EXcapades

by Kay, Debra

  His strong arms were enclosed around me, holding me against his chest. Using his free hand, he rubbed tenderly up and down on my exposed arm. He wrapped his leg around mine, creating a protective barrier. For that instant, I felt safe from the world. As I nestled in his arms, I wished the pain would go away. Breathe deep. Relax. And with that thought, the pain eased. I drifted peacefully to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, I woke with an overall feeling that something was wrong. I lay frozen in fear. I grimaced from stinging abdominal pain that made my ribcage throb. Opening my eyes in a flash, I discovered the room spinning, so I quickly shut them.

  When I finally did pry my eyes open, the room was filled with sunlight. I felt disoriented and confused. After a few seconds, I tried to focus and looked around the bedroom. I edged myself onto my elbow and looked for Blake. Where was he? And where was I? I shook my head, trying to release that muddled feeling.

  The last time I woke up feeling this way, I’d been drinking tequila. But that experience was years ago—one tequila, two tequila, three tequila . . . floor. “To-kill-you.” My friends would joke about their tequila-filled nights. And I was feeling like the punch line to their jokes.

  But oddly, I’d had only a couple glasses of wine last night, and it had never affected me this way before. Was this a hangover? No, it couldn’t be. I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry, and my stomach ached. I felt as if I’d been eating sandpaper. And I’d never been this thirsty.

  I tried to recall the events of the prior day. Vague visions flashed through my mind—of the snow and the fitness room. But beyond those bursts of thought, my mind was hazy. Slowly, I began to visualize yesterday’s fun. Last night was exciting, but I didn’t do anything to cause this kind of physical response.

  Finally, I collected myself and jerked my head sharply toward the clock. I blinked frantically. What time was it? I still couldn’t read those blurry numbers. I rolled my entire body over and studied the clock. Did it flash one o’clock p.m.? Could that really be possible?

  I tried to untangle myself from the sheets, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and stood. My legs turned to jelly. I teetered back and forth. I stumbled and fell limp into the bed. It was a futile effort. Maybe sex for a day straight could wear out anyone. I sighed; evidently not Blake.

  A moment later I tried to rise again, but this time more slowly. I felt my knees shaking and stood a minute to gather my composure. For some reason, I was finding it hard to breathe. I felt nauseous and dragged myself to the bathroom and risked a glance in the mirror. Bad idea; I was a mess.

  I turned the faucet on full blast, and it gushed with a whooshing sound. Next, I splashed cold water on my face. No help. I still felt trapped in someone else’s body. I closed my eyes and wished to be healthy again. At the same time, I heard Blake enter the hotel room. “Lila,” he shouted. My heart beat faster from the sound of his voice.

  I whimpered, “I’ll be out briefly.” And I remembered my doctor’s cautionary words: “Take it easy.”

  Blake shouted and rapped on the closed bathroom door. “Are you in there?” A minute later, he charged into the bathroom, looking alarmed.

  The sight he saw could not have been pretty. I was sitting on the vanity chair with my head pressed against the mirror, eyes swollen and half-closed. Even delirious, I could read the sudden surprised look on his face and his shudder of shock—unmistakable. There was no hiding my plight. My health had declined so rapidly overnight, the sight of me now made his breath gasp. I must have looked up with an empty stare and pained appearance. Blake viewed me with his mouth open in horror.

  Blake declared, “No. No. What happened?”

  I know I must look haggard, but this was not the response I wanted to hear. In a toneless voice I heard myself say, “I think I need help getting back into bed.” My words sounded distorted, almost swirling in my head, and I wondered if someone else was speaking them. Am I just mumbling nebulous phrases, or can he understand me? And am I saying my words out loud?

  From my fumbling words, and glassy-eyed gaze, we both knew the situation had turned abysmal. My entire appearance must have altered from the vivacious woman he had held the night before. The fun ideas we had planned for the day all but disappeared.

  But once I finally regained some of my composure, I took careful note of the vision in front of me. In my fleeting seconds of lucidity, I saw that Blake looked exceptional in his tight running pants and form-fitting shirt stretched tight across his chest. He is fireman-level gorgeous.

  And there was no mistaking the contrast between us. This afternoon, I knew my face looked sick, pale, and pasty, and he looked so healthy, energetic, and vibrant.

  He gently stroked my hair. “How are you feeling, sweetness?”

  After a long silence, I gave an enervated response that was more of a mumble. “Better now that I see your gorgeous, sweaty body.”

  He laughed. “Well, at least you still have your sense of humor. I’m a little drenched. I just finished an eight-mile run.” But I was barely listening, because I was only thinking about how exhausted I felt and hoped I wouldn’t collapse. Blake interrupted my daze. “Maybe your caffeine level is getting critically low. How about I get you some and fuel you back up?”

  “Are you teasing me again?” I asked. I stood, but I staggered and faltered when I took my first step.

  He grabbed my arm and led me back to the bed; his touch instantly soothed me. “Rest may help you. You looked so peaceful earlier. I didn’t want to wake you. So I had breakfast, read the paper, and worked out.” I only could marvel at his stamina. Blake was something else with his high energy level and perpetually pleasant demeanor.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs, I said, “Maybe my equilibrium is just a little off?”

  He shook his head. “What were you—sneaking shots of vodka throughout the day?”

  I tilted my head and made a pouty face. “Funny guy. I’m just having a rough day, and maybe I’m fighting off a cold.” Even I could hear how exhausted I sounded. And my words were not fooling anyone.

  “Are you sure there isn’t something else we need to discuss?” he asked.

  After shaking my head, he helped me climb under the covers. He tucked the blankets around me and kissed my forehead. Even feeling sick, he brought out my smile. I flashed grateful eyes at him. “You’re the light in my darkness,” I said.

  “You’re my light,” he whispered. He jumped to his feet and bolted toward the door. I listened to his footsteps fading. And then with a sigh I clutched the sheets around myself. I closed my eyes; I wished I had the energy to keep up with him today. I heard the door close.

  “Wait,” I called after him. “I didn’t mean to send you running for your life.” I shouted.

  The door opened, and Blake peeked in. “Lila, didn’t you hear me? I said I’m getting you a soda.”

  I pulled the sheet over my mouth. “Oh.” A moment later, I sat upright. I tried to give him my best welcoming smile when he returned.

  He handed me the cold soda, but I was too exhausted to drink more than a couple sips. I lay back on the pillows, and the need for sleep began to overpower me.

  Blake sat by my side while I started to drift peacefully to sleep. My breathing rate slowed and became shallow. I muttered incoherent words. I could see Blake leaning in to hear my babble, trying to make out what I said.

  In my delirium, I panicked about my sickness. I wanted to tell Blake, but I was afraid. Did I just mumble something? Did I just say out loud, “I’m leaving you . . . I’m going to have to leave you?” No, I must have thought those words. In my confused state, I wasn’t sure what was real. But I thought I saw Blake stare at me in wide-eyed silence while he grabbed for his stomach. A moment later, he rushed out of the room and slammed the door. My head felt fuzzy, confused, and I quickly drifted to sleep.

  When I woke up an hour later, I was myself again, almost euphoric to feel good again. However, that elated feeling
quickly passed when I saw Blake’s bags packed by the door. He stood by the window, his spine stiff and his arms crossed. My smile faded fast.

  He was silent, almost brooding, and had a grim look as if he had swallowed cough medicine. Blake turned toward me, his eyes narrowed. An unusual expression crossed his eyes, and then it vanished.

  Instantly, I could see from Blake’s pursed mouth that he was holding back something. But what?

  I shrugged. “Is something wrong?” I asked guardedly. “Did I say or do something to upset you?”

  Reluctantly, I eyed Blake, waiting for an answer. Silence. He refused to look directly at me. And his eyes skipped away when I tried to catch them. Why are you being so evasive?

  I tried to distract myself by looking at my fingernails. Still no response. I can hold my breath while I wait. I began counting. One, two, three, four, and five. Okay . . . breathe.

  “Why do we need to rush home? I thought we had another full day at the resort?” I asked, pressing for an answer.

  He shrugged with a downcast face.

  I pouted. “Were you upset because I slept all day? I’m sorry that I didn’t feel well and ruined our fun. I’m feeling much better now.”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I’m glad you recovered.” But I didn’t feel right about the way his eyes shifted when he answered, and that dour expression on his face left me mystified.

  “Thanks.”

  Blake looked at me and said impatiently, “I need to go.” His lips curved up slightly; however, that smile seemed fake, more like a sneer.

  “Sure,” I said.

  And he added through his false smile, “I have some business to take care of and need to get back.” What did I do? Blake asked me indignantly, “Would you like me to help you pack?”

  Shaking my head, I quickly gathered my things, my happiness all but forgotten.

  I persisted with the questions. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No.” His curt response didn’t help me find answers.

  “What is going on?” I asked. Blake jerked his hand in the air as if to stop me mid-sentence. And my eyes popped wide open. It was interesting how such a small gesture could tell so much, without saying a word.

  I rushed my packing; meanwhile, Blake stood watching me, clearly impatient. What was going on behind those angry eyes? I wanted to shout at him, but instead I stood next to my packed bags with a limp smile.

  The ride home was tense and uncomfortable. The two of us barely exchanged a word except for a brief discussion about the quickest route back to Raleigh. I was relieved that the snow had stopped, and the roads were cleared. Regardless, it was dreary both outside and in; there was no escaping the lingering gray clouds.

  To ease the tension, I removed a magazine from my travel bag and scanned it. I acted like I took incredible pleasure in reading my article, but occasionally I slid a glance his direction and saw his eyes fixed on the road in front of us.

  And rather than comprehend the written words, my mind was running a mental marathon—going over every detail from the weekend. What changed his mind?

  I didn’t even try to carry on cheerful conversation because Blake immersed himself in what felt like interminable silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance over toward me with something like a scowl on his face as I continued pretending to read.

  Why the cold treatment after such a hot weekend? I wanted to tell him, “I am through trying to understand you.” I don’t get you at all! But really I just wanted our fun back.

  Chapter 13

  We arrived at my house almost four agonizing hours later. Blake carried my bags inside and set them down in the living room. When I stepped toward him, he backed away and bumped into the couch. What is he hiding from me? His eyes haven’t met my gaze all afternoon.

  As if reading my thoughts, he looked me straight in the eye with his inscrutable gaze. He cleared his throat. “Look, I have been doing a lot of thinking,” he said. He raked his fingers through his tousled hair and rubbed his head.

  I couldn’t help but focus on his magnificence. And, oh my, was he perfect, even distraught or angry, whatever it was. But this lead-up did not sound good. Just tell me what you need to tell me. “Okay,” I said.

  There was an uncomfortable pause. “I’m not sure how to . . . say this.”

  My body responded instinctively. The muscles on the back of my neck tightened; the contractions continued down my legs and left my feet numb. I reached for a solid surface—a table—to brace myself. And, of course, just my luck, I grabbed my grandmother’s fragile antique table. I knocked it forward, sending the table tumbling to the ground. “Darn it,” I muttered, watching it crash to the floor. I was a calamity waiting to happen.

  Blake shook his head. He looked at me with pity.

  “As I was saying, Lila, before you started tossing furniture around. I have been giving this a lot of thought.” His voice sounded colder than his usual warm intonation. “I have come to a conclusion: things are going too quickly for me.”

  “Really?”

  He continued in that unfamiliar harsh voice. “Maybe we should slow this down and not see each other.” I spun on my heels and looked at him with my eyes bulging. Blake saw the utter surprise on my face, but his expression was indecipherable. He paused a few seconds to let me absorb the depths of what he was saying. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and I just don’t think this is working for us.” Blake watched my stricken expression as he said the words.

  Instantly, I wanted to shout at him . . . what? I felt like the relationship was progressing and then, smack, this bombshell. I needed to press him for answers, but instead I crossed my arms. I squeezed myself in an effort to quell my hurt. And I said nothing.

  I looked at him, dumbfounded, and asked him when I finally caught my breath, “I thought we were having an amazing time. What changed your mind?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  And there I stood, cast in the shadow of his doubt, with him avoiding my eyes.

  I felt a surge of fiery anger rip through me. I was raging inside, and it pushed out of me with driving power. My rushing hostility made me speak before thinking clearly, and I blurted out, “You just needed to be the one to break up with me this time.”

  Blake snapped back with equal force. “You’re just too upset to be rational about anything. This just doesn’t work.” But his eyes appeared to say something else.

  My confusion escalated. And so did my temper. “I thought the sweet things you said to me the past few weeks were true. Silly me, for believing you. For believing in you.”

  “I never promised you anything. Why are you so upset?”

  My temper continued to light up quickly. I was letting him see one more side of me I tried to hide—my fire. Finally, I took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “I guess I’m like a firecracker—once you light my fuse, there’s no turning back,” I said.

  Blake huffed. “Are you telling me I should run for cover?”

  I stood with my hands pressed into my hip bones. “I said firecracker, not bomb, for crying out loud,” I snapped.

  Blake looked at me and laughed. “Good one.”

  He stretched his fingers across his cheek and scratched. I could hear the faint sound of his fingertips rubbing against his dark stubble. For a moment, I thought about the coarse feel of his whiskers between my thighs. But then the reality of his words struck me again.

  My jaw tensed. “Was this what you strived for all along, to make me want you and then cast me aside? You know, you made me think you cared about me.” Why did I ever think this was a good idea, us reuniting?

  Blake did not hesitate before he spoke. “I guess you got it all wrong.”

  My mind was racing full force. I want you in my life. I do. “Are you tossing me aside the way you think I did to you years ago?” I paused, waiting for him to say something. He just gaped at me in silence.

  Blake looked as if he felt anger surge within him, but was fo
rcing himself to remain calm. He turned away, possibly trying to contain his boiling rage. At last, he found his words and grumbled in an annoyed tone, “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  I glanced out the window and saw a small brown bird standing on the windowsill. It looked toward the glass as if wanting to come inside. At that instant, there was a slight break between the dense clouds. A shaft of sunlight cut across the sky. And then I watched the bird fly away. I want to take off, too.

  A lump swelled in my throat, and in a voice that quavered, I continued. “Blake, I’m sorry for speaking out of anger. I know we have years of frustration built up within us. Just yesterday you told me kind and special words. And then today, this . . . revelation. I’m angry and confused.”

  His voice wavered. “I want out. I have nothing left to say.”

  Finally, I managed to get another question out, trying to stay composed. “But I have to ask you again. What happened today that made you feel this way?”

  I watched for the faintest change of expression on his face, but there was none. He made his decision. Let it go. Let him

  go . . . again. Yet, he was still in my house discussing our situation. He wouldn’t still be here if he didn’t care.

  “Really, there’s nothing to discuss,” he said in an explosive voice that overrode my faltering, soft words. The booming sound of his voice must have startled him, for he lowered it. He softened his tone as he continued. “It’s over.”

  I sulked and asked him with my eyes if it had to be this way. No response; he looked away. I had to face the truth: in his mind, this was over. But he is still here, so there is a chance. His mind might not be entirely made up . . . yet.

  In my confusion I started to wonder, was that what happened when you shared such a powerful attraction—you repelled each other with equal power? Certainly that couldn’t be right. Could it?

  He stared at me, nostrils flaring and broke the silence. “Well, do you think you can just weave in and out of my life as you please?”