by Kat T. Masen
The emotions, raw and exposed between us in the flesh, exert their power while we stand here in the same room though what feels like miles apart.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Could have saved me an expensive plane ticket and a possible violation with Canadian law.”
He moves closer to me, leaning over the side of the bed and bending as his hand
grazes my cheek. The surface of his skin, soft yet manly, is all I needed. I close my eyes, at peace—basking in his touch and allowing myself to feel it rain all over me. How easily the simplest of gestures wash away the pain.
“You want to process. Then process.”
“You mean it?”
“You love me.” He breathes with a weightless gaze. “That’s all there is to it. Process, be merry, I’ll be waiting back in the States.”
With a slow burn, he bridges the gap between us, purposely hovering his lips above mine. I wanted to taste him on me. It felt like forever since we had been intimate.
I smile, releasing a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but you know, I came all the way over here, you tell me you love me, and I love you. I think it warrants that we make love…if that’s what love is.”
I laugh, softly and tired. “It’s kinda that time of the month.”
“I don’t care.”
He hovers over me, using his arms for support. The veins in his neck bulge as he leans in, sucking my bottom lip achingly slow. My hands find their way to his cheeks, caressing his face and guiding his mouth onto mine each time he pulls away. That fluttering feeling inside my stomach amplifies with the hammering beats of my heart.
“Okay, well I don’t have it now.” My voice is muffled in between our heated kisses. “But I’m cramping so it’s coming and it would be kinda awkward if the hotel staff had to clean up a mess…”
“Shhh… I don’t care.”
“Wesley.”
“Milana.”
He slides his hands into my shirt, touching my nipples softly and causing me to melt between his touch. I craved him, I wanted all of him, and maybe this is what it felt like to be in love. This moment, forever, just the two of us. Nothing could break this.
“I love you,” I whisper again, his eyes on top of mine and with a need for validation.
“I know,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb along my lip. “It’s just us, okay. You and me.”
“You promise?”
He kisses me softly, replacing the sexual element with an urge of love. “I promise.”
The loud banging echoes down the stairwell.
I assumed it was Mr. & Mrs. Hannigan’s lovemaking again, but am mistakenly wrong as the noise is coming from our apartment.
Jiggling my keys in the door, I open it with a struggle—balancing my purse, mail, and dragging along my suitcase, my arms like dead weight from the heavy load.
The first thing I see is Flynn, relaxed in his ripped black jeans and favorite Futurama shirt—sitting behind a drumkit. The drums are shiny red and black, almost identical to the pictures he has pinned near his headboard. They’re an eyesore in our small and very compact living room.
“Check it out, Milly!”
He plays a beat; banging the sticks against the drum, adopting a wide grin. I recognize the beat; a Linkin Park song that was his favorite in middle school.
My suitcase sits by the door, and with a bout of tiredness hitting me, I plonk myself on the couch, hugging a pillow, and listen to the rest of the song.
It was good to be home, or—whatever this place was. Familiar in a weird yet comforting way. It’s funny how the things that once annoyed us become a normality. Such as the damp smell coming from the bathroom, and the aromas of curry that seeped through the small cracks in the window. The brown walls—once a depressing backdrop—relax my state of anxiousness. I was glad to see Flynn. I missed him, despite his moody ways.
“Wow, bro. Nice kit. Looks expensive.”
“Yeah, it was a gift.”
“Who on Earth would have bought you such an extravagant gift…?”
Flynn’s face gave it away. I sigh, caught between Flynn being happy and Wesley’s erratic behavior. Granted, he had money and easily flaunted it. I was just not used to such extravagance. But this wasn’t my battle. In ways, Wesley knew not to throw lavish gifts at me. I think he learned how difficult I could be when he sent me to the store to purchase that dress for his mother’s event.
“Are you mad?”
“It’s not for me to be mad. I guess, you’re friends or something. I’m tired…I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
“Cool. By the way, Mom asked if you could call her. When you had time.”
I wanted to tell Flynn about the voicemail Mom left me. But watching him—in his essence and in such a good headspace—I just couldn’t do it. I needed to understand what it meant, speak to the nurses and get their opinion on the matter. After my panic attack and Wesley’s brief visit, our two days were jam-packed with work, not allowing me a single moment to think of anything else. In ways, I welcomed the distraction but knew that I had to get to the bottom of this. Mom only had me, and without me taking care of her—there would be no one else.
I decided to call her as soon as I got into my room. Best to talk before I got distracted by something. Upon opening my door, the scent of floral mixed with green nature-type smells—hits my senses. The room is covered in bouquets. I quietly count the number, twenty to be exact. It was a mixture of roses, all in different colors, though oddly—not red. It was like a beautiful rainbow sprinkled all over my room.
I move closer, to the one next to my beside table, and read the card inside it.
I hold the card close to my heart, bringing a smile to my face. My thoughts on his lavish gifts were afterthoughts now. This made me happy, I cannot deny that. Underneath it all lay a sweet, and beautiful man.
A man that belonged to me, and a man that loved me in return.
I automatically dial his number; my breath hitched as I wait excitedly to hear his voice on the other end. The sounds of his hello, velvet soft with a hint of cheekiness—only confirms how much I missed him. With a small struggle, I hold back my girlish giggles.
“They’re beautiful, every single bunch.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Rich. So, question. Why no red?”
“I hate red roses. My mother loves them. Speaking of which, if you’re done processing. Please join me for dinner tonight. Mother is turning the big six-oh and making her closest acquaintances join her.”
“You’re not an acquaintance,” I scold him, gently. “I’m sure she wants her family there. Her one and only son.”
“I have a sister, you know. She lives in…I think somewhere in the Midwest.”
Another piece of information that he chose to withhold like it wasn’t important. Family—is always important.
“What do you mean you have a sister and she lives somewhere in the Midwest? How do you not know this information?”
“Because I don’t care.”
“Wesley, stop…okay, so dinner. How formal are we talking? I’m really tired and jetlagged.”
“Open your closet and see for yourself.”
I jump up with a sudden burst of energy, opening the closet to a long black dress hanging inside. It’s gorgeous; formal yet sexy at the same time. Draping neckline—maybe too low—and a sheer skirt that trained along the ground.
“I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Sure, but I’m warning you, I may fall asleep and never wake up again.”
Wesley laughs, telling me to grab some coffee because I won’t get any sleep tonight at his place. He missed me, and gave me a long list of demands in the bedroom, all of which I agreed to with enthusiasm.
“Oh, before you go, I have some good news. Well, semi good news.”
“Does it involve you shaving your beard that could house a swarm of bees?”
“You’re not a fan of my b
eard?” he questions, lightheartedly, “I was going for the Hagrid look. A few more weeks and I think I’ll get there.”
“No.” I grin, half believing him. “You are not growing that beard. It’s like me growing a full bush.”
“What if I told you I like full bushes?”
“Then I would tell you you’re a freak and maybe need to find yourself some old European lady because that ain’t never happening with me.”
“Fine.” I could hear him smiling over the phone. “So the news…”
“Yes, your exciting news?”
“Charlie has worked her magic. It look’s like we’ll be able to sue the company that stole our designs. In fact, the publicity will be good.”
“Oh wow! That is good news. Emerson hadn’t mentioned anything.”
I couldn’t blame her. The last week had been crazy and my drama only added to that craziness.
“Still early days but it’s something,” he says, happily. “Okay, you need to get your ass ready because I’m coming for you soon.”
I giggle, quick to point out the obvious. “I’m not into anal but glad to know you’re coming regardless.”
“Ha, ha,” he mocks, “I’m saying goodbye now.”
As I hang up the phone, admiring the black dress, I battle my fatigue and power through, grabbing myself a double-shot coffee from the kitchen to keep me awake.
Not wanting to miss another opportunity, I call Mom’s cell. Ring, after ring—
unanswered. My heart sinks again, and with the time being a late Saturday afternoon, I try the main office. Delia—the receptionist—informs me that it’s only her and the nurses were busy.
Following my disappointment, I head to the bathroom to get ready for tonight, glad that my periods were over after two short days though the cramps, annoying as usual, lingered. It didn’t matter—I would spend tonight with Wesley. He had become my safety blanket, and tonight—would be all about us.
This was the second time we had visited his mother’s home and the drive in still intimidated me. The wealth that sat in real estate—astounded me. A few weeks back, I had read that these homes were worth millions of dollars. Granted, they were beautiful and nothing like the small shack we called our home back in Alaska. It was a different world up here in the Hills.
Wesley spent most of the limo ride teasing me with some notably missed foreplay. I didn’t object; grabbing his crotch several times and even suggesting a pit stop. I was quite surprised when he gave me a lecture on patience, given he was the most impatient person in the world.
The car pulls into the property, driving towards the well-lit home. Gina stands at the door, waving hello in a posh white suit with her breasts protruding. They had to be Ds…or Fs, and of course—they were fake.
As we exit the car, Wesley pulls out a drag with a grunt of a hello. I didn’t understand. He said we had to come here yet seem uninterested. Almost as if the sight of his mother repulsed him.
“Wesley, darling. You came.”
He scrapes his hair back, curling his fingers, irritated. “I said I would.”
“And you brought your girlfriend.” Her smile fades, picking up again, obviously forced. “Milana, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I respond, uneasily.
“Of course. Well, I guess it’s nice to see you. Wesley didn’t mention you coming.”
“She’s my fucking girlfriend, of course she’s coming, Mother.”
In the space of ten minutes, Wesley’s attitude had done a complete one-eighty. I place my hand on his arm, willingly calming his nervous anger. “Wesley, please.”
With nothing but her usual plastic smile, she ushers us into the house ignoring his rude response, making us join her in their formal living room for drinks.
There’s a few couples inside; none that willingly came over to say hello therefore I stuck to our side and pretended to be interested in the artwork. Gina beckons the maid to pour us a drink.
“Bourbon,” Wesley demands the same time I say, “Anything.”
The maid serves our drinks, bringing them over with a weary expression. Wesley downs it all in one go, rudely demanding another. I’m not sure why I follow suit, regretting the burns that etch as I swallow. Wincing, I politely ask for another. Something told me to prepare myself for a long, and drama-filled—night.
Not wanting to forget, I reach out a small box—a gift that Wesley chose for his mom. “From us. Happy Birthday.”
Gina thanks us, aloof and without a gracious expression, accepting the gift and opening it. When she sees the diamonds staring back at her, her face completely changes.
Excitement, and dancing eyes accompany her wide smile. I think back to what Emerson told me, agreeing with her opinion on Gina’s money-hungry persona.
“Oh Wesley, darling. They’re gorgeous. They match the necklace you gave me at Christmas.”
He smiles, deviously. After she kisses his cheek, thanking him, she excuses herself to attend to other guests.
“They’re beautiful earrings. You have nice taste.”
He laughs. “I don’t have nice taste…her best friend does.”
“What does that mean? Her best friend bought them?”
“No, I stole them from her.”
I drop his hand, pulse racing as my anger climbs. “What do you mean you stole them from her?”
“It’s just this game we play. The sons, we steal our mother’s shit and re-gift it. They never know, of course, because they’re spoiled wives with their hoards of diamonds.”
His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me into him and smothering me with his scent. My body stiffens; his usual charming ways aren’t working like they usually do. Perhaps, subconsciously, my view of him is tarnished at this moment. His mother, despite her greedy ways—is still his mother. I’m sure, beneath the plastic, she had feelings and a heart.
“That’s awful,” I tell him. “And not remotely amusing.”
“Oh stop, don’t fucking ruin my night, okay?”
Wesley removes his hands from my waist, playing with his collar that seemed to be irritating him. I’m surprised he wore a suit, though he drew the line at wearing a tie—his chest exposed slightly beneath his navy jacket.
He sorts his itch out, grabbing my hand again—twitchy and unsettled.
Carson enters the living room, making a grand entrance. Shaking the hands of the men, and kissing the cheeks of the wives. The creep made my skin crawl. Moments later, he is beside us, giving Wesley a strong man-shake and forcing me into a hug, lingering way too long.
“Milana, I’m glad you could join us tonight. We didn’t get much of an opportunity to chat last time, but I’m hoping tonight is the night we can get to know each other.”
I loathed him. Slicked-back hair and a sleazy grin. I prayed that Wesley noticed, but he seemed preoccupied with his cell, much to my annoyance.
“Thank you for having us, Carson. Once again, your home is lovely.”
I ignore his lingering gaze on my breasts, wishing I hadn’t worn such a provocative dress and forgetting about the last time I was here. He made me uncomfortable, and I contemplated telling Wesley but feared his reaction.
We make our way to the dining room and sit at the table. I was squashed between a man that had awful breath and a woman whose perfume smelled like toilet freshener. Wesley—is sitting across me, though barely making any eye contact. Again, on his cell, rudely typing and ignoring everyone at the table.
Gina, however—loved attention. That much was evident. She told stories, supposedly humorous, but firing a maid because she wore the wrong color didn’t seem funny to me.
She talked about her charities and random stories of women at her tennis club. Carson often interjected, laughed and kept the conversation flowing. Gina loved to talk about herself, rarely asking questions about anyone else, so I just sat and ate quietly—smiling often to show I cared. It was nothing like dinner with my family. The way they spoke to each other was cold and informal.
Somewhere in between the main course and dessert, Wesley lifts his head away from his cell and shifts his gaze onto mine. Something didn’t seem right. Aside from his fidgeting, rolling up his sleeves, only to roll them down again moments later. He’s clearing his throat often, wanting my attention yet when I turn his way—he quickly focuses back onto his cell.
Narrowing my eyes and tightening my grip on my fork, I divert my attention back to the conversation, until I realize it was about diamonds and of no interest to me.
Before dessert is served, I excuse myself to the restroom, needing a moment alone to curb my anger towards Wesley and to text Mom. Tonight reiterated how much I loved my family, and was grateful for how she raised us in a house full of love.
Mom, I love you, and everything you’ve done for our family. I promise I will come home and visit, just like you said. Call you tomorrow xxx
I waited a few minutes for a response but nothing, giving up and exiting the bathroom after washing my hands. I walk down the corridor, running into a maid and almost knocking over a pile of towels. Apologizing for my clumsy behavior, I take a sharp left, staring at the wrong door. Far out—this house was massive.
“Um, excuse me, Maid,” I yell out, pathetically.
“Lost, are we?”
Carson is standing behind me, too close for my comfort. My muscles begin to tense, the paranoia of his presence making me jumpy. Aside from his obvious age—a man that could be my father—he had that seedy look. He wore a kravat like they did in black and white movies, and he stunk of old-man cologne.
“Yes, I was. If you could lead me in the right direction because I’m sure Wesley will come looking for me.”
“I don’t think he will, see he’s busy…with Gina. Outside by the pool. So I guess it’s just you and me.” He grins, licking his bottom lip.
Slowly, he runs his hand along my arm—my heart spiking from fear and disgust.
“Stop touching me,” I seethe, pulling my arm away as he latches on tighter. “I said NO!”
He ignores my pleas, pulling me into him and tightening his grip around my waist. I struggle to ease my way out, the panic hitting hard and fast. The room spins, the sounds amplified, and somewhere during his forbidden act, he slides his hands up the side of my thighs and towards my ass, moaning into my face.