasn’t so sure about the girl he was on a date with and probably thinking about what I would do to him if he tried to pull something. The idea of his fear made me chuckle.

  After our allocated rounds, we decided to grab a bite to eat in the range’s café. The gun range café was modern looking, with exposed brick walls and steel tables and chairs throughout, and on the walls were large framed posters of scantily clad women in bikinis, holding mostly machine guns and other assorted weapons. If I didn’t love firing a gun so much, I might have been offended by the degrading pictures, but I had to respect the business’s marketing gimmick. Their clientele was primarily men, who often hung around in the café after their time on the range. If the pictures helped drum up a little more business for their food service, then more power to them.

  “That was lots of fun,” Clint stated, looking genuinely happy as he pulled out my chair for me like a gentleman.

  “When I’m not painting or studying, I’m usually here. I find it very, peaceful.”

  Clint smiled again as he took his seat, “Interesting choice of words Norah.”

  I grinned back at him, “I’m an interesting kind of girl.”

  Clint cleared his throat, “Yes, I’m starting to see that.”

  A waitress came over to take our lunch order. We decided to share the cafe's signature cheese platter and both ordered sodas. When she left, Clint leaned back into his chair and rested his head on one of his arms getting comfortable.

  “So, have you always been an artist?”

  My heart was nodding her approval. I liked when guys took an interest. It told me that thought about someone other then themselves.

  “If by that you mean, have I always explored my artistic side, then yes, I suppose you can say that. I was kind of a loner as a kid, so I threw myself into books as well as drawing and painting. I really love painting.”

  Clint nodded and then listened as I started to ramble on about painting and various artists that I was influenced by and appreciated. It surprised me even more that he was hanging onto every word that came out of my mouth. Soon, our dinks arrived and I managed to stop talking about myself, turning my attention to Clint.

  “And what kind of interests does Clint Weston have? I know you’re in the Lappell and I’m not really interested in ‘those’ kind of activities, so what else do you like?” I asked.

  He leaned back into his chair assessing my question. “I don’t know. I like art, cars, sailing, fishing up at my family’s cabin…”

  “Women.”

  Filter Norah, filter!

  “What!” He almost choked on his own breath. I already regretted the word leaving my lips but it popped into my mind like a flashing neon warning sign. I secretly cursed Tess for bringing it up yesterday because now it was all I could think about.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out like an accusation. I’ve just heard about your reputation,” I said, unable to cover it up. Suddenly he looked like I had slapped his face.

  Was he really that surprised?

  “From Josh?” Clint asked, a clear hint of hostility in his voice, not happy with my statement.

  “No, Tess actually. Not that she called you a man-whore or anything, she just said she’s never seen you with a steady girlfriend,” I confirmed. He studied me for more of a reaction but I offered none.

  “Does that bother you?”

  Well at least he didn’t lie and deny it. That’s certainly saying something.

  I shrugged, “Who am I to tell you how to live your life, but I hope you don’t think this,” and I pointed my index finger towards him and then back to myself, “will lead to being part of your casual conquests.”

  Clint leaned across the table so our eyes were looking directly into one another, “Do you think I asked you out as some elaborate ploy to get into your virginal panties?”

  I moved even closer, showing him that I was not at all intimidated by his little stare down.

  “Why did you ask me out then?” I questioned, not convinced.

  He cocked his head to the side, his lips mischievously curling up. “What if I told you I just wanted to be friends, Norah?”

  I imitated his movements exactly in my response. “Then I’d tell you I’m very selective with my friends, Clint.”

  He placed both hands on his chest like he was offended. “So I’m not good enough to be your friend?”

  I eyed him, “Do you want to just be my friend?”

  He opened his mouth to respond and then clamped it shut. He then pushed himself back from the table, placing some distance between us, like he had exposed something he wasn’t supposed to. It was confusing because he had said nothing to suggest otherwise.

  What game is he playing?

  The waitress returned with our cheese platter. I immediately reached for one of the cubes of cheese and threw it in my mouth. Clint kept his eyes fixated on my movements. I liked the way he looked at me.

  “You’re very different, you know that. Very, brazen.” Clint observed, as he watched me pick at the platter.

  I took a stuffed olive, and held it to my lips, thinking about his words. “Your point being?”

  “It’s unexpected,” he stated.

  I shrugged, “That’s not a bad thing you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  This time I watched Clint pick at the plate, selecting a slice of the brie and cracker to go with it.

  “So about what you heard. My reputation I mean.”

  I felt my stomach churn as he returned to the subject. “What about it?”

  I wonder where he is going with this?

  “See, I just don’t have time for a girlfriend. I have priorities, directions. Orders. Plus the girls here are all the same. All they want is to be linked to my family name and all that goes with it. You wouldn’t understand what that is like.”

  Then at that moment, and I don’t know if it was because I could understand where he was coming from, I looked Clint square in the eyes and simply said, “Yes I would understand that, more than you know.”

  He waited for me to continue but I quickly realigned my head back into its safety zone. I kept forgetting myself around Clint and that was sheer stupidity on my behalf. I mentally slapped my face.

  “Look Clint, I’m really sorry I mentioned it in the first place. It’s not my place to try and be judgmental. Please don’t feel the need to explain yourself because you certainly don’t owe me any kind of explanation about your personal life.” I tried to end the subject and move on.

  “It obviously must be bothering you though.”

  He’s thinking I care. Damn it. Did I?

  “And I know I don’t have to give you an explanation, but for some reason I want to give you one Norah. You know, it hasn’t been easy for me.”

  That made me laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure sleeping with countless beautiful women with no strings attached has been a horrible experience for you.” I rolled my eyes at his lame excuse to play up the ‘poor little rich boy who can’t find real love’ routine.

  “You’re bei
ng sarcastic aren’t you?” he noted matter-of-factly.

  “Look, I don’t how ‘hard’ it’s been for you, but if you are concerned that it puts you in a bad light with me, then don’t worry about that. If anything, I feel sorry for you.”

  “Sorry for me?” He bridged the space he had created earlier, leaning in on the table, genuinely intrigued about what I was about to say next.

  “Yes, I think it’s sad that you haven’t met anyone you felt you could take a chance on. To me, it would be like being stuck in the shallow end of a pool, scared to jump into the deep.”

  His face switched from slightly amused to hard and cold, “Oh well, since we’re speaking in metaphors, I suppose you can say you’ve jumped into the deep end have you?” There was bitterness in the way he questioned me. Perhaps I touched on a sore spot. I shouldn’t make so many assumptions about him, but I couldn’t help but try and draw out the truth in him, even if it meant offending him or pushing his buttons.

  “I’ve not only jumped into the deep end Clint, I almost drowned.” I declared.

  I was venturing into dangerous territory even hinting at ‘that’ relationship.

  “What happened to him then?” Clint looked away like it was going to hurt him to know the answer. The way he came at me and then backed off was very confusing. It was hard to interpret if he liked me or not, especially since he clearly indicated that he was not in the frame of mind to get attached to anyone.

  “That’s another story for another day Clint.” My eyes held back tears but I knew they were already stained red. The mere mention of 'him' squeezed my heart. I felt at a loss about what to say next and just started to play with my fingers on the table, keeping my head hung low. All I could do was just continue to stare blankly at my twitching thumbs, trying as best as I could not to get emotional.

  How did we go from shooting guns and smiling, to some kind of conversation where I almost got into my most recent heartbreak? I didn’t even know why I had brought up Clint’s sex life. It was none of my business who he slept with and how many. It wasn’t my concern, but truth be told, I was intrigued about the guy I met in front of Chagall’s Three Candles, the guy who whisked me off the floor in my apartment and whose eyes didn’t leave mine when he carried me to safety. I needed to try and understand why he was jumping from girl to girl when there was clearly a hint of a romantic heart hidden inside him.

  Then Clint did something I didn’t expect. He placed his hands on top of mine and just held them there. He gripped my hands and stroked my fingers with both his thumbs. It was a small gesture of comfort and yet, was so intimate and kind. My fingers stopped moving and froze. My head flicked up to meet his eyes, and there it was again, that feeling of inexplicable warmth and comfort, combined with high intensity craving and desire. I felt my entire body ignite, warming completely to his touch, and I wanted more. I was entertaining thoughts I normally didn’t entertain about someone new. My last relationship developed over time into something more intense, but I was already getting that same intense feeling from Clint, and I knew next to nothing about him. It was kind of blinding and exciting all at once.

  The passionate artist in me was screaming to push my limits. She had always taken me to places I didn’t regret. Listening to her, I relaxed my fingers and then flattened my hands so I could turn them and entwine my hands with his. Clint's hands gripped mine hard and simultaneously, we both exhaled.

  Oh dear god, wow! What is going on?

  He didn’t let go of my hand as we ate and finished our drinks, and we were still holding hands when we left the café.

  “I really do like you Norah, I really do,” Clint stated almost unbelievably as we walked through the car park towards my car.

  “Well as long as you really do.” I was a bit suspicious about his comment because it sounded like it had a hidden meaning.

  “You are just so different to what I thought. I’m a little taken back.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Must be nice to be surprised once in a while.”

  He turned me in towards his body staring right into my eyes. “You have no idea. And you are just so beautiful as well, I find it hard to...”

  Clint stalled on his words.

  “Stop thinking about you.”

  I swallowed. I didn’t have a response to that. I couldn’t speak at all. He was doing it again, revealing himself and a side of him I could deeply fall for and taking my breath away.

  I let go of his hand and went to open my car door, but he spontaneously grabbed my hips, spun me and lifted me up onto the bonnet of my BMW. My legs instinctively lifted up and wrapped around his waist. We paused, taking in the unique feeling of the erotic and unusual moment that was unfolding between us.

  He then slowly pulled my entire body into his grip, wrapping his arms around my back. He lightly grazed my forehead with his lips, and then ran his nose down along my cheek, as if taking in my smell. Then I felt his warm mouth near my ear. “May I kiss you Norah?” Clint said it so softly, like a wisp of a whisper, and without a second thought, I nodded.

  His mouth then found mine as soon as I gave him the go ahead, and he began kissing me gently, relishing in the softness of my full lips. He opened his mouth slightly and I returned his kiss, enjoying the moment, allowing the kiss to naturally gain momentum. My mouth opened and our tongues found each other, slowing stroking at first then fiercely caressing. The kiss got deeper and deeper; my hands gripping on to his shoulders and then sliding down his back. I was completely lost in the connection and reaction our bodies were having. It was like my head was flying through the clouds, and my body was on fire.

  What was I doing? I barely know him.

  A thought of Josh somehow managed to break into the closed door of my mind. I broke free from the embrace. Clint’s eyes burned as I tried desperately to regain my clarity.

  “Whoa, that was… Norah, I, I…” Clint was trying to breathe properly and I was holding my chest.

  “I think I should go home now Clint.”

  He only nodded and stepped away from me. I think we both needed a moment to register what had just happened.

  We were both silent as I drove back to my apartment. I felt like I was in a dream, unable to comprehend my actions. I had spent such a short amount of time with Clint and yet I was strangely drawn to him. I knew deep down that I had only agreed to go on this date to send Josh a message about our friendship. I was still kind of reeling from the de-virgin party and I hoped this date would get back to him through the Lappell, and now I felt like I had thrown that plan completely out the window and had replaced it with wanting to explore this new mind-blowing chemistry I had with Clint.

  When we arrived back to the basement of my apartment building, we had still not said a word since the gun range. We sat in my car, quiet and not moving. I could feel the seconds pass as the tension from the silence stretched on. I could not imagine what was going through his mind but I figured it couldn’t have been good, given he had nothing to say.

  Then, in complete surprise, he flung himself towards me in the car, his mouth going straight to mine, and I accepted him, welcoming his lips again. It felt like pure instinct and I reacted without hesitation. We kissed with more need this time, and with more force, consuming the moment with bodies as well as our tongues. Our bodies pulled closer to each other and his hands frantically ran through my hair, and then moved down my neck, pulling our chests together as one. I didn’t know what exactly I was doing, but I wanted more and I didn’t want it to stop. When he kissed me, the darkness in me lifted and I felt light. Everything seemed to make sense for the first time in six months.

  This time it was Clint who broke away from the kiss first.

  “I like you too much, I can’t do this, it’s wrong.” He was panting hard as the words left his mouth. I felt annoyed that he could so suddenly be off hand again.

  What the hell was his problem?

  “Then go if it’s wrong Clint, I didn’t start all this.” My tone was icy, s
hielding the hurt from coming through.

  He seemed reluctant to get out of the car and grabbed at my hand, but I pulled it away defensively.

  What was he doing?

  Going from hot to cold was doing my head in. Perhaps he thought I was expecting more than what he could give, or perhaps he didn’t think I was good enough for him, but for whatever reason, he clearly wasn’t feeling the same as me.

  He looked at my face as if he wanted to say something, but he hesitated, got out of the car, and took off towards the stairs near the elevator that led back up and outside the building. I had an overwhelming urge to cry but forced myself not to. I wasn’t about to shed tears for a guy who had just rejected me like that. Not now, not ever. Instead I used my arm to hit the passenger seat in sheer frustration for allowing myself to open up a fraction to a guy, only to be completely disappointed, again.

  ***

  Almost a week later, I had not seen or heard from Clint, which I hated to admit, did bother me, but I knew I couldn’t let myself turn into one of those girls who analyzed every single moment in a situation, replaying it over and over, trying to create some imaginary reason why a guy hadn’t called or asked me out. No, I’m not one of those girls. If he wasn’t calling or coming around, he wasn’t into me, and didn’t want to see me again. Plain and simple. C’est la vie.

  Pushing all thought of Clint aside, I finally agreed to hang out with Josh. He had come over with beer and pizza and we were going to watch my favorite movie Closer with Natalie Portman and Julia Roberts on my flat screen. Josh sat on the floor leaning up against the sofa and I lay stretched out on the sofa behind him, both facing the TV. We had barely touched the pizza, and in the scene when the plaque of ‘Alice Ayres’ flashed up on the screen, I decided it was time to address the huge pink elephant in the room.

  “Did you really think I would offer up my virginity to one of those douche-bags, at a party no less?” I had to ask. The question had replayed over and over in my mind since that night. I was still baffled by Josh’s thought process to begin with, especially since he would have known how I would react in finding out.