by Alyse, Jade
“I don’t need to be here. But I can’t...I can’t move. You spend a lot of time examining me...and why I’m like this. But you...you’re so far away...and I...damn it. Can we just sit here for awhile? Can we just watch the sun go down? I don’t want to think anymore.”
He nodded slowly, then moved closely to her.
She gazed up at him, as he extended his hand toward her face. She stopped breathing, but no fear entered her eyes. “Why can’t we have it all?”
He shrugged his shoulders with indifference, aligning the tips of his fingers with the bottom of her chin. “It never works out that way.” His voice sounded abstracted and unsure.
“I envy you, you know.”
“How so?”
“Your sense of calm. It must be overwhelming. Your thoughtless way of approaching others. At arm’s length. No one would ever think to cross a line with you. Come closer.”
He dropped his hand from her face.
“And I envy the ones who try to get closer to you. No matter how futile their efforts are. They have a better chance for your thoughts and attention than I ever would. I’ve never looked at someone and had no idea what they were thinking. How haunting.”
He laughed emptily. “The feeling is mutual.”
In all of her efforts and reasoning against it, she couldn’t back away. The smell of him. The sight of him. Her heart thumped violently against her chest. Minnie Riperton’s “Take a Little Trip” ran rampantly through her head.
She hadn’t been that honest with anyone in awhile. And the thought of her verbal exposure frightened her.
“I suppose it’s best to tell you that we should go.”
He sighed, rolling his lips in, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You may be right. You wanna drive?”
“No.” She shook her head hypnotically as a timid smile crept along the corners of her mouth. “I like watching you do it.”
WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN THE HOSPITAL LOT, ESME MARTIN WAS WAITING IN THE SPOT THAT HIS TRUCK ONCE OCCUPIED. Her arms were neatly folded across her chest, eyes focused solely on Bellamy. Her organic attractiveness startled Natalie even then, striking her with the subtle pinch of unwarranted jealousy.
He swerved into a different space, killed the engine and muttered, “Perhaps you should run.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just kidding. Get out of the truck.”
Bellamy approached Esme affectionately, reaching for her arms to pull her in as he placed a kiss on the side of her mouth. “I thought you were waiting at my apartment?”
“I got bored. And you stood me up.” She glanced behind him to peer at Natalie. “But I see why...”
Natalie smiled wryly. “Nice to see you again, Esme.”
She turned her eyes back to Bellamy. “Well...?”
“How did I stand you up?”
“Lunch, remember? We were supposed to meet here at one-fifteen? I sat in your office for over thirty minutes until one of the nurses finally said that you’d left for the day.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry. You’ve been here the whole time?”
She rolled her eyes. “Something like that. I didn’t mean to...impose.”
Natalie stepped forward. “No, no, you’re not imposing. Bellamy was just showing me something that his father was talking about the other day. Nothing more.”
Yes, if Lamb was actually interested in dungeness crab and Japanese gardens...
“Esme, I’m really sorry. I completely lost track of the time. Are you hungry?”
“Are you cooking?”
“Anything you want.”
“Well, then, yes. I’m famished.”
Natalie, taking a cue from her involuntary ostracism, began to walk away.
Esme laughed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She stopped. “Home?”
“No, you’re not. You’re coming to Bellamy’s apartment to have dinner with us. Didn’t you hear?”
HE GAVE HER THE ADDRESS, AND SHE WENT HOME TO CHANGE HER CLOTHES. While she slipped a bra up her body, she heard her cell phone ringing. Wrangled by sudden nerves, she picked it up instinctively, knowing full well who was on the other end of the line. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “Is this a bad time?”
“Never for you, Brandy.” She plopped down on her bed. Silence between them followed, and it made her ache. “How are you?”
“Better.”
“Good.”
“How are you? How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been a bad girl and you’re asking me how I’m feeling?” She chuckled. “Oh, Brandon.”
“You’re my wife, Tallie. At the end of the day, I put that ring on your finger for a reason.”
“So, you’re not drawing up divorce papers?”
“I thought about it. But then, I read your email again. And I was convinced that I’d married the right woman.”
She sighed. “I miss you so much, Brandon. I’ve been a little crazy without you and I’m sorry.”
“I miss you too. Not too much longer now.”
“Good.”
“I just wanted to say goodnight. And that I loved you. Really love you.”
She closed her eyes. “I love you, too, Brandon. Come home to me in one piece, will you?”
“Of course.”
She killed the line. Not soon after, she attempted to get dressed again, only to have her phone ring once more. Slightly exasperated, she picked it up and held it to her ear, “Needed to say ‘goodnight’ one more time?”
“No.” It was the sound of Bellamy’s attempt at sounding curt. “Hello to you, too.”
“If you’re calling to ask me to bring something, don’t bother. You left an extra bottle of wine over here that needs to be returned.”
“Will you let me talk?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?”
A regretful knowingness attacked her. Still, she played it coy. “What?”
“You. Here.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No worries. If you wanted to be alone with Esme, you should have said something sooner.”
“It’s not...it’s not that...it’s...”
“Have a good night, Bellamy.” She tossed her phone aside.
Anger climbed at her limbs, gnawing at her general resolve. Who the hell did he think he was? And where did the hell did this sudden bout of rejection come from? And she didn’t - not in any sense of the word - deserve that sort of treatment, did she?
She picked up her phone again and dialed a series of numbers. The line connected on the other end. “How dare you?”
“Are you upset that you won’t be receiving free food tonight?”
“How dare you?” She placed more emphasis on the word “dare” this time, challenging him to show something more than the contented arrogance of a silver spoon-fed baby.
“Oh.” He sighed. “You’re upset with me.”
She could have muddled through an explanation for her actions; words tumbling out like fragmented shards, embittered frustrations and such. But she bit her lip - literally. Really sank her teeth into the pulp of it. She almost tasted blood, curdling inward at the sound of his arrogant voice.
“Hello? Natalie? Are you still there?”
Yes, she wanted to breathe, or at least I think so. Instead, she ended the call and tossed her phone down childishly, feeling that she’d over-shared, revealed something, made something obvious.
She should’ve stepped away from her phone. Suddenly, her mama’s voice was in her head, reprimanding her for “being so damn silly”. Contrarily, she stayed firmly there, breathing raggedly, lips pursed, staring downward at the device.
It rang again. She shuffled it to her ear. “Yes?”
“This is silly,” he said. Then, he cleared his throat. “Isn’t this silly?”
“Would you like me to bring Zuly? We could make it a party.”
“No, no, that w
on’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m sitting in my truck outside of your house.”
She tumbled toward the window over her bed, sending the blinds spread-eagle in unwarranted anticipation. There, on her curb, sat a shiny Range Rover, with the headlights dimmed. “How long have you been sitting outside of my house?”
“I’m not sure, really.”
“What the hell are you doing outside of my house?”
“I came to get that extra bottle. Nothing more.”
SHE MET HIM AT THE DOOR. Opening it slowly, she took a deep breath, counting through random numbers in her head as he appeared behind it, dark-rimmed glasses, cashmere gray v-neck, run-in jeans and all. She exhaled, bracing herself against the door for support. “Hi.”
“May I come in?”
“No.”
“You look nice.”
“I was headed to a dinner, remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Where’s Esme?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re just fucking up all of your obligations today, huh?”
“Not really. She’s the one who sent me over here.”
“She must’ve really liked that wine...”
He took a step closer. “Are we really going to do this?”
She closed her eyes, momentarily collecting herself. “Bell...you need to go home.”
“Not without my wine,” he murmured.
“Are you with her?”
“Who?”
“Esme.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Answer me.”
He exhaled, shifting the weight of his body to the other side. “No. We’re just friends.”
“You treat her differently.”
“I don’t have a lot of friends.”
She believed him. “Well...”
“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted. “And we’ve dabbled. But nothing more.” He took one step closer. She backpedaled, sucking in her breath. She silently pleaded for him not to touch her chin again. Such sudden, gingerly and uncharacteristic acts on his part were enough to send her body shooting skyward. She collected herself.
“Define ‘dabbled’.”
“You know what it means.” He took another step. “It’s all about self control, Nat. Self control.”
She realized how much she missed home, then. Being in Georgia made her feel more like herself: guarded, secure, resolved. She had the ability to fend off any unexpected advances, no matter how steep they seemed. She was even able to resist the illustrious Brandon David Greene for quite some time. Those fucking blue eyes of his often had the ability to melt her to the core. And his height. And his build. And his laugh.
“Dinner would’ve been easier.”
“I disagree,” he replied. He cleared his throat. There was an edge to his voice now; a hushed, more discreet tone. She tilted her head to the sound of it. “I would’ve tried to find a way to keep you there longer. Shame the devil.”
“That’ll be easy.” She was grinning. “Because he’s standing in my doorway, smelling of cheap liquor and a hint of spearmint, in a hastened attempt to cover it up.”
“I may or may not keep a flask of bourbon in my glove compartment.”
“Jesus, Bellamy.”
He raised his hand and waved it from side to side. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you. But you’re an adult. And you’re Bellamy Lambert.”
“I won’t consider that patronizing.”
She sighed. “Are we finished here?”
“Only if you want to be.”
“I do.”
“Very well. Goodnight, Natalie.”
She nodded once, curtly. “Bell...”
And before she had a chance to relent, she watched him shuffle back down the sidewalk, shutting the door quickly in his wake.
She raced back up her stairs to the bedroom she shared with her husband. Peering out of the window, she made sure that the Range Rover was gone. Then she sunk down onto her bedroom and exhaled laboriously.
There, it was all done now. She wanted to believe that she’d never have another day like this one. She knew for a fact that she’d try her hardest.
And it was even harder to admit, that she didn’t want him drifting away from her so easily. But some things were far easier to keep silent about.
She spent the next hour or so in the dark, writhing around in a cotton chemise that grew a little too tight for comfort. She tried rhythmic breathing as her doctor instructed, but nothing came of it. She simply slithered around, to and fro, as her skin grew clammy with anticipation that she could not see. She thought of calling Brandon just to hear his voice and quell the aching.
Aching.
What the hell was it, exactly? And why was she feeling it?
And then Harper kicked at her belly.
There you go, Harp, Mommy hears you. She placed her hand against her hardened belly and exhaled. Then, she smiled.
Her baby was restless, too. They both desired relief and she would draw them near it.
She rose from the bed and slid her feet to the floor. She wasn’t confused, nor was she agitated. Calmly, she sauntered into her bathroom and flicked on the light. Her smile grew larger. Crouching to her knees, she opened the cabinet doors beneath the sink and found a few cylindrical candles. She placed them sporadically about the room, then ran a bath, pouring a generous amount of the lavender soak that Asha had given her, into the steaming water. She’d never really spoiled herself - she even mulled over it for a few minutes to make sure that was true, mentally ambling through a series of memories, which involved Brandon and her family.
No. She’d never done it. The ones she loved always mattered more to her. She could never picture anything more satisfying - until now.
She retrieved a small packet of matches from Brandon’s nightstand drawer. Then, she lit each candle individually, transforming it into some type of therapeutic act. The rattling cadence of her heartbeat, sent thrilling thumps throughout her. She could have tumbled over with overwhelming inner delight.
Then, she killed the lights in the bathroom. Amber light flickered along the walls, creating unkempt shapes. She sank into the scalding hot water and watched them dance for awhile. Then, she closed her eyes, attempting to imagine what it would be like...
She’d be at a party in the city with a couple of her friends. She and he would lock eyes across a crowded room. He’d be standing next to a woman, some exotic looking thing, with perky tits and intelligible conversation. She’d be holding onto him, but he’d seem unaffected. She’d secretly laugh at herself, at the audacity of being a part of something so cliched. Then, one of them would walk away. She’d soon grow bored of staying in that room, with the monotonous chatter, and she’d saunter outside for fresh air. She’d watch the sky for awhile, catch a glimpse of the moon and the stars in tow, and try to guess how far away they were from her. Then, he’d approach her from behind. They’d be all alone...
She raised a hand from the water, lifted it before her eyes, and watched the water drip languidly from her fingertips.
She’d turn to face him. She’d serve him a coy countenance, with an unassuming smile. And she’d introduce herself long before he’d have a chance to speak.
“Natalie. Natalie Chandler.”
He’d sauntered toward her, wavy hair flung carelessly into his face by the crisp breeze. Her friends would call for her, but she’d pretend she didn’t hear it.
Her hand was now at her collarbone, teasing at it as she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. The meat of her thighs clenched at the sensation.
He’d press her against the wrought iron railing, throwing his pretentious social decorum aside, and she’d sink into him. She’d absorb the sight and smell and warmth of him as he trailed the tips of his fingers through her black hair and down the side of her tingling cheek.
&
nbsp; He’d lick his lips slowly, and she’d watch him do it.
Her fingers danced down her body, between her breasts, around her navel, along the hardness of her pelvic bone. She sang through a moan between her lips, nearly closed.
She’d succumb to her clandestine need to be closer to him, to be on the advantageous side of unrequited longing.
She moaned a little louder now, yielding to the thoughts that ravaged her head. Her mama would’ve shamed her for “all of that damn daydreaming”, but now? What did it all mean now? It felt good, damn it; her fingers working against the better resolve in her body, causing it to relinquish all control. She was now in love with what her fingers could do; blending harmoniously to the rhythm of the things she pictured in her head.
Then, her release came; humming through her body as she tensed, muttering things that she had no right of. But they made sense, nevertheless, and she felt better for it.
That night, she crawled into bed, tempered by her own sense of devious accomplishment.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, SHE AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF RATTLING IN THE KITCHEN, as sunlight stained her cheeks. She sat up sharply to ensure that she heard it correctly; the rattling grew louder.
Acting on instinct, she lunged across the bed and grabbed a hunting knife out of Brandon’s nightstand drawer. She’d never been much for fighting or violence, but Brandon had taught her a thing or two about defending herself when necessary. He’d purposely put that knife in his drawer for their own protection. It had been his grandfather’s and then Jack Greene’s, and eventually landed in his possession - all for the same reasons.
She clutched onto the knife fervently, holding it out in front of her as she made her way out of their bedroom and down the hallway. The floor creaked beneath her step and her heart throbbed against her chest.
What exactly was she to do if some untimely end was waiting for her downstairs? Would she fend for her life? Tell the intruder that she was pregnant and therefore immune to harm? Every scenario that tumbled in and out of her head only exacerbated her apprehension. Still, she meandered along, tiptoeing down the stairs carefully.
This is it, she thought, I accidentally left the door unlocked and now I’m a dead woman...Brandon’s going to kill me...wait...I’ll already be dead.