by Antoinette
They spent most of New Year’s Day in bed together, with Deacon leaving only to pick up Chinese takeout. They watched a marathon of classic romantic movies, eating with chopsticks from the pint-sized containers, lounging in their pajamas. They cuddled, joked, and laughed and made love just once in the afternoon, slowly and gently as they were still aching from the activities of the night before. London never wanted this intimate, peaceful day to end.
Monday arrived, gloomy and uninvited. She awoke to a note on her pillow from Deacon that he had to be in court early that morning. He was gone already and she hadn’t even been able to enjoy breakfast with him. She lay in bed missing her fiancé as warmth and wonder filled her heart. The sun was trying to peek through the clouds outside and the light shined through the windows momentarily. She looked at her ring, reveling in the prisms dancing on the wall, created by the reflection of the passing sunlight. The colorful spectrum mimicked the love she felt radiating from her heart. She’d thrown all caution to the wind and she would do anything, be anything, just for Deacon, just to be with him forever.
She got up, dressed, and headed to the grocery store again. It felt good to be out of the house in the early morning. She wanted to pick up some special items and seasonings for more of the new recipes she planned to try this week. She was really enjoying her time in the kitchen lately, exploring her own unexpected culinary talents. Jon had given her quite a few recipes to choose from and she wanted each night to be a different exotic meal to tempt Deacon into coming home to her, instead of working so late.
On her way to the store, she noticed a silver Lexus that looked like the one Deacon drove parked alongside her favorite coffee shop. In her distraction, she swerved over the line, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the road by a honking horn. She straightened out the SUV as she wondered if it was him, why he wasn’t in court. She decided to turn around so she wouldn’t spend any more time just wondering. She circled back and parked behind the building. That’s where she also then noticed Jen’s car.
She had a sinking feeling as she walked toward the entrance. She stopped in her tracks for a moment. She spotted them, Deacon and Jen, right through the window in the corner booth. Jen was touching Deacon’s hand and they were sitting very close together. She quickly turned before they saw her, ran back down the sidewalk to the parking lot. Tears sprang up in the corner of her eyes. She got into her car and headed home. She was driving through her emotional haze when she saw Jon’s place. She pulled over and parked, wiping her eyes and trying to collect herself. Jon’s shop didn’t look as busy as it had been Friday before, so she decided to go inside. She needed something to ground her and shift the terrible feelings bubbling up. The quaint store had a warm and wonderful atmosphere that smelled of fresh baked goods and delightful spices. The counter was deserted and the place was very quiet. London strolled along, eyeing plastic cakes set up on small tables, inviting samples under ornate glass covers, and the display case that was crammed with cupcakes, cream puffs, and other colorful delicacies. She rang the bell on the showcase and was relieved to see Jon come out of the back room.
“London, darling, how wonderful to see you! You look simply . . . oh, my dear!” He put his hand up to his face. “What’s wrong?” He noticed that she looked a bit ashen and disturbed. “Come sit down,” he said, patting a stool and putting his hand on his hip as he leaned against the showcase.
“Oh, Jon.” She fled into his arms, sobbing. She hadn’t really expected to do that. He hugged her tightly, patting her head and stroking her hair. “What’s the matter?” He tried to comfort her. “Who did this to you . . . I will go punch them tout de suite.”
She held her hand up, showing him her engagement ring. He grabbed her hand and smiled as he kissed it. He looked closely at the gemstone gleaming. “Well, okay, good news. Congratulations. But why the sad look? Tell me.” He was confused.
“Jon, Deacon proposed. I was so happy. I thought I’d give him a gift.” She backed away to take a breath. “How stupid I was.” Jon stepped back too, cocking his head to the side, thinking to himself the words Come on, get it out already. “I gave him a three-way, with Jen. I asked her to engage in a ménage à trois with us on New Year’s Eve. And today, just now, I find the two of them meeting without me, together at the coffee shop.” She looked at Jon’s face now and tried to read his response.
“That bastard!” Jon growled out as he paced around the room, taking in a deep breath and sighing. “Shit. Now, London, there could be a very simple explanation to all of this. Please don’t jump the gun. Give him a chance to explain and always give him the benefit of the doubt before jumping to conclusions.” He was talking to himself as much as he was trying to convince London.
“Tonight when he is home from work, talk it over with him. I’m sure he can explain everything to you. But for now, get hold of yourself. Don’t torture yourself. Have a latté with me and some chocolate éclairs. When the going gets tough . . . chocolate.”
He set out their glass mugs, frothing with whipped cream and garnished with cinnamon sticks, then grabbed the whole bakery tray of mini éclairs and set it on the counter before them as he came around and sat beside her. The pastries were drenched in chocolate and generously overstuffed with vanilla custard. She put the scrumptious dessert to her lips and devoured one, and then another. Jon did the same. Thank God there’s food when you’re at a loss for words.
“For moral support, of course.” He raised an éclair-filled hand in the air and issued a nervous laugh.
London was feeling stuffed but better and hugged Jon as she felt the need to get up and get home at last after stopping at the grocery store. She drove past, but tried not to look at the coffee shop again. She failed to fully avoid looking and did notice that Deacon’s car was nowhere in sight. She stayed focused on her shopping goals and her dinner plans then headed home.
She unpacked her bags and settled in, lighting the fireplace to take off the chill. She walked around the house, admiring all the warm and wonderful Christmas decorations, which would soon be taken down and tucked away for another year. She dreaded January. Empty of decorations, the house would suddenly feel bare and cold—back to reality. She snuggled into her recliner next to the fire, watching the flames flicker and listening to the clock tick away. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she was waiting for 5:00 p.m. to come—the end of the workday, when Deacon would be home. She needed Deacon to make this right. She trusted Deacon with her heart and she wanted to be sure he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, especially now.
She picked up a romance novel she had lying around and tried to get lost in the story, but her mind kept flashing back to the sight of Deacon and Jen . . . her hand on top of his. The image rewound and played over and over again in an endless loop. She laid her head back as tears formed in her eyes again. She closed them and drifted off to sleep.
The shadows lengthened as they darkened to a close. She opened her eyes from her nap to see the time—7:00, and he still wasn’t home. She stood up, marched to the bathroom to freshen up, then drove away from the château on a mission to track him down.
The roads were clear and she looked out her rearview mirror at her home as the gates closed behind her. She remembered what Jon had said about “benefit of the doubt,” and she calmed herself as she drove, knowing there could still be a reasonable explanation for his actions and whereabouts.
Twenty minutes later she was in Tarrytown at Deacon’s workplace. London drove by and didn’t see his Lexus. Hmm, she thought. She sat a moment and then decided to drive by Jen’s place as it wasn’t far out of her way.
As she approached Jen’s apartment, she saw Deacon’s Lexus parked next to Jen’s car in the carport. Her adrenaline surged as she pulled into a guest parking space and made her way upstairs to the door. She knocked, but there was no answer. She turned the doorknob and the door was unlocked. She entered, calling Jen’s name. No answer. She noticed a trail of clothing on the floor in the hallwa
y that led up the steps. A blouse and a shirt mixed with male and female shoes, a pair of pants and a skirt, a bra and lace panties, boxers and socks that marked the end of the line at the next closed door. She stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. She knocked lightly as she heard voices and commotion. Still in utter disbelief, she pushed the door open to find Deacon and Jen in bed together. A painful-sounding, involuntary noise escaped from London’s mouth: “Ohhhhhhhhh!” It was all she could mutter as she ran down the steps, Deacon’s voice trailing behind her. He stood in the doorway, calling her name as she got in her SUV and laid rubber in a cloud of smoke as she burned up the asphalt with her rage. Tears flowed as she tried to calm down so she could drive home safely. Her cell phone rang. She reached over and declined the calls, even the one from Jon, who she knew was calling to make sure she was okay tonight. She wanted to throw the phone out the window.
The twinkling lights of her home took on a new aura. She felt like they were laughing at her now, mocking her for being naïve. She was furious and wanted to rip them from the trees, tearing them down along with all the other decorations. She wanted everything stripped down and back to normal, cold, naked, lonely, and dark, just like the vengefully dark place she felt herself slipping back into. Her heart was broken. Why didn’t I just leave well enough . . . She wanted to slap herself.
As she walked into the house, her cell phone was buzzing frantically from inside her purse to alert her of all the voicemail messages. Once inside, she noticed the answering machine was also blinking. She ignored them as she poured herself a double of Deacon’s favorite scotch and toasted the end of Deacon. She took off her ring and put it in the ring box on the dresser. There were no words that could ever wipe away the vision that had blinded her. No words . . . nothing . . . ever. She collapsed onto the bed and gulped down her scotch, trying to drown her sorrows. She hugged her pillow and cried, “Oh, Grams, I need you so badly now.” She sobbed uncontrollably. She scanned the walls, holding on to her pillow, looking for answers. She looked at her grandmother’s picture and the journal of Life Lessons. She got up and reached for the book, then sat down, leafing though the pages for help. On one page the words “IF YOU’RE FEELING SAD AND BLUE FIND SOMEONE WORSE OFF THAN YOU.” Next page, “NOTHING STARTS WRONG AND ENDS RIGHT.”
“Right,” she said, as she continued to leaf though the pages, looking for the magic cure for heartache. On page five Grams said, “LOVE IS NOT BASED ON SEX ALONE.” Hmm, she thought. Every relationship that she could remember was based on sex, she mused. Was that why they went bad? She fell back into the pillows, crying and holding the book close to her heart.
She tossed and turned as she crossed over into darkness, nightmares filling her with dread as she was yanked back in time to horrible experiences from her childhood.
London’s mother was there, towering over her and screaming into her tiny face as she scolded her for being naughty. London trembled, holding her blanket, embarrassed and ashamed, cowering and confused. Her mother spanked her repeatedly with a wooden spoon and took away all of her stuffed animals. She warned her never to touch herself there again as she stormed out of the room. Little London cried herself to sleep, missing her fuzzy friends, who always comforted her at night.
Then she awoke, rolled over, and drifted off to another nightmare of her uncle rubbing and touching her there. London asked him why it was okay for him to touch her, when Mother would whip her for touching herself there. He told her that her mother knew what they were doing and it was only okay when he did it. He opened her legs and moved his finger on her sex spot, whispering in her ear that it was okay, because he was her favorite uncle. . . .
London awoke and ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet as she vomited. She gasped for air and stood to rinse her mouth with water. The nausea lingered, so she brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash. She crawled back into bed, still nauseous and feeling defeated as she recalled her fuzzy nightmare. She lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, watching moonlight and shadows dance across the room, thinking about her life and what made her who she was.
Ever since she was a little girl she had been told she was naughty. The first moment was when her mother had caught her masturbating at eight years old. London recalled how confusing it all was and it took her years before she realized that her mother didn’t know anything about what her uncle had done. He had touched her from the age of four and continued up until she was too old to sit on his knee anymore. It made her ill to think of him. She curled up in a tight ball around her pillow and cried herself back to sleep.
She awoke again after a few hours of restful sleep. She felt dazed and confused, but she knew she needed to feel that sensation again. If she was going to be naughty, she might as well enjoy it. She remembered her grandmother, who told her not to give her heart away, because men would only abuse it. She was right! As she touched herself down there, she enjoyed the feeling immensely. She tried to push Deacon out of her heart and mind. She got out her pleasure toy and positioned herself for a treat.
Her mind envisioned different men, but still kept coming back to Deacon. She brushed him out as she picked up her favorite juicy book. Oh dear, she thought, what am I going to do? Not even my vibrator can turn me on. I need some stimulation and nothing is working, but I can’t get my mind off of sex! Her body was aching for action and her toy couldn’t give her the pleasure she so badly needed.
She went to her computer, where she had a naughty site she enjoyed. She zoomed in there for fun and games. She watched the girls and guys playing naughty. She touched herself as she watched four different men, but nothing happened. She clicked over to watch some live action on streaming hot sex cams. She finally stumbled across something that really turned her on and she reached for a toy, letting it go to work. Her body shook in anticipation as she watched the kinky wildness between various couples. She focused in on one guy who was simply yummy. He was handsome, yet savage. His deeds were barbaric, but London found herself longing for him to spank her. She was naughty and deserved to be punished too. She reached for her other toy and placed it inside as she watched his action and copied his motions. She closed her eyes and fantasized, his cock deep in her sex and thrusting into her as if she had crossed over into the porn site with him. She wished she was there with him, on the screen right now with others watching him punish her. She homed in on him and felt the explosion building up inside her. She trembled and moaned as her eyes rolled back. She welcomed the feeling and finally relaxed.
Exhausted, she crawled back into bed as the sun began to rise. Although it was out of character for her, she thought she might sulk for a while longer in bed today. She promised herself that she would go shopping tomorrow, as that was always the remedy for any ailment.
Chapter 12
HOT STICKY CINNAMON ROLLS
London arrived at the mall just after it opened in the early morning hour. It was quiet with the exception of a few shoppers still making returns and exchanges of poor-choice gifts they’d received during the holiday season. As she strolled along, the irresistible aroma of fresh-baked pastries drew her in. She followed the scent to the bakery where she and Grams used to go when they shopped together. She ordered a colossal-sized cinnamon roll, smothered in rich, melting icing that ran down the sides of the warm roll and pooled on the plate. She chuckled to herself that she almost needed a bib to devour this delicious treat. She battled with her conscience as she gorged, thinking, This probably contains enough fat and calories for two whole days. She licked the icing from her fingers and justified her indulgence: at least she hadn’t stayed in bed all day again today.
She had gotten out of the house and on with her life today. She washed the gooey snack down with an espresso, disposed of her dish, and headed to the restroom to wash her sticky hands.
Now she was sugared up and ready for some power shopping. She strolled a bit more, eyeing the store window displays and the vendors along the midway.
She was amazed at how quickly the retailers moved on to the next fashion, the next season, the next holiday. Christmas decorations had already been whisked away and replaced with hearts and cupids for Valentine’s Day, which of course made her think of Deacon. She frowned as she thought of her own Christmas decorations that she needed to go home and take down, alone. Her heart suddenly sank and she cringed, choking back tears.
She turned her attention to another dazzling and cheerful store window display that was already promoting attire for spring break. Sun and beach cutouts covered the walls of the store with lively images. The mannequins were staged in vibrant string bikinis with matching sarongs, or colorful shorts and capri pants with sexy summery tops, posed amid sand and seashells, beach towels and chairs, with backdrops of panoramic ocean views. London perked up with the liveliness of the displays and thought a tropical vacation would be in order very soon indeed.
As she headed for the store, she had an eerie feeling of eyes upon her. She looked around the corridor of the mall but didn’t notice anyone paying particular attention to her. She brushed off the intuition and carried on. As she entered yet another shop, her senses were overwhelmed by party music and the fragrance of coconut oil. Her body moved to the beat as she whirled through the store, loading up her arms with bright sundresses, skirts, swimsuits, and an assortment of shorts, tops, pants, and accessories. She headed for the fitting rooms.
She emerged from the dressing room with a few things: shorts, capris, and matching shirts. At the register, she picked up more, sucked in as she was by the point-of-sale displays. She selected coordinating sunglasses, nail polish, lip gloss, and a beach bag. She swiped her card, feeling the rush of spending rejuvenate and empower her emotionally. She gathered her bags and headed out toward her favorite department store. Once there, she told herself she would focus on more realistic purchases for the current season. The weather was still bitterly cold out, and she hoped to find a new outfit to bundle up in as she braved the elements.