Love Nouveau

by Berry, B. L.

  The pain of letting the wrong someone in is crushing. What’s worse is thinking you’ve let the right person in only to discover you’ve been played a fool.

  I look over my shoulder and see him trying to catch up to me. He’s fast, but I’m faster as I pull myself away from this hell. I feel like Cinderella fleeing the ball. But in this fairytale, Prince Charming is a lying, two-timing sack of shit. In fact, this is no fairytale at all. It’s a nightmare.

  By a stroke of luck, the doors open right as I approach and I crash into someone just as they are walking out into the party. I slip into the box and obsessively push the close button, forcing the doors shut, cursing them to close faster so I can escape.

  Just as the doors are sealing their last final inches, I catch a panicked look on Rachel’s face as she calls out my name.

  Shit!

  How could I be so stupid?

  I slam my fist against the elevator wall.

  You would think plummeting toward the earth in a tiny elevator box would go by quickly. It doesn’t. I’m trapped in a cage that is defying the laws of gravity. Visions of Phoenix flash in my mind: his smile, his laughter, his whispers … his date. His beautiful, buxom, blonde date. His lies.

  God, I am an idiot.

  I stumble out of the building and onto Michigan Avenue before the sobs take over. Hopping out of my heels, I hail a taxi and slam the door shut before anyone has a chance to come after me.

  “The corner of North and Wells please,” I say, trying to catch my breath, not even thinking about the destination. The cab driver gives me a stern nod and heads north, taking me away from my own personal hell.

  I STARE UP AT THE weathered brass numbers on the door and take a deep breath before pounding it three times. This is where my gut told me to go.

  Matt pulls the door back in surprise. I force my way through the threshold, falling into his arms and clutching the chest of his shirt. It’s soft. Familiar. An intoxicating combination of soap and sage. He wraps his arms around me tightly, smoothing my hair.

  Instantly, I unravel at his touch. As I cry, he coos softly in my ear for several minutes, a feeble attempt to calm my stormy soul. There’s no need for words right now, only a yearning to lose myself, if only for a little while.

  It’s hard to process everything I feel in this moment: self-loathing, curiosity, anger, sadness, hurt. The past few weeks I’ve fallen for every lie that Phoenix fed. He made me believe that I was special, that things in my life could be different, would be different. That in spite of distance, circumstances could never keep us apart. That distance would actually bring us closer together. Not in the physical sense, but rather connect our souls more strongly. That I was his.

  But it was all a ruse.

  I look up from my mascara-stained cheeks. Matt’s blue eyes incinerate me and for a moment, I hesitate. I sense he’s silently inviting me in, luring me to his mouth. Stretching up on the tips of my toes, I deftly press my lips against his. He turns cold, stone, and I slowly reacquaint my tongue with his mouth. Pushing back, I realize he’s resisting my advances.

  Fuck.

  Mortification takes over as the leading emotion in the drama that my life has become.

  “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” I break free and race back to the door. It’s evident I can’t stay here. He’s probably moved on. The sensation of being unwanted guts me.

  Matt grabs my hand quickly and yanks me back against his strong chest, pulling me further into the living room. “No. Stay.”

  His voice is husky and his breath is hot against my neck. He looks confused. And eager. “I was going to meet up with some of the guys for a couple of drinks. But … change of plans …” he trails off with a shrug.

  Silence passes between us, but novels are written inside our stare. Our history allows us to pick up right where we left off, even though nearly a year has gone by. Faithfulness was never our strong suit, but none of that matters when we’re together like this.

  Matt grabs my face and kisses me roughly, frantically.

  Full of haste.

  Full of hatred.

  Full of longing.

  I’m desperate to erase Phoenix from my mind, and I know that being under Matt’s touch will allow me to disconnect from Phoenix and from myself. We treat this fleeting moment as if it will disappear without warning. Liquid peppermint rolls off his tongue as I inhale it deep into the back of my throat. A tingling sensation burning smooth like alcohol, races through my insides and pools in the depths of my belly. His fingertips squeeze their way down my body, digging in my hips, leaving red hot indentations.

  Matt kicks the door shut with his foot and guides me into his living room. Easing me down onto the couch, the weight of his body blankets me before pulling back. He looks into my eyes, teasing a glimpse of sincerity as he thumbs away the trail of tears on my face. His five o’clock shadow scratches my cheeks as he traces his nose against my jawline. His breath is sticky hot against my neck. My nerves are on end, live wires charging his touch with electricity.

  Gradually, he picks up the pace and his hands pull furiously at my arms as he searches for a way into my dress. All evidence of tenderness now gone, he is much rougher in this moment than he ever was when we dated.

  He is eager to possess me again.

  And I am eager to let him.

  Eager to forget.

  Matt’s touch is nothing like what I imagined Phoenix’s would be like. Phoenix would take his time, tasting me slowly, being deliberate and thoughtful with each brush of skin. Matt is hurried for his fix. And frankly, I’m desperate for him to hurry up and erase the pain from my memory. I push Phoenix’s specter to the back of my mind and clench the belt loops on Matt’s jeans.

  My fingers fumble with his belt and a long groan escapes his mouth as my hand brushes up against his length. Matt was always eager and willing. Good to see some things never change.

  The button on his jeans is impossible. Matt takes his hands off of me to rip his pants off in a hurry. Our clothes are obstacles, standing in the way of what we want. I need his skin on mine. I need his escape. I need it more than I need oxygen.

  If only for a little while.

  Like this—a mass of furious limbs driven by desire—we were always good together. And this moment proves we still are.

  Matt pulls his shirt up over his head in one swift move. His body is the same as it ever was: carved, lickable, and soft and firm in all the right places. I trace my fingers over his chest, examining a new tattoo just below his collarbone. It’s a keyhole in the center of an antique skull and cross bone. Hauntingly beautiful.

  I rattle my head. Sex first. Questions later.

  Urgently, Matt pushes my dress up around my waist and I feel his nails squeeze the inside of my thighs. Trailing his tongue up my leg, he nips his teeth on the outside of my panties, the elastic snapping my hips with a sharp, pleasurable sting. I squeal in surprise or anticipation of what’s to come, I’m not sure which.

  Eagerly, he rips my underwear down off of my legs and pushes two fingers deep inside to find me wet and ready to go. I buck my hips hungrily to meet him as he gives me a wicked, knowing smile. His eyes meet mine as he lowers his mouth to the heat between my legs and teasingly sucks on my clit, nipping it with his teeth. I throw my head back, forgetting my own name.

  “I need you inside of me. Now,” I command.

  He sits up and pulls his wallet from his pants on the floor, grabbing a condom. I fight the urge to tell him no, he doesn’t need to use one because I’m pathetically desperate to feel him inside me and erase everything. But even in my foggiest of mindsets, I’m not that stupid.

  I take the foil from his fingers and peel back the wrapper, taking control of the situation. His head dips back, exposing his long neck as I roll the condom down his firm length. Matt whispers obscenities under his breath as his eyes roll back into his head. I take in the sight of him as desire pulls my insides.

  He guides himself to my
opening and presses himself inside with a throaty moan. It has been nearly a year since he was last inside my body, but he still stretches me, filling me to perfection. Hurriedly, he begins to thrust himself in and out my body and I can feel the thrumming of my heartbeat echoing inside my ears as I roll my head back. A gasp escapes my lips as his roughness takes me by surprise.

  Suddenly, Matt stops and hovers above me. His angry face stares down at mine and I can read the mixed emotions in his stare. “I knew you’d come to your senses,” he seethes. “I’ve been waiting too fucking long for you to come back to me.” He slowly withdraws himself before violently plunging back into me over and over. I close my eyes at his words and know that this is wrong, that I shouldn’t be here. In my mind I see Phoenix’s face.

  I feel nothing.

  I feel everything.

  I feel …

  I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  Frantically, I push Matt off of me and race to the bathroom, grabbing the toilet before unleashing the contents of my stomach. With each heave, acid burns me from the inside out. It is as if my subconscious knew exactly what I was doing and intervened to expel the demons I’ve been harboring within.

  “What the fuck, Ivy?” Matt says. He hangs his naked body from the doorframe and glares at me with his eyes full of enmity.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and give Matt the side eye. My world has just flipped onto its side and he’s pissed about blue balls. This asshole is incapable of change. I couldn’t care less if he has to screw a box of tissues tonight.

  “Just go and get me some fucking water, Matt.”

  He wrings his hands through his hair in exasperation before disappearing down the hall. I listen to the echo of his heavy, pissed-off footsteps. My insides are on fire as my body cramps in misery. Matt slams a glass of water on the floor next to me, and I watch it slosh over the slide, making a mess on the cold tile beneath me.

  “Pull yourself together and I’ll drive you home.” The anger in his tone is intimidating.

  I don’t want to go home. I’ll go anywhere but home. But apparently, I’m not staying here tonight. Then again, I’m certain my presence would merely cock block him from whichever conquest he would be bringing home after last call.

  “Don’t bother. Just give me a few moments and I’ll call myself a cab.” Matt closes the door and I hear him mutter obscenities through the walls. Slowly, I compose myself. I’m nauseated and crampy and my head is pounding to the beat of a thousand staccato drums.

  With a shaky hand, I raise the glass to my lips and the cool water helps bring me to my senses as I wash my face and rinse out my mouth. Leaning against the sides of the sink, I stare at the reflection of a woman who is broken and lost. It’s the same reflection I’ve seen staring back at me the past few years, but this time I’m actually cognizant of how empty I am, and how hollow my life has become. Hours ago, I was so sure of what I wanted, and now? Now I have no idea who I even am.

  Matt is nowhere to be seen when I emerge from the bathroom so I let myself out. I walk aimlessly through the Old Town neighborhood before folding myself over on a bench when the pain of my broken heart becomes too much.

  THE CABBIE PULLS ONTO ASTOR and stops in front of my parent’s estate. “This it?” he asks, eyeing me from his rearview mirror. I don’t recall getting into the cab, but I throw a wad of bills into the front seat and slam the taxi door shut.

  The house is dark and I find comfort knowing that no one is home. As I expected, and wanted, their night continued on without me. Undoubtedly, excuses were made for my theatrical exit and I’ll probably never hear the end of it, but for now, I’ve found solitude.

  Peace.

  Climbing the stairs, I stop and look at the walls. In a happier home, you would find photos from family vacations and school portraits, freezing that moment in time. But not here. Here the walls are covered in oil paintings hung in gold leaf frames; meaningless and void of any emotion. I ache for that sense of family before I make my way to my childhood bedroom. My shoes are kicked to the corner and I leave the stained dress in a pile of ruins on the bathroom floor. In a drawer I find one of my old high school T-shirts, so soft and threadbare it’s like a second skin.

  I take one final glance at my phone before I crawl into bed. Seventeen missed calls—three from Rachel, the rest from Phoenix. Some text messages from the pair, but I don’t dare read any of Phoenix’s bullshit. I’m not in the mood for his excuses or truths tonight, so I turn my phone off and chase a few sleeping pills with a sip of vodka, willing myself to sleep before the rest of my family returns home from their perfect, happy Norman Rockwell dinner.

  MORNING COMES ENTIRELY TOO SOON. And the void where my heart once was is overwhelming.

  I open my eyes and get lost in the patterns of the textured ceiling. Last night was an absolute nightmare and my body is still reaping its assault. I'm sore, undoubtedly bruised from Matt’s angry hands, crampy, emotionally wrung out and seemingly hungover in spite of not even drinking last night.

  The pieces are finally fitting together. CJ … Sully … Cortland James Sullivan III is marrying my sister. Phoenix is in the wedding. The very same wedding I’m standing up in as the maid of honor in a few short days. And on top of it all, Phoenix is with some other girl. The thought of seeing him with that girl this weekend is torturous. I’ve spent the last however many weeks playing right into his lies. I am arguably the stupidest, most naïve person in the history of time.

  I can’t believe I’ve allowed myself to start to feel something for him. He is no better than my parents. All that deceit … I wonder if there was any truth to the things he told me over the past few weeks.

  Surely there was. The connection we had was so real.

  But how could that connection possibly be real if he could blatantly lie to me like that? Phoenix is no better than anyone else in my family.

  Seriously, I cannot get over that this is my life. That last night actually happened to me. Rachel is right, I’m an absolute mess. I should have just waited downstairs for her in the lobby or called her when shit first threw down between me and Genevieve on the way to the dinner.

  Oh, crap.

  Matt.

  The indiscretions of the night are slowly returning to the forefront of my mind. I slept with Matt. Kind of. Who knows how many people have heard his version of last night by now.

  Fuck.

  Just kill me. He is never going to let me live this down. I have undoubtedly opened the door for him to try and weasel his way back into my life. Why can’t I just lock him in my past where he belongs and throw away the key?

  Between stumbling upon who Phoenix really is, throwing myself at Matt, and then falling ill on top of it all, I’ve had enough drama to last me until I turn thirty. I haven’t physically felt this terrible since I woke up at that house party in Madison when I met Phoenix. My heart breaks a little more at the thought of him.

  My insides give me another lowly gurgle. Just as I’m about to pull the sheets back to start my day, my door cracks open. Genevieve pops her head through the frame.

  “Hey, are you okay? I didn’t see you at all last night after we arrived. You’re not pissed off at me about what I said, are you?” There is a hint of sincerity in her voice, and for a fraction of a moment I’m reminded of how things used to be between us when we were little, when we were actually friends. But the moment is overshadowed by her obliviousness to the drama that threw down at her own party. Her level of self-absorption is truly astounding.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” I trail off. “Something came up and I needed to get out of there. Sorry I bailed. I hope I didn’t put you in a bad spot,” I lie, not really caring about her dinner last night.

  Genevieve plops down on the side of my bed. Her warm eyes contradict the sour look on her face. “Oh, Ivy. If you’re jealous about me getting married, it’s okay. Your day will come eventually.”

  And there it is! Her tone is mocking and I bite my tongue, fig
hting the urge to reach out and bitch slap her. Only another week or so and this will all be behind me.

  “But until then, we have to go to the seamstress this morning. You need to learn how to bustle the back of my dress!” She bounces ever so slightly and claps her hands. The squeal that escapes her body grates against my skin like nails dragging along a chalkboard.

  I sigh, realizing that there is no use in fighting her this morning. We’re so close to the wedding day that I just need to get through the next few days.

  “All right, I’m getting up. Just let me hop in the shower and I’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes.” Genevieve stands up to leave as I toss the sheets aside to start my day.

  My heart stops.

  Red.

  I see red everywhere. It’s covering my sheets, my clothes. Everything.

  “Oh my god,” Genevieve says with a genuinely concerned gasp. “Is that blood?”

  “I … I … I don’t understand.”

  My mind goes straight to Matt. What the fuck did he do to me last night?

  Genevieve stands, frozen in shock. “Are you hemorrhaging? That’s too much blood to be your period. We need to get you to the hospital,” she says, rushing to my side.

  This is the first caring gesture I’ve experienced from my sister since we were little and she gave me her teddy bear after I left mine at Nana and Pop Pop’s house. “Mom and Dad are both out running errands with Harold right now. I’ll get us a taxi. It’ll be faster than calling an ambulance.” She grabs my purse from the armoire as she races out of the room.

  My soul bottoms out from my insides and I can feel my pulse behind my eyes and in my fingertips. Confusion is not an emotion I’m familiar with, but my mind fogs over as the dizziness sets in. I quickly change into fresh clothes, ignoring my need to shower, and allow Genevieve to lead me outside to the taxicab.

  “Northwestern Memorial Hospital. And step on it,” she commands, and the next few hours happen in flashes of vignettes, moments stringing together.