Damage Done

by Virginia Duke

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying we can't go on like this. I need to be alone."

  "I thought that's what you were doing this weekend."

  He hadn’t understood, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him over the phone.

  "I'm not sure what else to say. I don't want to argue, let's just pick this up on Monday, okay?"

  "Fine. Monday."

  "Give it back!" Lauren screamed in the background.

  Rachel was relieved he would have an excuse to get off the phone.

  "Bye, Rach."

  "Bye."

  She took a deep breath and set the phone on the counter and saw the light blinking. She missed a text message, it was Dylan.

  Don't be angry.

  Angry about what? She emptied the bottle of pinot in her glass and considered a response when she noticed headlights blinking through the trees, a car coming down the twisted driveway. She walked towards the porch with her wine, pushed the door open and stood patiently. Perhaps a neighbor had seen the lights and was coming to make sure nobody was robbing the place.

  The car approached carefully, unfamiliar with the dark landscape, until it broke from the crowded trees and pulled up behind her SUV. The headlights and then the engine died, and Dylan stepped out from the driver's seat. He shut the door quietly, smiled and shrugged as if to say, "I couldn't help it."

  She walked back into the kitchen, butterflies taking over her stomach and her chest, set down her wine glass and steadied herself against the counter.

  "Rachel?" his smooth voice called from the front door, "Rach? Can I come in?"

  She laughed at his asking for permission to come inside after he'd driven all this way.

  "Of course. I'm in the kitchen."

  She switched to water, an entire bottle of wine in an hour had been more than enough to cripple her good sense. She stood at the sink and felt him close the distance, the heat from his body washing over her from behind. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, the same clean musk she'd smelled days ago.

  He moved her hair gently to the side, gripped her hips and she felt his open lips graze her shoulder. She shuddered in response and tilted her head back to give him access to the sensitive place.

  "Are you upset I came?" he breathed into her ear.

  "I'm upset you didn't come sooner."

  "Rachel, say the word and you'll never have to wait for me again."

  His tongue ran from her ear to the back of her neck, he blew coolly on the wet trail and his hands left her hips, moving around to embrace her from behind. He pulled her tightly to him and his teeth sunk into her shoulder. She flinched, unsure at first, and then welcomed the pleasure as he began sucking and kissing his way back up her neck towards her ear.

  "Mmmmm..." she murmured, "Don't stop."

  “You liked that?”

  "I just-"

  "You did like it," he whispered, "Just say it."

  He bit her neck again and she shivered, unfamiliar with the pleasure the tiny bit of pain had brought her. His hips held her to the counter as he reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. He threw it to the floor, unsnapped her bra and slid it down her arms, bringing his mouth back to her flesh. The large, soft hands ran flat along her prickled flesh until they found the curve under her breasts, then made their way back down to her hips.

  "Ah, puss," he whispered hoarsely, "I can’t stop thinking about you, turn around and let me see you."

  A flicker of insecurity shot through her at the thought of his seeing her bared to him in the unforgiving kitchen light, her shrunken breasts and wilted belly, victims of age and childbearing. He leaned back and gave her hips a nudge, she took a deep breath and turned to face him, bared at the chest and bared to her soul.

  "I'm not the pretty picture I was at eighteen," she said, finding the courage to look up into his still gorgeous face.

  The years had been better to him.

  He shifted his weight and stepped back, his hands still on her hips, and studied her face, then he went to his knees before her, delicately lifting one foot and then the other as he slid her loafers from her feet. He unbuttoned and slid her jeans down her legs, pulled them off and dropped them to the floor. His eyes held hers as he put his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He took his time sliding them off, his eyes never leaving her face.

  She held tightly to the counter and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe as he watched her face and bared her to him. She'd never been so exposed, stripped in a brightly lit room with the man she'd first trusted with her body all those years ago, and here she stood again, Dylan urging her to trust him again. He rose to his feet and stepped back, arms at his sides.

  "Rachel, look at me," he said, impervious to her discomfort.

  She opened her eyes and held her breath, her knuckles white against the black granite.

  "You're nothing like the pretty picture you were at eighteen," he began, his eyes a hurricane rushing over her, "You're even more stunning, more lovely now. You're a mother and a businesswoman, you've devoted your life to helping people. You're doing amazing things, Rachel. You are more appealing to me now than that skinny eighteen year old girl ever was. She was beautiful and smart and talented and I loved her more than my own life, but- that girl is a ghost, she haunted me. The woman I see now is a nymph, a siren, she's possessed me."

  Her grip on the counter faded, the tension in her body fled, and she laughed, "You always were such a cheesy romantic."

  He grinned, reaching for her hips, "And you were always such a vicious bitch, laughing at me for being a cheesy romantic. But it's your fault, you do that to me."

  He'd always been so unabashedly romantic, he'd never pretended with her. And he'd made her feel whole, given her strength where there'd been none, liberated her from the clutches of trepidation and doubt. Just as he had years before, he stood there waiting, yielding control to her, empowering her.

  He loved her in spite of her flaws, and maybe even because of them. And he was so damn sexy, she couldn't get enough of it.

  She wrapped her fingers around his arms and pulled him to her, the invitation clear. He lifted her to him, their mouths struck violently and she threw her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, gripping him tightly. He turned and made his way blindly back towards the living room, their kisses softening as their tongues circled and slid across one another's lips.

  He set her gently on the couch and stood over her, reaching up to pull the t shirt from his chest. As it stretched over his arms, exposing his hardened chest, carnality lurched in her sex, and she lost all patience. She moved to the edge of the couch and pulled him hurriedly between her bare legs, reaching up to unbutton his fly and push his pants down. His cock stood at attention under the gray boxer briefs, and she ran her fingers over the outline it made through the material. His hands went to her hair, smoothing it back until he could hold it securely behind her head, giving him the room he needed to see her face.

  She pressed her cheek against the hard shaft and rubbed it gently over her face and lips, her hands exploring the firm ass and thick legs behind it. Dylan groaned under his breath and she glanced up at his face, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

  "Kiss it, puss," he said.

  She watched his face as she slipped her fingers into his briefs and pulled them off, putting her open mouth to its tip, breathing against the flesh before brushing her lips against the head.

  "You're so fucking sexy, Rachel," he rasped, "I've been starved for you."

  She licked under his head and circled it with her tongue, then slowly sucked him into her mouth until his breath caught and his hand gripped her hair a little tighter, and she gasped.

  "Do you like it when I hold your hair tight?"

  Unable to say it that it had turned her on, she took her time pulling his dick from her mouth before sliding it back in, feeling it grow harder with every stroke. Then she took as much as she could into her mouth and ran her hands up
his chest, withdrawing slowly and standing to look up into his face. There’d be plenty of time for slow and sweet later.

  He kissed her tenderly and ran his hand ran down her body to the crease between her legs, his fingers gliding smoothly between the folds, her legs trembling as soon as he touched her lips.

  "Oh my God, you're so fucking wet."

  "Fuck me then."

  She’d built so many walls around her to stay protected, to feel safe, Dylan gave her the courage to tear them down and she fell back on the couch and spread her legs, unashamed of her newly discovered wanton manner. He knelt between her legs and used his hand to slide his dick along the slick folds of her cunt, licking and kissing his way over her neck to the curve of her collarbone. Her hands raked along his chest and arms until he slowly delivered it inside and her body screamed in pleasure, her orgasm surfacing before he'd entered completely.

  "Cum all over that dick," he growled in her ear, driving harder into her with every thrust.

  Waves of climax rushed through her and she reached up to kiss and suck his salty skin, his chest towering above her.

  "Your pussy is so fucking good, Rachel."

  She moaned, moving him to pick up the pace, his dick growing larger inside of her until it pulsed with the unmistakable signs of release.

  "Cum for me, let me feel you," she whispered.

  He thrust deep inside and groaned, his dick throbbing inside her, his arms trembling as he came, hovering over her. He rested his head gently against her neck, quick breaths shooting across her wet skin as she ran her fingers through his hair, and then down along the curves outlining his shoulders and back.

  "I was dead until now," Dylan said, his voice husky and drained, "It's never been like this, Rachel. Not with anyone."

  "Have there been many?" she asked, wrapping her legs around his to keep him from leaving.

  "A few."

  "A few three or a few fifty?"

  He laughed, brought his lips to hers, their sweat mingling, something she'd always hated with Kenneth. With Dylan she'd have stayed there for hours, unconcerned with the aftermath of making love, wanting only to prolong the intimacy.

  "Somewhere in between," he said, "Have there been many for you?"

  "A few."

  "A few three or a few fifty?"

  "A few three."

  "Really?" he asked, pulling his head up to look at her.

  "Is that too few or too many?"

  "It's neither, I suppose."

  "Does it bother you?"

  He pulled away to sit up, his hand settled affectionately on her leg.

  "Of course not, Rachel. I don't expect that you spent sixteen years living as a nun, you are married with two kids. I mean, I cringe thinking of another man fucking you, but now that I have you here with me again, I'm not too proud to just accept it for what it is. You had every right to live your life. I didn't understand it then, but I understand it now."

  She sat up next to him, their naked bodies still glowing, and took his hand into hers, “It's never been like this for me either.”

  She wanted to tell him that she’d always been afraid, that she’d never known how to share herself with anyone else, but the words wouldn’t come. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed each of his fingers softly.

  “Do you love him?” he asked.

  She hesitated and looked away, “I’m not in love with him, but he was good to me. And he’s a good father.”

  "Leave him, Rachel. Come home with me."

  His eyes burned through her, demanding this one obedience. She let go of his hand and stood, frowning.

  "Dylan, I will leave him, but not today. It's not that simple. We've been married for twelve years, we have two children. He deserves better. And this is going to destroy him."

  She walked towards the bedroom, the garden tub calling to her, exhaustion setting in.

  "Rachel!" Dylan called after her, "I see you haven't grown out of walking away from conversations that make you uncomfortable!"

  She waited for the water to warm, sat on the edge of the tub and twisted up her hair. She still hadn't gone to the salon, still hadn't confronted her mother, still hadn't stopped putting off the inevitable. She was still walking away.

  Dylan came into the bedroom but stopped at the bathroom door, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the frame.

  “Rachel, every night since I lost you that summer, each night I crawled into my bed without you, the world we created cracked into a million pieces. I felt myself eroding away, your absence was like waves digging away at the rocks. And each morning I woke up without you beside me, I swore to forget you, to leave you where you belonged, in another life. But now you're here with me, and I'm sorry, but I don't know how to wait, I can't send you home to him. It makes me fucking crazy to think about, and I've got so many other things to think about, I need you, too. God knows I don't want to fucking need you, Rachel, but I do.”

  "Dylan, I hear you. I want to be with you. I just can't leave yet."

  "When?"

  "I don’t know.”

  “That’s not good enough for me, Rachel.”

  “Dylan- you have to understand, he saved me.”

  “Do you think you’re the only person who needs saving?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dylan left her in the tub and turned on some music while he threw dinner together, but when she was still in the tub half an hour later, he slipped in behind her wordlessly and wrapped his arms around her. His chest pressed into hers with every breath, she ran her hands along his legs, and his dick responded. She reached up with her toe to turn the hot water back on and rested her head against him.

  He was meeting Chrissy and Jeremy at noon the next morning. The judge had signed off on the motion to terminate Michael's life support, and he was desperate for Rachel to come with him to meet Chrissy and her husband. He needed her, they were outlining a plan for when to pull the ventilator and for the first real time in his life, Dylan was afraid.

  What if he couldn't go through with it? What if the doctors were wrong and there was a chance Michael might recover? If any kid was strong enough or bullheaded enough to defy the odds, it was Michael. He was fucking amazing, did whatever he set his mind to. He was brilliant and kind and always looking out for other people, he had one of those enormous selfless hearts Dylan stopped believing could exist until he'd stumbled upon Michael, that kid had made him believe in love again.

  Dylan had picked him up one night from Chrissy's apartment, he was about seven years old, and they'd been driving to grab some pizza when Michael saw a homeless man sitting at a stoplight.

  "Dylan, what's that man doing?" he'd asked from the backseat.

  "He's hanging out, hoping somebody will give him some money."

  "What's he need money for?"

  "I don't know, Mikey, maybe for food or a new coat or something."

  "Why doesn't he have a job?"

  He'd asked questions the whole way to the pizza place and when they'd hit the arcade while they waited for their order, Dylan thought Michael had finally forgotten about it. But hours later after they'd seen a movie and were heading back to Dylan's apartment, Michael asked him to drive back to where they'd seen the homeless man.

  "I'm gonna give him my pizza. And you can give him your coat, Dylan. You can just go buy a new one."

  Dylan had laughed and teased him, "You can give him your pizza, dude, but I'm keeping my coat."

  Michael made him drive around for twenty minutes looking for that homeless man. When they hadn't been able to find him and Dylan finally insisted they go home, Michael sat on the couch and cried.

  "But what if he's still hungry?"

  They'd stayed up late into the night stuffing brown paper lunch bags full of bottled water and cereal bars so they'd have them the next time they saw a homeless person at a stoplight. Michael's idea.

  Dylan lay with Rachel in the tub, despondent, thinking back on that amazing little boy who'd tau
ght him to believe in humanity again after what had felt like a lifetime of pain.

  Had he ever been so fucking low? Losing Rachel and their baby had wrecked him, he'd never been able to get over it. But this was different. How was he supposed to watch them turn the life off on his little man? How was he supposed to stand there and not protect him and not kill the person who stepped in to turn that machine off?

  He needed her. He knew she'd come with him if he asked, but he couldn't burden her like that. Not with everything else she'd learned about her crazy mom, and knowing she was leaving her husband to be with him. How could he ask her to watch him fall apart like that when she already had so much on her plate?

  He couldn't. He'd have to dig for the strength to get through this shit for the next few weeks without leaning on her, and pray to fucking God this heartbreak wouldn't last forever

  He made love to her again before they slept, their legs curled together, her face on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her.

  ***

  When the sun shone through the window and she realized he was gone, she felt her throat go tight, fearing he'd left her again forever, angry at her refusal to leave Kenneth immediately. She made her way into the kitchen and found a note sitting next to the coffee pot.

  People will say it's crazy, that our relationship is contemptible, we are selfish and immoral. They'll say we missed our chance, that we're too old, it's been too long. They'll call you a whore, and me a homewrecker.

  But I say we're sane, they'll envy our passion, and misunderstand the sacred communion between two people who long to be one together.

  And is it not immoral to choose war over peace? Or sorrow over joy? Regarding love, only a fool will say there is virtue in sacrifice. Fight for your own happiness, Rachel, don't sit around waiting to be blessed with it.

  Loving you is as natural for me as pulling air into my lungs, and I won't apologize for that. Even if it makes me selfish. Or immoral. Or a homewrecker.

  Fuck everybody else. I only want to love you. Like I've always loved you. Ask yourself, "What do I want?" and then reach out and take it.