The Way Home

by Simpson, Stefanie

  It was dark when she woke. Ryan was sat up, fishing his feet out of his trousers.

  “Hey.”

  “Sorry.” He turned and kissed her. He didn’t dress, but put his feet on and left the room.

  He returned with water.

  “You okay?”

  A bit dazed, he climbed into bed. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. It was incredible.”

  She smiled as they just looked at each other.

  Cap clawed at the door. “I think she needs to go out. I usually take her out before bed. I’ll be right back.” She put on her little robe and let Cap do her business. It was four, and the light was edging in the predawn.

  He was still awake when she rejoined him. She went to him with urgency, she didn’t know why, but she was suddenly desperate to hold onto what they shared.

  Em pulled at him, holding tight. Ryan fell with her into the moment, barely remembering the condom. It was hard and fast. Needy and reaching.

  He was kneeling over her, her hips up in the air, as he held onto her body, both of his arms wrapped around her middle, her legs around his waist. Her back arched down to the bed with arms beside her, the strength of her back and his hold on held them steady as he took her, head falling forward as he came in the wake of her orgasm.

  He didn’t let her go, but made tiny movements in her, making small noises in the back of his throat. Her body screamed with strain. He sat back, she saw the power of him, always restrained, and a thread of fear and joy ran through her, she contracted internally at it, and he cried out again, his arms tight.

  He was still coming. She watched with fascination as he opened his eyes and grinned, but in another moment, almost pained, his mouth fell open, and he moaned again. It was beyond sensual, he was everything that she would ever want and need, she knew it, and it was frightening. He started to loosen his grip, and finally, he lay them both down but didn’t withdraw.

  “You can’t stay in all night.”

  “I can try.”

  “You can’t still be hard.”

  “I doubt I’ll be anything else again.” He licked at her open mouth.

  “Oh fuck. Enough.”

  “Enough?” he grinned again.

  She pushed him out with a cry, and he let her, and then fell back. She took care of the condom again, as he seemed unable to move.

  An alarm went off. It was bright. Cap barked.

  “Uh.” Ryan sat up and silenced it. “I have to go to work.”

  “Okay. Coffee?”

  “Thanks.” She stumbled out of bed, trying not to be her usual grumpy self.

  She fed Cap, tied up her hair, and put the coffee on. Ryan came out dressed, moving shyly. She poured him a cup and sipped her own.

  “I’m going to go, I can’t shower here, and I need clean clothes.”

  “I know. It’s okay.” He nodded. “Do you regret last night?”

  “No, it was, I’m just…”

  “Not good at this?”

  “Pretty much.”

  They drank their coffee in silence and exchanged furtive glances until she laughed.

  “Okay, well, off you go. I need a shower too.”

  He blinked.

  “Are you picturing it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She grinned, and he stood, kissed her, and left. He turned back.

  “Let’s have that dinner tonight.”

  “Sure.” She put her head on the table when she was alone. “Ah fuck.” Cap cocked her head.

  Nervous energy took over, and she cleaned, gardened, even did the windows. Ryan rang her at lunch to arrange their date. She feigned normalcy.

  She had a shot before he arrived to calm her down. Cap was stowed with Kevin, as he offered to watch her, but Ryan was nowhere around.

  “Where is he?”

  “Moved all his stuff out earlier and I think he’s sorting his shit out. You know, he knocked for you when he was here, but there was no answer.”

  “I might have been working out.”

  “I’ve never seen him so happy. He was smiling. A big fat goofy grin.”

  “Who’d have thought it?” she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She wanted to cry.

  Ryan’s car pulled up.

  When he got out, her jaw dropped. She had only seen him in jeans or cargos, and t-shirts. He wore a perfectly tailored white shirt open at the collar, and grey perfectly fitted dress trousers. He looked like a model. She’d never been overly fond of built men, but he was an exception, his thighs did something to her. He even wore smart shoes, not boots.

  She wore conservative pale grey silk dress with hidden buttons to the waist, the neck was a sharp vee, and the fabric hung elegantly to her knees. It nipped in at the waist with her tan belt, and miraculously she didn’t have boob gap.

  He looked her up and down, and they stared at each other. Kevin said bye, and they absently answered. She tapped her tan heel, his eye followed, and he smiled.

  “Favourite shoes?”

  “Four hundred quid shoes. I like to get my wear out of them.”

  He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you. You scrub up pretty well.” She grinned, and he took her hand. He drove in silence. She fidgeted.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Nervous.” She might as well prime him for what was to come.

  “Why?”

  “The things I have to tell you are important. I should have told you before.”

  “Wait, you’re not married, are you?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Are you on the run?”

  “No. Not from the police anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” his scowl returned, relaxing her.

  “Give me a little longer.”

  He nodded.

  She hadn’t been to the restaurant before, it was a little distance away, and was very nice, and quiet, it was a Monday after all.

  She sipped her wine, and ordered, and was still.

  “I’ll tell you what, you’re obviously working up to this, and I’ll be honest, I’m worried what you’re going to say. Seeing as it’s difficult, I won’t push. Shall I give you my sob story first?”

  She nodded. When he spoke, he came to life. Before, he seemed restrained and unsure. Last night he had been entirely different, and he was comfortable with her now, expressing emotions, he let his smile out, moving his hands unconsciously, at ease.

  “Okay. I don’t have any family. I was in care when I was four, I have no memories of my mum, and she was a drug addict, and other things, her life was pretty bad. She died when I was fifteen. I have no idea who my dad was.

  “I wasn’t a rebel; all I wanted was a better life. I worked hard, kept my head down, and tried to get on with it. I had a few friends but no one close. I was completely alone. I did my A-levels, I was in a stable enough situation by then, but I couldn’t afford uni. I could have got help for it, but it wasn’t right for me.

  “I knew if I didn’t do something to get out, I’d end up with a shit job and a life that I’d resent. I enlisted in the army, and that was that. I was young, still a boy in so many ways, but it suited me, and I found a family, with my brothers. I had a home with them, and I belonged. I made Captain.” He grinned. “When you said your dog was called Cap, I thought it was a sign.”

  She laughed.

  “So, I won’t go into details but, I was travelling from one hot place to another, there was no mission, or fight, just travelling. Convey blew up. Four men died in one of the trucks, ours was in the middle, and we were flipped. I took a blow to the head. I managed to get out, I was dazed, disorientated, and I stumbled along the road. I didn’t hear the guys calling to me, or trying to get to me.

  “Boom, up I went, it wasn’t a massive blast, that’s the only reason I’m still alive, I think it was defective, and I was thrown into the wreckage of the burning truck. Talk about sh
itty luck. That’s the last thing I remember. I spent some time in a coma. I woke up and couldn’t accept that I didn’t have feet. That was hard to come to terms with. You half expect it, fuck, half the guys go out with tourniquets already around their legs just in case, and you see it happen, but when it’s you,” he trailed off and stilled for a minute.

  “I had no one. No one to visit me when I got back. I ended up at Capta House after the hospital stitched me back together, and I was flown back to the UK. I fell into a pretty bad depression for a while, but I got help, and I attended all the therapy I could get. I threw myself into rehab and training. I even took up meditation.

  “I joined the wheelchair basketball squad. I took to it, and long story short, they eventually saw my value and offered me a job. I oversee the sports programmes, the extra stuff beyond physical therapy. It helps with morale, mental health, helps people to adjust.”

  Her heart lurched. She fucking loved him. He was incredible. This wasn’t good.

  “My weirdness with you isn’t about my injuries so much, but more that I have a real problem forming relationships. Being a kid without family can fuck you up a bit. I dealt with many things in therapy, and I still see my therapist. He’s been helping me understand my feelings for you, and how to handle them. I know I didn’t do a good job when we met but see how I’ve improved. Whole sentences and everything.”

  She took a deep breath. “You are extraordinary. Truly, the rarest kind of man. Thank you, for telling me all that. I don’t deserve you.”

  Their plates were cleared, and they only had the dregs of their wine. She ran her finger along the white tablecloth.

  “Right then.”

  Eight. Perception

  “From the beginning?”

  “Sure.”

  She glanced at him, nauseated, palms sweating. Ryan was a good man, he had problems, but under it, he was fantastic. She wanted to cry as her heart hammered.

  “I developed early. I’m not vain, but I was very self-conscious about my body and uncomfortable in it for a long time. I hated what I turned into. I know what I look like, how people see me, and what they think. Here’s the thing about being well endowed so young, and I mean thirteen, fourteen; people assumed that I was a slut.

  “Sometimes, when people make you out to be something that you’re not, you can only fight against it for so long. I was a sweet slightly reserved girl, a bit hesitant, not social. Fuck, I was still a virgin at sixteen, but all the boys in my school claimed I’d shagged them, and everyone believed it. I looked sexual when I was anything but. I tried so hard not to be that girl. After a while, it was easier to be her, and use that perception of myself. I learnt how to pretend.

  “I hated it and at the same time fell into using it, and particularly at such a young age, it was a recipe for disaster. Hearing what you’ve been through makes me realise how trivial it was, how self-obsessed you must think me. I did some stupid things when I was younger. Reckless things that now I look back on, and they make me angry. I’m furious that I was coerced. Angry that I became so arrogant and conceited. I hate who I was, and at the same time, I miss being her, she was easier to be than whoever I am now.

  “I had a boyfriend when I was seventeen, and he was nearly thirty. I thought I was the shit. It was creepy. He was a pervert. He wanted me to sleep with his friends for money, he’d get me to try drugs, and he wanted me to work as a stripper for him.

  “It was horrible, all the time. I left him and decided to go home, but mum made me feel worse. I met Angie at a club when I was out one night, a friend of a friend was letting me sleep on her settee, and she worked for Angie, she took me in, gave me a job, and things changed then.”

  Ryan sat back, watching Em slow her breath.

  “It was a burlesque review. More like a cabaret show in London. I met the manager, an old woman, a proper old bird, who’d been a stripper in sixties Soho. Angie was the headliner and the director. It was all women, but not all of us took our clothes off, well, I mean, some of us did. There was a comedy act, magic, a singer, and some proper rude shit, audience participation, all sorts.

  “At first, I was a runner; I did a bit of everything, costume making, props, was a stooge in the crowd, I was a background dancer for a bit. Angie helped me work out my act, what my strengths were, other than my assets. She became my mentor. I’d always danced, even had some lessons as a kid, it came pretty naturally, so it wasn’t a huge leap for me.

  “My mum had a fit over it. We properly fell out then, I’d tried to keep in touch with her even if I disappointed her, but that seemed to be it. Angie was great, she totally understood me. How people saw me, how I’m always torn between one idea of who I should be and one that was put on me. She helped me make peace with it. To accept and like my body, and the power it had. She has two kids, and I helped her with them, it was like I was part of a family for the first time.

  “Eventually I got my own slot. I was good. I had this innocent ethereal thing going on. I danced pretty well, and although I didn’t wear much, I didn’t strip. It was about the little scene I’d do.

  “I did it for a while. Those people became my family. It was the best time. We were in our own little world, with like-minded people, and we all understood what we were about. There were no inhibitions. It wasn’t perfect, nothing is. That many women together? You can bet your bed there were fights, all the stuff you can imagine. Some girls partied too hard. There was a lot of sex and drugs about, and the shit-fuck people who came with them. I was lucky, I had that out the way, and I learnt who to avoid. I learnt to read people in those situations. But that’s not to say I didn’t party. I ate well, slept properly, worked out, and didn’t do drugs. I had more fun in five years than most people do in their whole lives. Having said that, it was just a job, we were professional, and I was good at it.

  “Angie and I were like best friends and mother and daughter, and I helped raise her kids for the best part of five years. I was eighteen when I started at the review. At twenty-three, I was a fucking queen. Angie stopped performing, and she took over management. I was the headline. I had a perfect body for it, and by that time, I didn’t care about being naked in front of anyone.

  “I’d rather not tell you this, but part of me wants you to understand who I was and that I loved being that version of Em. I wasn’t a bitch, and I helped all the girls coming up. It isn’t easy to get your tits out in front of five hundred people for the first time; I tried to be like Angie. I was liked, I fit in, and it felt like home, I wanted the people around me to be happy, comfortable, and safe.

  “By that time, I was semi-known. Well known within our circles, but I was on every social media outlet, and was fairly popular in a wider sense. It was all about brand. That’s what I’d become, a brand.

  “The thing of it is most girls had other jobs. Women’s sexuality can be complicated, and burlesque can be empowering, instilling confidence and surety in your sexuality, it’s why some people do it, and I did nothing else. One of the fan dancers was a legal secretary, and one of the raunchiest dancers worked in a shoe shop. I realised I couldn’t do it forever because eventually, everything goes south. I wanted to diversify.” She shifted in her seat. “I was a party girl, I worked hard, but I fucking partied. I had my share of fun. I had my share of good stories. I started writing it down. It was a blog, which went viral and became a book.

  “I landed an agent and a deal, and sold the rights, and now it’s a TV show.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Ask me what I do, this time I’ll be honest.”

  He shook his head, his intense confused scowl returned. “I write, essentially, porn.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He was genuinely perplexed.

  “Try.” Her tone was flat. Silence. The scowling intensified. “I tried to get back in touch with my mum, and that doing so well meant that she might understand a bit more, maybe even be proud of me. She didn’t. She’s ashamed what I did, of m
e.

  “I have an aunt, my dad’s sister who lives up north. She found me and told me that my dad was sick, and he was dying. I dropped my life and went to him, and Auntie Di explained about what had happened. Mum always said he just abandoned us, but he didn’t. She made it impossible to stay, making everyone miserable. I haven’t spoken to her since.

  “He gave up in the end, I’m not okay with that, but I understand why he did. I just wish he’d taken me with him. I confronted my mother, she was so angry I was coming to see him, and it just made me want to come here more.

  “Dad was…he had no one, he told me about what had happened, and that he’d always tried, sent gifts, tried to see me. I didn’t know she had been in touch with him all that time, and she hid him from me. I’m still pissed about the time I never had with him. I packed up my life and came here. I cared for him and then I grieved, for what I lost with him, for the man.

  “When he was gone I couldn’t go back.” She shifted uncomfortably. “We have a strong online presence, and it’s part and parcel of it all. I had a lot of abuse, we all did, but when I left, I got a lot more of it, it became this orchestrated hate campaign, and it was horrible. I had death threats and rape threats, dick pics, and I even had photos of dead children sent to me. It wasn’t one or two, it was constant, hundreds every day, and I was terrified. They knew where I lived, everything about me, and I was too afraid to go back. The police didn’t give a fuck. I was grieving and afraid, so I stayed here. I didn’t want to go back to Angie’s and put her and her children at risk, or the other girls.

  “I met Jess in a pharmacy. I was queuing for dad’s prescription. Something was wrong with getting the meds, and I started crying, I lost it. She put her arm around me and helped me out. It was near the end, he knew it, and I knew it. I had been all action, and ‘get the fuck on with it’, but I fell apart. Told everyone my dad was dying in a whiny, high-pitched wail. I told her everything. She said she fell in love with me. She was the first person who didn’t judge me that I’d met since I left my life behind. She helped me see that I could have a new life.

  “When dad died she stayed with me and helped me get wasted. A few days later, I’d been to the funeral home, and got lost. I just kept driving. To this day, I don’t know where I was, but I was down this quiet road, near some woods, and I saw this young dog tied up to a signpost. She was lying on the ground. I pulled up and trickled water out of my bottle to her, and she practically chugged it.