The Poison Morality

by Stacey Kathleen

  “Don Giovanni, how wonderful,” he kissed Phillipa’s cheek and turned to Sophie. “I think she will like it,” talking to Phillipa but both looking at Sophie. She just smiled hesitantly, awkwardly. She had managed to dodge going in public, afraid he would call it a date.

  Phillipa came over to Sophie and planted a kiss on her cheek, “You can come here anytime, especially if Oliver is working long hours,” they turned, headed towards the door, Phillipa’s arm still around Sophie, “and you get lonely. You’re welcome here anytime.”

  Sophie thanked her and they waved goodbye. Sophie had to admit that she really liked Oliver’s family and felt silly for being so nervous before. Instead of taking her home, he drove to his flat expecting her to protest but she didn’t.

  The sky was dark now, but he had one more thing for her. Outside his door, he told her to close her eyes, she did without complaint. She was becoming more agreeable with him and he cherished the very idea of what it meant for them.

  After a few minutes, he told her to open them. On the table sat a small cake covered in chocolate ganache with a single lit candle in the middle. He came behind her, his hands on her shoulders and whispered, “Make a wish.”

  She didn’t have to think about a wish, she just wanted this day to last forever. She blew out the candle, he cut the cake, offering her a piece and popped the cork on a champagne bottle pouring it into two flutes. “I wish I could take credit for the cake but I got it at Harrods.”

  The cake was so moist, it clung to the fork and when she placed it in her mouth, the cake and the ganache melted together. Oliver felt a familiar stirring. He loved to watch her eat as much as he loved to cook. He clicked the kettle on.

  Sophie loved the champagne, between the bubbles and the sweetness of it and the cake she was in sugar bliss. Oliver ate most of his cake but drank more than he ate and after a while so did she. The alcohol provided a different kind of warmth, relaxed warmth, that made her feel anything was possible and nothing terrible could happen here in this moment with Oliver. “I should go, I think,” she said, before something could go wrong ruining this wonderful day.

  Standing, she teetered a bit, he was there by her side. “I think you drank a little too much. Maybe you should stay for a little while and then I’ll take you home. If you still want to go,” she was looking at his lips, the corner of her bottom lip tucked in her teeth.

  She stepped closer to him, he didn’t move, “And are you thinking you can feed me cake and champagne and that will be enough for you to become ….” Her thought was interrupted by his beeper.

  “Blast,” he swore, picking up his mobile and confirming with the hospital. “I have to go in,” he moved quickly to the door and put on his coat and came to stand in front of her. “You’re welcome to stay, I hope you stay. Hopefully, I won’t be long,” he reached past her and picked up the scarf she gave him and tied it around his neck. Quickly he kissed her on the forehead and ran out the door before she could protest.

  She rubbed the spot where his lips had been and smiled, the lingering feeling of his five o’clock shadow tickled. Downing the champagne, she poured more, the liquid making her warm, if not a little lightheaded but deliciously so. The alcohol hit her blood and it circulated heat all through her body, making her flushed. The kettle clicked off but she ignored it, preferring the delicious feeling of the champagne, even if the taste had somewhat dulled.

  Taking her shoes off, it seemed only natural to look through his stuff while he was out. It would stand to reason if he was worried about such a thing he would have ushered her out when he left but he wanted her to stay and after another glass, she wanted to stay as well. Wasn’t he a self-proclaimed nosey parker? Didn’t he know which cabinet she kept her glasses, replaced items in her bathroom cabinet, and who knew what else? It seemed justifiable that she do the same.

  They had mentioned boyfriends and girlfriends and lovers the last time she was here, and a memory of Declan on top of her threatened to change her good mood but she suppressed it immediately. Inspecting the contents of his medicine cabinet, finding nothing out of the ordinary; razors, shave cream, after shave, soap, condoms. Taking the box of condoms out, she looked at them speculatively, taking a packet out she traced the raised circle with her thumb. Box of twenty four, she dumped them out in the sink and counted them, nine or was it ten. Her glass was empty, count them again. Oh nine. “Obviously you have lovers, Dr. Reece,” she mumbled, feeling a little jealous.

  “What if I chose to be his lover,” she asked the reflection in the mirror, her cheeks red, eyes dark; she flipped her hair over her shoulder. The notion was ridiculous and she put the box back as she found it, giggling to the reflection.

  He would find her inadequate at best. But he offered, didn’t he or did he? Her mind was becoming fuzzy on the subject but what if sex was great. What if it was for her as it was for normal people? What if it didn’t turn out like that for her. She had never known it to be but what she did know is that her comfort was important to him and if she didn’t like it, would he stop? Could he?

  The idea began to take hold. She became a little nervous and excited at the thought and poured the last of the Champagne into her glass to suppress it. Maybe she will ask his opinion when he gets back, she contemplated, opening another bottle of wine chilled in the fridge.

  Oliver entered his flat to the sound of Sophie humming to Dido. Sophie humming? Dido, that wasn’t his must be Mona’s. He hadn’t known Sophie long but felt that humming was completely out of her character. She usually kept her emotions in check like she was afraid she would reveal any part of herself through emotion and somewhere she associated it as a bad thing, only for it to show anyway. He picked up on that instantly, especially since her face was more expressive than she thought it was. On the other hand, he did give her a good birthday; she had smiled through at least some of it.

  “That didn’t take long,” she said, lying sideways on the sofa, her head resting in one hand, smiling mischievously at him, a stack of cushions propping her up.

  He smiled sideways at her. “No, thank goodness. Aren’t you cold, its bloody cold in here,” he asked, rubbing his hands together, then hanging his coat on the hook by the door and pushing his shoes off his feet placing them neatly on the rack. “I didn’t know if you would still be here or not.” Admittedly he was surprised, pleasantly surprised, that she was.

  He walked over to the fireplace, turning the gas on and was busy with lighting the fire, not noticing Sophie looking at his shoulders as they moved under his shirt and how his trousers fit him just right. She admired the way his muscles flexed, every move he made was like fluid, like the movement of water, smooth, she would have blushed but she already had from the wine. His deep voice was the same, calming, deep but not booming like most but pleasing.

  “No, I’m warm, very warm actually, besides,” she slurred slightly, “I would have probably fallen down,” she sighed rolling over onto her back. “Did you want me to go? Because I felt like you wanted me to stay.” Her hair hung long down the side of the cushions as she stretched and yawned like a cat.

  “I told you I wanted you to stay, if you wanted to stay.” Oliver walked into the kitchen and picked up the empty bottle, “Did you drink the rest of this?” Looking from the bottle to her flushed face and the upward tilt of the corners of her mouth and he knew the answer.

  “Mmmm, yes, I did and started that one,” she pointed to another bottle sitting on a speaker. Oliver picked it up; it was almost empty.

  “Are you alright?” He asked sauntering towards her and sitting on the sofa, somewhat amused at her slackened manner. He rubbed his eyes, he wasn’t tired, he was only at the hospital for an hour but it was very dissatisfying to go there for one person who, despite his efforts, didn’t survive anyway.

  Oliver felt her shift on the sofa her leg came across him straddling him, sitting on his lap, facing him. Under normal circumstances, he would welcome the advance but it seemed that treading softly and caut
iously with Sophie was the way to understanding her.

  “Yes, I feel….very relaxed.” Sophie traced the lines of his face, down his cheekbones and across his squared jaw. “You know, you are actually quite handsome,” she said somewhat surprised, leaning in to kiss him. He let her mouth touch his, curious to see where it was leading but knowing deep down that he couldn’t take advantage of her impaired state of sensibility. It would be so much easier if she stopped before he had to.

  She sat back onto his lap again and her hands slid down his chest, looking at him as if waiting for him to either praise or scold her. “What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his hands on the sofa.

  “You didn’t like it?” her eyebrows rose in speculation, he wasn’t as willing as she thought he would be, “Didn’t I do it sati, satis-fact-orily?” Sophie had to concentrate on the word to get it out of her mouth.

  “I…,” he breathed in deeply, the smell of her warm skin mixed with the aromatic wine was heady, “didn’t say that,” his answer coming out as a sigh.

  “I had an idea. Something you can do for me. You would like that wouldn’t you?”

  She was getting to him. “Idea?”

  “I had a fantastic idea while you were gone or more like an experiment really.” Her lips trailed soft little kisses all over his face; her breath tickled the skin on his forehead and then his cheek until they found his lips again. He surrendered to that kiss, opening his mouth slightly to allow her access. Her tongue slid past his lips, his hands instinctively went to her face bringing her closer to him, his fingers entwined in her hair but he did not reciprocate otherwise.

  He separated himself from her, slightly pushing her back, still holding her face in his hands, his voice soft whispering, short of breath. “Oh, yes,” he questioned, liking what was happening but apprehensive about the wisdom of it.

  Biting her lip, she looked suddenly anxious, he let go of her, and she paused, swaying slightly. “I was thinking that I could try to, you know….with you,” she said hesitantly, pointing a finger at him her face already flushed from the alcohol, he wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or being coy.

  He chuckled softly but her smile was gone and she looked him in the eye and he could see the seriousness in her expression, obviously uncomfortable to even say the words. His smile faded as well. She tried to lean into him again but he held her away firmly by her arms. “Try what exactly?” he asked, looking at her hesitantly.

  She looked away again and said quickly, like she was trying to unload a confession before she lost the nerve. “Try to….have sex with you. And if I didn’t like it, you would stop, if I told you to, wouldn’t you? I mean you stopped the other night but we didn’t get that far.”

  “Ah… are you saying you never had intercourse before?” he asked, releasing her, his hands going behind his head, resting it in his palms. “That would explain a lot about your reaction at the club.” Under the circumstances he felt that was the best place for them.

  “No, I didn’t say that,” she said focusing on the buttons of his shirt to avoid looking him in the eye.

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying you don’t know if you would like to have sex with me then, is that what you mean?”

  “No” she said in a somewhat whiney voice, aggravated that he wasn’t following. “I mean sex in general,” she blurted out.

  There was a long silence as Oliver gave thought to what she was saying or rather what she was not saying, trying to deduct an answer on his own but coming up with none, he asked, “But you’re not a virgin?” Oliver was unable to determine if she was making something up in her mind because she was intoxicated or it just loosened her tongue enough that the truth was pouring out of her. With her inability to lie effectively, he believed it was the latter.

  “Not really. I just don’t know if I would like it now?” She was starting to squirm now unaware the movement aroused him. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his nerves calm and a cool head. It was easy for him to talk about sexuality but even intoxicated it was still hard for her to even say the word.

  “Now, what,” he asked, closing his eyes trying to concentrate on what she was telling him and less on what his body was but it was getting increasingly difficult to do so.

  “That I’m older.” Her words made the blood in his veins turn to ice and his eyes flew open.

  “Now that you’re an adult you mean?” She didn’t answer but glanced at his face quickly and then occupied herself with his buttons again. If she was saying what he thought she was saying her behaviour would be more significant. The mystery that is Sophie was starting to disclose answers.

  Pieces of some of the puzzle started to fit together and that could explain the dark cloud that seemed to hover over her. It could also explain why Sydney didn’t grow up with Sophie. He didn’t want her to shut down so he switched tactic, “I would rather you be sure that’s what you wanted,” he said trying to catch her gaze when she looked down to the side, ill at ease. He gave her that look of concern, the wrinkle between his brows crinkled in circumspection.

  Mind swirling she teetered, the alcohol making her light headed, her eyes opening and closing slowly, she was pushing her fingers across her forehead like she was trying to erase a memory. “How can I be sure if I don’t try it? Didn’t you say those words to me,” she shrugged, it wasn’t an answer to his question but convincing herself it was the right course and set out to do the task, her fingertips at the base of his throat fumbling with the top button of his shirt.

  “I think we were talking about theatre, weren’t we?”

  She ignored his comment, “I tried it by myself that night,” she whispered in his ear, hoping he would give in with the knowledge.

  He squirmed, “Oh yes? And did you…” His hands planted firmly on her hips to stop her from moving. Her hands gripped his wrists and she shot up straight again, confirming she was not as ready as she thought she was.

  “No,” she cut him off not wanting a repeat of how it was good for her, “It’s not the same is it? If you do it or someone does it for you?”

  He let go of her, “No, it’s not.” She was torturing him and didn’t even know it. This was worse than what he felt that night and there was no going to Mona for release and no having sex with Sophie.

  Oliver wanted to justify it he knew that Sophie, as she normally was, would not thank him for it tomorrow. He wanted sober Sophie to want him more than he wanted the consensual sex from drunken Sophie but the barrier of her past stood between them. He may not take advantage of her condition to have sex with her but he would to get information from her in the hopes that she could forgive that.

  “You’re drunk,” he stated flatly.

  She stopped at the third button down on his shirt and scowled, her bottom lip stuck out slightly, pouting, “I’m not a drunk.”

  Smiling at her, he reached a hand to her cheek but thought better of it and replaced it back behind his head. The little girl revealed to him and he felt the need to shield her from events that had already happened, emotional scars becoming evident. But she was not a girl but a woman and if only it were that easy. “I didn’t say you were a drunk, I said you are drunk.”

  “Is that your way of saying you don’t want me because your body is saying something different?” Moving her hips back and forth across him, he was reacting; a moment longer and her experiment would start to look good to him.

  There was no satisfactory way out of the situation, he was rejecting her and she would resent him for it but would get over it when she sobered up. Or he could do as she asked and she might resent him for it forever and he would know no more about her and probably never see her again.

  “All ideas look good when you’re inebriated and then the consequences seem extraordinarily bad the next morning. You might not know that being new to drinking,” he said taking her hands in his to make her stop unbuttoning his shirt, “and intimacy.”

  “You don’t want me, now? Because you did the other night,” s
topping any movement her hips were making, her neck turning red from embarrassment.

  “I don’t believe you are ready to want me, it has to work both ways.” Oliver slid his arms around her waist, her hands instinctively pushed at his shoulders, a contradictory action to what she was saying confirming that denial of her advances was for the best.

  “So you won’t then?”

  He clenched his teeth and exhaled slowly; trying to find the answer he wanted to give but gave the only one he could. “No, I won’t. I don’t want you to regret anything tomorrow or ever that we’ve done.” He took her chin and turned her head to look at him. “Ask me when you’re sober and ready and I won’t turn you down.” He sat up and pressed his lips against hers in a sweet kiss.

  Her hand instinctively went to her lips, trying to hold on to that kiss. He sat back and for a few minutes neither said anything nor moved but he could see the wheels turning in her head and he waited patiently for her to say what she was thinking. A look of serious contemplation furrowed her brow and she asked, “Could I make you?”

  “Make me? You mean force me?” He said interested in the reasoning behind the question. Oliver sat up straight, holding her head so that it was difficult for her to turn away, “Sophie, there’s a difference between doing it consensually and having it done to you….as it were,” he put it somewhat in the form of a question in case she felt the need to answer.

  “Men do it to girls all the time,” she shrugged. “Why not the other way around?” Again, she looked like a child asking an innocent question that most adults wouldn’t even bother to ask and he wasn’t sure he had an answer for her. The fact that she said girls instead of women had not escaped his notice.

  “Well you’ll find, typically, that men are usually willing participants, therefore there’s no need to force a man.”

  “That would be because even bad sex is good sex to a man, I suppose. But to a woman bad sex is, well just bad or painful.”

  Falling to the side she landed on the stack of cushions she was laying on before, with an exasperated grunt, staring at the ceiling, one arm slung above her head and the other laying across her stomach. Oliver stayed silent as she continued with her thought process and he knew the first part she spoke from experience, he could tell by her low definitive tone of voice.