What She Needed

by Teresa Genevieve

  “Are you really okay with it?”

  She thought about the question for a while. “Yeah, I am, actually. I just wish I had something more fulfilling to do while he was gone.”

  “Like me?”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  “Apparently, neither could I.”

  “Well, I’m pretty irresistible. I think my friend’s sister proved that years ago.”

  “Ah, yes. When you turn on the charm.”

  “I can be pretty charming when I try.”

  She didn’t respond to that, although she agreed with it. “So can my husband, strangely. Lately, though, it seems he’s lost his urge to try. What we have is so mechanical. It’s all about logistics and paying bills…we’re almost like business partners. We’re definitely lacking something in the romance department these days.”

  “But you love him?”

  Her entire relationship with Jim played through her head. Like any couple, they had done their share of laughing and crying, snuggling and arguing. He knew more about her than anyone, keeping her deepest secrets shielded from the rest of the world. He was her protector—her confidant…that is, when he could pry himself away from work long enough to notice her.

  “I do love him,” she ultimately whispered. “I love him in the sense that I care about him deeply. I definitely don’t want to see him meet any harm.” Sitting up, she held the blankets over her body and announced, “Okay, I don’t want to talk about my husband anymore. I’m going to go grab a quick shower, if you don’t mind.”

  He gestured toward the bathroom with his hand. “Go right ahead.”

  She gathered her clothes and headed into the small bathroom. She turned on the water, allowing it to warm up. She inspected Dylan’s counter while she waited. The stuff on it looked like it could have belonged to any guy, with the exception of the hairbrush, which was intertwined with beautiful strands of long, dark hair. She picked up the brush, pulled it clean and set it back down next to the sink.

  Then the guilt set in.

  Once again, she found herself standing outside the shower, sticking her hand in to gauge the temperature, contemplating the fact that she’d just had sex outside of her marriage. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be so fulfilled by her life with Jim that she never would have dreamed of being unfaithful. Yet here she was again, about to shower after another torrid encounter, hoping the water could wash away the awful feeling inside her and send it swirling down the drain.

  As she stepped into the stream, feeling the warmth hit the back of her neck, she decided she would leave after this. She would go home and be available to take Jim’s call for a change. She would make an effort to talk about fun things instead of just the mundane.

  Maybe she would even pleasure herself over the phone for him.

  If nothing else, these past few days with Dylan had awoken something in her that had been asleep so long it had been presumed dead. As strange as it may have seemed, this little affair ultimately could have been advantageous to her marriage. She felt like a sexual creature again.

  For so many years, she didn't.

  She emerged from the shower feeling refreshed and invigorated, ready to head home and take on the world. As she got dressed, she heard a gentle knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” she replied, “it’s your bathroom.”

  Dylan popped his head in and smiled. “My turn to use the shower.” He walked over to the sink and opened a drawer, pulling out a black elastic band. In a move Melissa used to do when her hair was long, he pulled all the loose strands up into a sloppy bun on the top of his head.

  “Oh my God, you look so cute,” she told him.

  “Do I?” He looked in the mirror and pretended to coif. The expression on his face was hilarious.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “I cleaned your hairbrush, by the way. It’s a thing I have.” Stifling a shudder, she added, “I can’t handle an unkempt hairbrush.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “I know.” She started to use the brush on her own hair. “Listen, while you’re in the shower, I might head out. I don’t mean to leave you feeling cheap and tawdry, so I wanted to warn you that I might be leaving.”

  “Uh…can you do me a favor and take me to the pharmacy before you go?”

  “Oh yeah,” she replied with a smile. “That’s the real reason I’m here, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 14

  Once at home, Melissa used her time to get her hair and make up to look perfect. She took a dozen pictures of herself, eventually choosing the one that hid her laugh lines the most. With a few touches from photo editing, she sent the image to Jim, complete with a message that read, “I miss you.”

  It would have been evening in England. He should have been able to respond.

  He didn’t.

  With each passing minute, Melissa could feel her heart sinking further toward her feet. She may have had a sexual awakening over the past few days, but Jim hadn’t, and he was most likely still regarding her as the same business partner she’d grown to become in his mind. She wondered if she would ever be able to go back to being the sexual creature he once adored.

  Or was it possible those feelings in him had died altogether?

  She sighed and contemplated what Dylan’s reaction would have been to the same picture. She thought about sending it to him, just to see what he would say, but she didn’t want to come off as desperate. She had plenty of reasons to visit him naturally; she didn’t need to start making extra contact.

  Although, she did think about doing her hair the same way in the morning when he needed a ride to work.

  She strummed her fingers on the kitchen table, looking around for something to do. The house was clean, so she didn’t need to do that. Besides, she didn’t really want to clean with make up on and her hair done. That would have been much too sad.

  The situation was already sad.

  Leaning back in her chair, she let out a sigh and stared up at her calendar. The series of red X’s seemed to be mocking her, pointing and laughing at the woman who had gotten all ready, only to go nowhere.

  Refusing to feel pathetic, she grabbed her keys and her purse and headed out the door. She started driving to the local lingerie shop, determined to find the perfect little outfit to accentuate her curves. In her mind, she told herself the outfit was for Jim, but she wasn’t entirely sure it would unfold that way. She wanted to wear it for someone who would appreciate it—for someone who would nod with approval when he saw it.

  Jim’s first reaction may have been to ask her how much money she’d spent on it.

  “I’m buying it for myself,” she concluded out loud in the car. It was going to make her feel more desirable and feminine, and that was a gift she was giving to herself. If anyone else happened to enjoy it, that would just have been secondary.

  She took her time in the store, trying on many outfits of varying styles and colors. She ultimately opted to go with a classy-but-sexy black lace nightgown, feeling like that design fit her age and body type. She was both physically and chronologically beyond the straps and craziness of some of the raunchier getups, several of which she couldn’t even figure out how to put on. This outfit seemed to fit. It was sheer, but not completely transparent. Perhaps if the man squinted enough, he could see every part of her, but her features weren’t glaringly obvious. It had just enough mystique to be intriguing, and it had just enough fabric to hide her flaws.

  She checked out of the store, feeling extraordinarily feminine as she carried the fancy pink bag with the tissue paper poking out of the top. Deciding she needed a pair of strappy heels to go with her new outfit, she threw the bag in the passenger seat and made her way to the mall. She spent even more time choosing the shoes than she did the gown, going to several stores before returning back to the one that offered the sexiest pair. There was a definite spring in her step as she walked out into the parking lot with
her bag of shoes. She could have sworn that a man ten years younger than her was eyeing her as she reached her car.

  Once inside the car, she checked her phone.

  Jim hadn’t replied.

  Her level of elation immediately dropped a dozen notches, but she refused to let that bring her all the way down. Maybe Jim was just busy. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the message yet.

  Maybe he was going to call her as soon as he got it, telling her how beautiful she looked and how he couldn’t wait to ravage her once he got home.

  She kept that thought in her head as she drove back to her house, and her phone did ring as she approached her driveway. However, the call was from George, causing her nerves to flutter at the thought of Dylan possibly confessing their affair to his probation officer.

  She tried to keep her voice natural. “Hello, favorite brother.”

  “Hello, favorite little sister.” His cheerful tone suggested he had no idea about her and Dylan.

  Thank God.

  “I’m just checking in to see how our friend Dylan is doing. His boss has said that he’s been showing up to work on time, so I assume that means you’ve seen him.”

  “I have.” In fact, she’d seen every inch of him.

  “And how’s he doing?” George asked.

  “Great, actually. He seems like a sweet kid.” She pulled her car into the garage.

  “I know; that’s the crazy part. He has always been polite to me, and his boss says he’s good worker, but his aunt can’t stand him for some reason.”

  Melissa found that hard to believe. “Is it possible he comes from a messed up family?”

  “I think that’s a fact, actually,” George replied. “A lot of my clients come from bad backgrounds. Although, a good number don’t. I have seen plenty of cases where kids grow up in perfectly loving homes but then make some bad choices. But I do believe Mr. Dylan is one of the unfortunate ones who was doomed from the beginning.”

  “He told me he doesn’t even know who his father is.” She gathered her bags and walked into the house.

  “I don’t think he does.”

  “He also seemed to imply that his mother doesn’t even know who his father is.”

  “I know that’s sad to you,” George said, “but it’s something I’ve seen more than once.”

  “That’s kind of crazy.”

  “Crazy is hidden in all kinds of places, believe me. I’ve learned that on my job.”

  “I think our parents were crazy.”

  “Were?” He let out a laugh. “Why the past tense?”

  “You’re right,” she replied, pinning the phone between her shoulder and ear. She took her shoes out of the bag and began to inspect them.

  “So, I guess you are giving me the thumbs up on Dylan, then?”

  “Yeah.” She slipped her old shoes off so she could put on the new ones. “Why so many questions about Dylan?”

  George laughed. “I guess I should have prefaced; this is actually a business call. I’m doing a routine check on him, making sure he’s being a good boy.”

  As she put on her new, sexy heels, she thought about all of the immoral things she and Dylan had done together over the past few days. She wasn’t sure she could actually claim he was being a good boy. “He’s not breaking any laws that I’m aware of.”

  “Excellent,” George said. “Glad to hear it. I know I’m supposed to keep my personal feelings out of it, but, to tell you the truth, I’m really rooting for this one.”

  "Honestly?" she replied. "I am, too."

  Jim ended up calling an hour later. “Hey,” Melissa said eagerly upon answering. “I was wondering when you were going to call.”

  “I’ve called every night; you just haven’t answered.”

  With those words, her optimism shattered. It made her want to hang up and go to Dylan’s. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy with your little project?” Jim asked.

  “You mean Dylan?” She wasn’t sure if her tone sounded as bitter as she felt.

  “Is that his name?”

  “Yes, that’s his name. And, yes, I’ve been trying to help him—just like we’d planned.”

  “I’d think you could at least answer the phone when I call.”

  Shame rose within her. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  He let out sigh. “I’ve bought a ticket so I can come home and change the window.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  He grunted in response. “I won’t be home long…not even twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s all it takes.”

  He sighed again.

  “Did you get the picture I sent?” Melissa asked.

  “I did. What’s the occasion?”

  “I just wanted to look nice for you, that’s all.”

  “I’m in England.”

  She rubbed her eyes, well aware that she might have smeared her make-up, but it didn’t matter. “I still wanted to look nice for you.”

  “Are you sure that’s for me?”

  “Yes,” she said emphatically.

  “I don’t see what the point is when I’m not able to be with you.”

  As irritated as she was with him, she was also determined to bring some sensuality back into their relationship. “I don’t know,” she began playfully. “I thought maybe I could take care of myself over here while you take care of yourself over there.”

  She was met with silence, followed by, “You mean masturbate?”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes, dear. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “I’m supposed to meet a coworker for a drink in a few minutes. We’re going to strategize over our approach to the latest threat...”

  “Alright,” she replied, interrupting him. “Don’t worry about it, then. I guess I should let you go.”

  “Yeah, I do need to get going.”

  She thought about her conversation with Dylan earlier. “I love you,” she told him, trying to convince herself she meant it in more than just a brotherly way.

  “I love you, too.”

  They hung up, and she looked at the bag containing her new lace gown. With a sigh, she mumbled, “I guess I really did buy that for myself.”

  Chapter 15

  Melissa scooped some lasagna onto her plate, placing it next to the salad that was already there. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

  “What about them?” Dylan asked.

  “Well, the obvious question is what the tattoo on your chest means.”

  “It’s Greek,” Dylan replied. “It means do not go gently.”

  “What inspired you to put that there?”

  “My friend’s father used to say it. I had him write it down for me one day, and I thought it looked cool.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I liked the message, too.”

  “When did you get it?”

  “When I was nineteen.”

  “What about the others?”

  “I have a bunch. Do you really want to hear about them all?” He picked up the spoon and put some food on his plate.

  “Once again, I have time.”

  “Okay, then. My first one was on the back of my neck.”

  “I don’t think I’ve noticed that one.”

  “My hair covers it most of the time,” he replied.

  “When did you get that one?”

  “When I was sixteen.”

  “Are you old enough to get a tattoo at sixteen?”

  His face reflected embarrassment. “My mom had to sign a permission slip.”

  “A permission slip,” she replied with a giggle. “Not just for field trips anymore. I’m surprised she was willing to sign it.”

  “She didn’t care. As long as she didn’t have to pay for it, she was fine with it.”

  “Where’d you get the money? Should I ask?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Never mind. So, what is the tattoo of?”

  “Just a design. It isn’t that big; I couldn’t afford much. Want to see
it?”

  “Sure.”

  He turned around and lifted his hair up, revealing a half-dollar sized circle with a star-like design inside of it. It had no color, only black.

  “What made you decide on that one?”

  “I don’t know; I just kind of liked it. My buddy got one the same day. His was his zodiac sign, and he got it right here.” He tapped the outside of his shoulder.

  “What was the next one?”

  “Hang on a minute.” He took a bite of lasagna, pointing to his plate. “This is really good, by the way.”

  Her heart felt happy. “Thanks.”

  While still chewing, he pulled out his leg and lifted his pants to reveal a marijuana leaf on the back of his calf. He swallowed, announcing, “I got this one when I was seventeen, I think.”

  “And your mom signed a permission slip for that?”

  “Like I said, she didn’t care.”

  “And the tattoo guy was willing to put a marijuana leaf on a minor?”

  “He cared even less than my mom.”

  Dylan went on to reveal the tattoos on his forearms and left shoulder, explaining when he got each one.

  There was one she had already noticed, but he didn’t discuss that one. “What about the one on your wrist?” she asked.

  He flipped his right hand over to reveal a small tattoo on the inside of his arm, just above his palm. “This one?”

  “Yeah. Why a semicolon?”

  He looked up at her. “You don’t know what that means?”

  “I know how to use it in a sentence.”

  “I assure you, this isn’t about grammar."

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s about suicide survival.”

  She felt a surge of fear throughout her body.

  “It isn’t always,” he went on. “It can mean depression or anxiety or mental illness. For me, though, it’s about living through a suicide attempt.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”