To Catch a Falling Star

by L. Duarte

  I lean on the doorframe and drink in the sight of her. Her curls fall untamed over her shoulders. They’re still damp from the shower. The steamy air is sultry. She tilts to reach her calf, and I see a tattoo on her right hip. It reads Psalms 91. I wonder what it means. I’ll have to Google it later.

  The sight of her is intoxicating. I feel like a junkie, debating if I should give in to the craving. I need to calm the hell down.

  Desire boils in my veins. I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. The sound of my ragged breath alerts Mel to my presence. She startles and nicks her leg. She glances my way.

  “Shit,” she mutters, noticing the blood on her leg. With one long stride, I close the gap separating us inside the small bathroom.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, examining the cut.

  Mel sucks in a deep breath. My lips turn into a cocky smile. She can sense the electricity humming on the humid room. And from the frightened way she stares at me, she matches my desire for her.

  I turn the faucet on and rinse the blood on her leg. I grab a towel and dry her leg. Mel is still, but I feel her body trembling under my touch.

  Dropping the towel, my fingers caress the skin she just shaved. Damn, she is so soft. Her smell is intoxicating. A small drop of blood oozes from the nip. I lean in and stroke my tongue over the cut, wiping away the drop of blood.

  I look up. My gaze meets Mel’s. Hell, her green eyes have golden flames pulling me in. Her stare is so intense; I could get lost inside them, and never find my way out.

  She bites her lower lip. The gesture unleashes the overwhelming desire threatening to combust if I don’t have her. A full-blown erection presses against my jeans. It is fucking painful.

  UNASHAMEDLY, I NOTICE lust pooling inside my core. His proximity alone is exhilarating. I swallow hard and bite my lip. Damn, he’s so attractive. A sobering reminder he’s out of my league.

  The sexual tension in the enclosed space grows to epic proportion. I’m idiotically frozen under his captivating gaze.

  Standing dangerously close, Tarry gently holds a strand of hair on his hand, as he did the first day we kissed. Then, he nuzzles into my hair and inhales, as if inhaling his last allotted breath of air on this earth.

  Lava boils inside me. A volcano is slowly stirring and reading for eruption after an excruciating long slumber. Tarry kisses me, but is not just a kiss. I feel devoured as a meal after a long period of starvation. He kiss makes me feel similar to rain saturating a parched land after a long period of drought.

  “No,” I moan, yielding and melting to his towering built. I kiss him back with all my might.

  Ignoring me, Tarry fists my hair and deepens the kiss. His lips consume mine, as he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth.

  In one swift move, he grabs my ass and spins me so I’m sitting on the sink. His fingers dig in my hips, as he settles in between my thighs and pulls me to his erection.

  “No,” I moan again. But my traitorous hands pull off his hoody. My fingers curl around his biceps, fiercely drawing him closer. It is hard to breathe, but I don’t care. I can’t stand to have an inch separating us. I grasp the hem of his shirt and I pull it over his head. His chiseled chest has a trail of soft blond hair. My mouth grazes his feverish skin, biting, liking, and sucking. My nails dig into the taut muscles of his back. I hear a growl escaping from his throat.

  Tarry draws back and stares at me with his hooded eyes. “No?” he asks in between ragged breaths.

  “No.” I pull him back, bury my face in the crook of his neck and inhale his citrus scent. My tongue trails on the sensitive skin. I feel the throbbing of his pulse under my hungry mouth. My trembling fingers fumble for the button on his jeans. I repeat, “No,” trying to convince myself to stop. Finally, I push his jeans down; they land on the tile with a thud. Hell, he is going commando. His erection springs free. My breath is ragged. He is huge.

  His fingers snap my bra, releasing my breasts. He pulls back, stares at my heaving chest, and says, “So fucking beautiful.” He cups my heavy breasts in his large hands. They fit so perfectly. He harshly rubs his thumb on my nipple sending a throbbing shock of pleasure to the core of my body. He lowers his head and his mouth eagerly captures my nipple, his teeth scrape the hypertensive skin, and he sucks. Hard. All the muscles in my body contract and I moan.

  “No?” He breathes, reaching for my panties. His able fingers easily tear the lace that is the final barrier between us.

  “No,” I repeat.

  He pulls back. His breath comes in shallow and fast gulps of air. His eyes are strained. I see his body shuddering. This is it. He’s giving me one last chance.

  I try to formulate the word no or yes. But I can’t. Confusing emotions, reasoning, and speech jumble together. I clasp his shoulders and draw him to me. I arch my body to mold to his. Please don’t make me speak. I make a silent plea.

  Tarry must know this is monumental. He takes my silence as a yes, crushing his lips over mine. He settles between my legs, and I tremble when his fingers slide inside me. “Damn, Mel, you’re so wet.” His voice is raw and yearning.

  I arch further, pressing myself against his tantalizing fingers. Waves of pleasure course through my body.

  “My Melody…” He breathes in my ear. His lips trail down my neck, suckling hard on the sensitive skin.

  Tarry pulls back and fixes his eyes on mine. I stare back, panting and eager to have him inside me. With one slow thrust, he slides inside me. Time and space freezes the moment he penetrates me. Powerful emotions seize me. Tarry stops, his eyes are a new shade of gray and resemble the sky during a summer storm. My eyes plead for more. With a sharp thrust, he reaches deeper inside me. His eyes are so intent, so solemn. He penetrates deep into my soul.

  “Holy fuck, you’re so tight, so hot,” he growls.

  I moan and close my eyes, unable to sustain the intensity of his stare. I fall into a spiral of emotions. My nails sink in his back. I bite my lips and blood spurts inside my mouth. I press myself into Tarry, hoping to fuse our bodies together.

  Tarry increases the cadence of movements. I wrap my legs around his hips and press my heels in his ass. I arch my back to meet and intensify the thrust of his hips. My insides quiver and our physical surroundings disappear. Our entangled bodies start to float in an endless sea of carnal feelings.

  “Oh, Tarry!” I jerk my head back and close my eyes. My body trembles and quivers. I try to inhale and exhale, but my body is so tuned in to the delicious sensations that it seems to have forgotten how to do the mechanical movements.

  One of Tarry’s hands is digging in my hip; the other grabs the nape of my head. He tangles his fingers in my hair and yanks my mouth to his. His tongue is invasive and taunting. I taste of him and, again, I struggle simply to breathe. He pants as his hips thrust harder, deeper, and faster. A half-scream, half-moan escapes my throat.

  And I explode.

  My body surrenders to a mind-blowing orgasm. I growl loudly and my voice is strained. Tarry’s body shudders and he growls on my ear. “Fuck, Mel.” As he, too, comes undone.

  With my body trembling, I sag against his sweaty chest. Seconds, minutes pass. I lose track of time. Slowly, my body returns to a familiar calmer rhythm. His long and possessive arms embrace me and he remains hard inside me. A distant voice, emanates from downstairs, and brings me back to reality. Panic steals through me. It can’t be.

  Steve.

  My head snaps up and the realization runs through my mind and sobers me. What have I done?

  “Mel, are you up there, the door was unlock—” I hear Steve’s voice.

  “I’m up here,” I yell. “I’m almost ready. Be right down,” I say with words tumbling over each other.

  I glance up. Tarry regards me with clouded eyes. His breath is still irregular.

  I peel my body away from his, and wrap a tower around my chest. From my peripheral view, I see him pulling his pants up.

  “Mel, wait,”
Tarry says.

  Ignoring him, I turn to leave, but Tarry grabs my arm, and tugs my back to his bare chest. My body trembles. And I feel his hissed breath against my ears.

  “Please stay with me tonight. Don’t go,” he pleads with an agonizing whisper.

  “Let go of me,” I croak, yanking my arm away.

  I make a run to my room, and shut the door, hoping he will have the decency to not show his face to Steve.

  Feeling faint, I will my breathing to settle. Standing in front of the dresser mirror, I don’t recognize the wild woman staring back at me. My lips are swollen, my skin flushed. The ache between my legs is a reminder of what transpired inside the bathroom.

  A silent sob rises from my throat, as a rush of confusing emotions tumbles through me. I settle for the anger simmering inside my chest, allowing it to replace the sedation after lovemaking. Fucking. I didn’t make love, I allowed a man whore to fuck me, standing in the bathroom of my house. A home that Tim and I built with love and innocence.

  Shaking my head, I try to align my scrambled thoughts. No, I won’t blame Tarry for fucking me. I was more than a willing participant. I enjoyed every second of it. The awareness hits me.

  My fingers tremble as I stroke a dark reddish spot on my neck. Seriously, Tarry, a hickey? There goes my plan of wearing the black dress.

  Guilt overtakes me. All I want is to curl up on bed and forget this ever happened. How can I face Steve? Not to mention, if he didn’t hear me, how long had passed before he called for me?

  Saving the self-loathing for later, I square my shoulders and search my dresser for a turtleneck sweater and slacks. Hastily, I apply mascara and lip gloss, grab a jacket, and leave the room.

  “There you’re.” Steve holds out his hands to me. A broad smile spreads across his face, increasing my guilt tremendously.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” I regard him carefully, confirming that he did not hear Tarry and I in my bathroom. God, I hope he doesn’t notice my “just been fucked” face.

  He kisses my cheek, “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, apparently oblivious of my distress. Relief courses through me, and I almost start to relax.

  “Thank you.” I murmur, glancing nervously, toward the stairs.

  “Ready?” Taking my hand, he leads me to the front door.

  Once outside, moonlight and a crisp air salute us. The ground is under a blanket of orange and red leaves. It’s a beautiful evening. I force a smile.

  Steve opens the door of his truck and assists me in. During the short drive, he weaves a light conversation inquiring me about Ella’s first year of school.

  I take a deep, cleansing breath. It’s time to stop thinking about what happened and try to salvage the evening.

  We go to Lucia’s Ristorante, a new Italian place downtown. I suspect Steve carefully selected a place unvisited by Tim and me. The sweet gesture warms my heart, increasing the shame over what I did. He’s a perfect gentleman and, with each smile he flashes my way, I feel guilt swelling in my chest.

  Inside the restaurant, I sit on the chair Steve gallantly pulls out for me. Candles centered at the table cast a soft glow over his face. Steve is attentive and gentle, talking about all sorts of topics.

  We order dinner and a bottle of red wine. It’s the perfect date with the perfect guy. But my mind betrays me often, reminiscing about molten-gray eyes penetrating deep into my soul as we made love. Sex. I must keep that in mind.

  The evening of pretense and the conflicting emotions swirling inside me slowly envelop me and, as a result, I’m fatigued and quiet. I’m relieved when Steve asks for the check.

  An uncomfortable silence hovers over us during the ride home. I clamber out of the car and stumble guiltily toward the front door. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Steve.” I offer.

  “I had a great time, Mel,” he says, standing by the front door. I notice his hopeful expression. My fists curl into a tight ball.

  “Sorry I wasn’t great company tonight, I have a killer headache. And in all honesty, it is weird going out on a date.” I force another smile.

  “Don’t worry, Mel. I had a great time. I hope your headache gets better.”

  “Good night.” I press a brief kiss on his cheek, making clear he is not invited in.

  “Good night.” Disappointment crosses his face, but he smiles. “I hope to repeat tonight soon.” I nod and wave as he turns and leaves me in the front yard.

  I watch as his truck disappears down the road. Walking across my front yard, I step on a desolate flowerbed. Dark clouds block the moonlight. The cold air bites my skin. I blink and shove my hands inside my jacket pockets. Hoping the frigid air will clear my mind, I head to the only place able to offer me solace. To Tim’s.

  Accompanied by a dense fog and falling leaves, I walk the five minutes to the graveyard. Ella and I visit Tim’s plot constantly, bringing flowers, notes, and little things to place on it. It is our way of paying homage. Also, it’s a way of having something physical. Something other than the endless memories slowly fading away and turning precious and scarce.

  Stark gravestones with their pointing, accusatory fingers, whisper of lost dreams, but remain indifferent to my inner turmoil. The wind-rustled dry leaves make a sound similar to a rattlesnake.

  I sink my knees on the grass that is covered by murky dead leaves. My fingers tremble as I trace the barbed letters of Tim’s name etched on gray and cold marble. Wisps of smudging memories, billowing through my mind, trigger a surge of new tears. I grasp at the memories to try to retain images of simple days, like lake swimming and basking in the sun afterward. These recollections are now a distant blur. I used to think our love was unforgettable, unstoppable, and eternal. I was wrong.

  Through a curtain of tears, I stare at the headstone. Silvery light from the moon filters through the clouds and glows on the grim words reading ‘Beloved son, husband, and father. Forever in our hearts.’

  “Why did you have to go, Tim?” Tears flood my face. “I miss you so, so much. If you were here, none of this would ever have happened.”

  Curling my body into a tight ball facing the headstone, I weep. Slowly, my sobs subside. A cryptic emptiness, like smoke trapped within the wall of a locked room, spreads in my hollow chest, suffocating me. I am empty.

  Strong arms swiftly sweep me off the ground. Before I have time to react, I recognize Tarry’s citric scent.

  “Let me take you home,” he says quietly. He gazes down at me and his eyes emanate tenderness and worry.

  I want to fight him. But I don’t. His gentleness undoes me. Besides, my capability of a sane judgment is impaired at this moment, clouded by untrusting emotions. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I feel weak. Exhaustion seeps through my bones and soul. So, silently, I let him carry me home.

  I’M AN INSENSITIVE piece of shit. Really, I am. Mel’s sobbing, etched with pain, hurts the fucking hell out of me. Her body, frail and delicate, quivers inside my arms. Her hair, spilling over my shoulder, emanates her scent. Unconsciously, my body stirs to life. Weirdly, I want more of her. No, I need her. It kills me that the need is not reciprocated. Yeah, she reacted like fire when kissing the face of gasoline. But that was it for her. A fire kindled for a carnal need. Mel relinquished to my constant bombarding of her.

  I can’t bring myself to regret what I did, but seeing Mel this broken pierces my conscience. A novelty, I never felt this turmoil of emotions toward anyone. A strange sense of remorse swamps me. These foreign emotions, crash head-on with the certainty that this was the best sex I’ve ever had.

  Sex with Mel was fucking unexplainable. It was the closest to nirvana that I’ve ever achieved. Any drugs I’ve used merely imitate the high I had while moving inside her. Consequently, no other sex I’ve had—and I’ve had plenty—came remotely close to the wholeness of uniting my body with Mel’s.

  Why, then, does it hurt?

  Pathetic doesn’t describe me as I waited for her to return home from her date with the douche. The feeling
grinding inside my chest is foreign and unbidden. Fuck. It pisses me that she chose him, even though I begged her to stay.

  With long strides, I get to the Jeep, and place Mel on the passenger seat. She avoids making eye contact with me, which stings. But I try not to think about my screwed up feelings. At this moment, I just want to sooth the broken woman before me.

  Silently, I drive the short distance to her house. I park in the driveway and open the door for her. She feebly steps onto the pavement. Before she protests, I scoop her into my arms. Without a peep, she hides her face on my shoulder, but her body trembles slightly.

  Opening the back door, I carry her inside, heading straight upstairs. Instinctively, I head down the hall and enter her room. Grateful, I spot the queen bed bathed under the moonlight coming through the window.

  I settle her on the bed, remove her shoes, and pull the covers over her shaking body. For the first time since I saw her at the graveyard, Mel’s stare meets mine.

  Life harbors surprises. In my case, they make rare appearances. But what happens next astonishes me.

  Behind her lush lashes, Mel’s eyes are clouded and teary. Her lips tremble when she speaks. “Tarry, please don’t go yet. I don’t want to be alone.”

  I search her vulnerable eyes and identify undiluted loneliness in them. A realization hits me, the deep abyss of sadness I see engrained deep in her soul, matches my very own.

  Unwilling and unable to refuse what she offers, I kick my shoes off, and lie next to her small frame. Our bodies fit together perfectly. She presses her soft curves against me and I know, at this very moment, a small part of me belongs to her. The awareness is troublesome because I suspect the particular piece to be my very own heart. I inhale deeply, knowing that the whole of me will soon follow and surrender to the woman inside my embrace. The implication of the sudden knowledge strikes me with nuclear power. I’m falling for this woman, who refuses to belong to anyone other than her deceased husband. I have a dead man as a rival.