When Dreams Bleed

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When Dreams Bleed Page 12

by Robin Cain


  Now with Frank’s card in her hand, a switch flipped on in Citra’s brain and gears began to go round. “Hmm... This just might be my insurance card,” she said out loud to no one. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking her way, she quickly stuffed the card inside her purse.

  After the waiter had come and gone and the bill was paid, Citra checked the time. Leaving Frank’s jacket on the back of his chair, Citra grabbed her purse and his wallet and went to go check on him. They nearly collided at the dining room entrance as he made his way out of the men’s room.

  “What happened to you? Are you alright?” she asked, handing him his wallet.

  “Yes, just too much of everything. Now I’m sick,” he told her. He couldn’t wait to get back to his room and sleep.

  Citra suggested a nightcap back at the hotel while ignoring his stifled yawn and his condition. “We need to finish our previous discussion.” She turned to the nearby doorman and barked, “Pouvezvous appeler un taxi?”

  “Oui, Madame.” The doorman blew his whistle for the taxi parked across the street and stood at the ready on the curb.

  “Citra, I don’t have you in chains,” Frank told her while they waited for the taxi, referring to her earlier comments regarding other companies and other men.

  “You’re right. I have stayed willingly. I just want you to know I don’t know how much longer I will be able to wait.” Her implied ultimatum filled the empty space between them.

  Exacerbated by his upset stomach and need for sleep, Frank’s irritation was now quite obvious. He didn’t stand a chance of getting to sleep anytime soon. It took only a millisecond for his Italian temper to flare.

  “You know what? Maybe it is time for you to find another employer. And find yourself another man—one who can give you what you need. I’m obviously unable to make you happy.” His cold hard stare told her he had reached his limit.

  As if on cue, the taxi arrived. The doorman opened the door and immediately stepped back, now quite uncomfortable with the argument taking place in front of him. Citra’s animalistic pride, rearing its head to attack, took control of her response.

  “Well, maybe that is just what I need to do. I don’t need you, you know. You need me,” she hissed. She jumped in the taxi and slammed the door before Frank could get in. He instantly realized he may have gone too far.

  “Hey, don’t say things you don’t mean,” he told her while he reached for her arm through the open window. “Come on, be reasonable. Let’s talk about this. Please.”

  Citra would have none of it. She yanked her arm out of Frank’s grasp and glared at him.

  “Fuck you, Frank. And fuck your talking. I’m done talking. Figure out what you want and call if you ever decide that it includes me. Maybe our lawyers can now work this out.” She sat back in her seat and directed the driver to the hotel. Frank stood speechless on the curb as the taxi speed away.

  When the doorman muttered, “Femmes américaines folles!” under his breath, Frank interpreted the words “insane American women” and couldn’t have agreed more.

  Later, when Frank got back to his room, he tried calling Citra several times. Unable to get her to answer or to call him back, he eventually decided to give up and go to bed. He called down to the front desk and requested a wake-up call before exhaustedly crawling into bed. He pulled the overstuffed down duvet all the way up to his chin and, now cradled in the softness of the pillows, fell asleep. He was snoring within minutes.

  Hours later his need to pee woke him. Flipping on the bathroom light, he saw his wallet lying on the counter and it triggered a thought—he’d left his damn jacket somewhere. Certain it was gone for good, he opened his wallet as an afterthought and did a quick inventory.

  “Well... son of a bitch.”

  Why hadn’t he been more careful? Some French waiter was now the proud owner of a very expensive, custom-made, Italian sport coat. Sighing, Frank set the wallet back down and crawled back into bed.

  The next morning Frank hurried to catch his flight back to the States. Seeing no sign of Citra in the airport, he got angry at himself all over again for letting his temper get the best of him, but as he strode to the boarding area he realized there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d go talk to her once he got back and she’d had a chance to calm down. Give her a few days and she’ll realize she was being unreasonable.

  Finding his seat in First Class, he noted the empty seat beside him. The flight attendant approached and offered him a cocktail. He ordered a Grey Goose double martini, straight up with three olives and told her to just keep them coming.

  twelve

  UPSTAIRS PACKING for her red-eye flight and unable to decide on which pair of black slacks to take, she hears the doorbell ring. Not expecting anyone this time of night, she tightens the belt of her black silk robe and goes to see who is at the door. Peering through the tiny peephole in the front door, she fully expects to find a stranger. But much to her surprise, it is him.

  It has been awhile since he’s come to her door like this. After having parted ways on a bad note last time, she had since come to realize their attraction and desire had become too great a strain on their individual lives. With so much at stake, she’d decided—albeit reluctantly—to give their anger some time to subside. And though she had understood the logic of it, in principle, she knew she would miss him desperately. She’d forced herself to play this game—pretending to be strong, acting like it didn’t matter—but she continually felt as if someone had stolen a part of her heart.

  She makes one last adjustment to her robe and takes a deep breath before she unfastens the lock and opens the door to greet him.

  “Well, what brings you here, stranger?” She isn’t sure what’s expected in a situation like this. It’s been awhile since he’s come knocking at her door.

  “Hi,” he says, looking part-man, part-boy and very ill at ease. “Can I come in?”

  She steps aside to let him in, but she can’t help wondering what has now brought him back to her doorstep. As he brushes past her, she detects the smell of alcohol and begins to wonder if maybe this hasn’t all gone too far.

  “Have I caught you at a bad time?” he asks, gesturing to her robe. He seems uncomfortable and is a little unsteady on his feet.

  “No, no, not at all. I just took a shower and was packing for my flight when I heard the door. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just needed some company. I hope that’s okay. I know we— well, I—told you I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

  “You’ve always been welcome.” She lets her admission linger between them. “What are you doing out on a night like this anyway?” An unusually heavy August rain is flooding the streets.

  “The streets aren’t too bad yet. I thought you might like a ride to the airport.”

  “Oh.” She ignores his suggestion. “Can I get you something to drink? I’m going to have a quick glass of wine.”

  “No, thanks, I’m good.”

  He follows her into the kitchen and watches her pull a glass from an overhead cabinet. Grabbing a bottle of white wine out of the fridge, she pours herself a drink. He wants to join her—take the edge off—but he knows he can’t. He sits and simply watches. She moves around the kitchen, her nakedness scarcely concealed by her short robe. She eventually sits down on the bar stool by the counter and crosses her legs. Their slenderness and length tease his senses. He imagines them wrapped around his torso.

  “So, it’s nice to see you... here... again. Is something wrong?” She gestures for him to take a seat, but he doesn’t move.

  “I’m fine. I just needed to see you.” His forthrightness is a welcome change from the past.

  She sees the tired look in his eyes, his slightly rumpled clothes and tussled hair, and wonders what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look well— like a man with too much on his plate. She longs to reach out and hold him, wishing she could extinguish the uncertainty she sees in his eyes. The memory of the unhappiness they have created for ea
ch other takes center stage in her thoughts, chasing all the “bitch” out of her, despite all she wants to say. The desire that remains between them is painful.

  “Is there something you want to talk about?” She already senses what he will say. She takes a long slow sip of her wine, hoping it will bring some courage and some calm.

  “No, I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you.” His eyes shift to the floor, uncertain if his words are welcome. He can no longer make sense of the rules. Self-imposed rules, he admits, but rules nonetheless.

  Those particular words create a familiar charge for her. They give birth to another generation of his butterflies, which now flutter feverishly in the pit of her stomach.

  “I’ve missed you, too, but you know that.” Their bond has now made it damn near impossible to do without the other.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  With the distance between them seemingly impossible to cross, he continues to stand a few feet away, with his hands uncomfortably stuffed in his pants pockets. He wants desperately to take her in his arms. But awkwardly unsure of himself for the first time, he stands very still and continues to watch her nervously fidget with her wine glass.

  “Haven’t we had enough of sorry?” Their promises to each other have yet to be kept and they are both aware of that.

  “Yes. I’m sor... I mean, yes.”

  They laugh, in clumsily acknowledgment of their mutual discomfort. He eventually moves to take the seat next to hers. She tries to get the conversation going in another direction.

  “They are predicting this rain could break a record,” she says, suddenly aware of how silly she must sound discussing the weather. Neither of them has ever been good at small talk.

  “I think it’s already starting to,” he says, barely paying attention to the words. He wonders if she is as uncomfortable as he is. He walks over to sit by her but nudges his bar stool farther from hers before taking a seat. She smirks and rolls her eyes.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I don’t bite.”

  “I know. I just didn’t want you to think...” Unsure how to finish the sentence, he stands again and slides his stool to a point halfway between them. “There, how’s that?”

  “Okay, stop. This is silly. We’re both adults.”

  He nods in agreement and they both fall silent.

  “Hey, is it really alright that I’m here?” He isn’t convinced that showing up unannounced at her front door this time of night, after all this time of their playing other roles, is, in fact, something she wants.

  “Yes, of course...” Her eyes reveal what her words will not.

  He sees the fire that once burned between them and knows it is still very much alive. No longer giving a damn about the consequences, he can’t do without her a moment longer. Reaching out to take a hold of her waist, he won’t let her pull away this time. The silk of her robe feels as wonderful as he has imagined. He pulls her close to him, trying to imprint the sweet aroma of her hair onto his senses.

  “Damn, I’ve missed you.”

  Both of them fully understand the questions that linger between them just as they know there are still no answers. Yet they willingly and silently agree to go forward. Their desire has waited too long. She takes his hand and slowly slides it underneath the hem of her robe. She closes her eyes and leans into his touch. She does so without reservation or regret. He hears the sharp intake of his own breath.

  His hands trace a slow deliberate path up her thighs and they find her skin to be as soft as the silk she wears. She moves to stand, allowing her robe to part and her tanned and toned body is now exposed. She reaches up for his face and leans in to softly kiss him.

  His arms hesitantly climb inside her open robe and wrap themselves around her nakedness. As his tongue begins to explore her mouth, his hands seek the firm roundness of her backside. When he pulls her tighter, he hears her quiet seductive moan.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Her robe acquiesces and slides off her shoulders, falling into a pile on the floor and creating a small black pool that surrounds her bare feet. She now stands completely naked and still before him, but she doesn’t shy away as she sees him stare at her hardening rosy-pink nipples. She sees the slow covetous expression that spreads across his face and she smiles.

  Now unable and unwilling to stop the appetite of her own desires, she reaches out and begins to slowly unfasten his belt buckle. He stands very still and once again allows her to take charge. The painful strain of his throbbing cock against the ever-tightening fabric of his pants will not allow him to even conceive of a valid reason to stop her now.

  She sinks to her knees and gently guides his rock-hard shaft into the warmth of her mouth. She grazes the tight skin of his buttocks with her perfectly manicured fingernails and hears him softly groan. With very deliberate calculated strokes, she caresses the tensed muscles of his powerful thighs. She looks up at him and he watches her gently cradle him with her hands and mouth. Gazing into his lust-filled eyes, she slowly teases him with the tip of her tongue, loving the power she now possesses.

  His heart pounds and his body aches as a rush begins to build up from deep within him. His legs begin to weaken. He lowers himself onto his knees and lays her down on her back to float in the silky black pool of her discarded robe beside him. His eager, hungry flesh seeks the wet warmth of sustenance she now offers between her quivering thighs. It is then that they wordlessly yield to the urgency of their illicit desires.

  Some things are just too hard to do without.

  Part II

  thirteen

  SOMEWHERE OFF in the foggy distance there was the insistent ring of a bell, but Sadie’s deep slumber, induced courtesy of the pharmaceutical gods and a late flight back from Sullivan, was difficult to disrupt. As she gradually came to the realization that the noise was the doorbell, she saw that she had not only left the light on but had fallen asleep with her book across her chest. She glanced at the clock.

  Four o’clock in the morning and Frank’s side of the bed was empty. He hadn’t been home when she got in from Sullivan and all she’d gotten was his text message.

  Have a meeting. Explain tomorrow.

  She’d fallen asleep before ever seeing him.

  Naked and tangled in the sheets, she climbed out of the king-size bed she’d been sleeping in alone and grabbed her discarded clothes from the floor as the bell continued to ring. She tugged on her jeans and hastily buttoned her shirt as she tripped and stumbled to make her way down the hall. When she eventually made it to the front door, she peered out of the peek hole. There was a policewoman standing on the front porch.

  Oh my God. They’ve finally come to arrest me. And in the middle of the night.

  Her heart began to pound. All alone and no one to help her, she was now convinced she should have never let Frank dismiss her fears. She turned the lock and opened the door.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you Sadie Roderick? Wife of a Mr. Frank Campelletti?” the officer asked. Sadie now saw the squad car parked in the driveway.

  “Yes...” Sadie’s head was slow to clear. “We’re married.”

  “I am Officer Evans,” the police officer slowly began. “I’m sorry to be here so late, but your husband has been in a car accident.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Campelletti. He’s at Mercy General Hospital.”

  “Frank? An accident? Is he okay?” Nothing was making sense.

  “Yes, ma’am. He is alive but in serious condition. I can take you to the hospital if you like.”

  Unable to wrap her mind around what all these words meant, Sadie stood barefoot in the doorway as her entire body began to tremble. Car accident? Hospital? The facts repeated themselves over and over again in her head until she felt her brain begin to spin out of control. Nothing was registering. Officer Evans recognized her confusion.

  “If you’d like a minute to get ready, I will wait here for you.” Evans hated these assignments. There was
never an easy way to break this kind of unexpected news.

  “Uh—yes, of course. Let me grab some shoes and my purse.”

  Sadie left Evans standing there in the open doorway while she went in search of her things. Her body now a lead weight, her feet felt as if they were buried in concrete.

  Purse.

  Shoes.

  Frank.

  Car accident.

  Sadie’s eyes filled with tears as jagged-edged emotions began to rip into her numb body.

  Make him okay, God. Please. I can’t deal with this.

  She grabbed her purse and keys off the kitchen counter and scanned the floor for something to put on her bare feet. Her tired old pair of soiled gardening shoes resting by the back door of the mud room would have to do. She quickly slipped them on her feet, grabbed a jacket hanging on a nearby wall hook and joined the officer back out on the front steps. Her mind raced through the possibilities of what could have happened and, unable and unwilling to verbalize her fears, she closed the front door and hurried out to the awaiting police car. Evans opened the cruiser door and stepped aside.

  “Watch your head, ma’am.”

  Sadie climbed into the back seat. The warmth and comfort of her bed became a distant memory as the coldness of the hard vinyl seats quickly reached through her jeans and joined the existing numbness. The relentless rain had caused the normally pleasant August temperature to drop considerably. The quiet sleeping streets, now hidden for the most part by the water with nowhere left to go, were empty of traffic this hour of the morning. Sadie sat staring wearily out the side window, willing herself to maintain control as her conversation with God continued.

  Ten minutes and four green lights later, they arrived at the entrance to Mercy General’s Emergency & Trauma Center. Having radioed ahead to ensure Victim Assistance would be available, Officer Evans was relieved to see the familiar face of the volunteer. Called out on the case just an hour before and now trying to shield herself from the blowing rain with an umbrella that was proving worthless, the woman stood anxiously outside the double doors of the hospital awaiting the arrival of her “client.” Officer Evans pulled the squad car into the circular drive and the volunteer immediately approached Sadie’s side to open the door, nodding to Officer Evans that she was prepared to take over from there.

 

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