The Art of Love

by Anne Whitney

  “You...” he starts, nuzzling my neck. “Oh, you. Marina.”

  “Thanks,” I reply. I know it sounds stupid, but I have no idea what would be the right thing to say at this moment, especially when my brain is half-mush.

  “Come lie in bed with me,” he whispers, taking my hands.

  “Can I have a shower first?”

  “Of course”

  I shuffle toward the bathroom to take a much needed shower, rinsing away the mess I feel encased in. When I return, damp and wrapped in a large fluffy towel, Fitz is lying on top of the cover of his bed, staring at me, but close to surrendering to sleep. He holds out a hand toward me and I drop the towel before clambering onto the invitingly comfortable bed and snuggling into his open arms. Almost instantly, Fitz’s eyes close and he’s dead to the world. It takes me a lot longer to drift off as I think about what happens with us next. Whatever it is, I think I’m ready for it. Maybe, just maybe, I am capable of a normal relationship.

  CHAPTER 25.

  The day started off tamely enough. I woke up with the sun, bright and early. This far out in the fringe of the city, I could even hear the neighbor’s illegal rooster crowing through the cracked window. It wasn’t cracked on purpose. My father had broken it in a rage the month before and never bothered fixing it.

  I brushed my teeth, fixed my hair, and ran down the stairs to fix breakfast before my father stirred. I had the bacon and eggs on the table with a fresh glass of juice and the paper as he stumbled in. He was still in his drunken haze from the night before, having stumbled in from the bar sometime after midnight.

  “Good morning,” I murmured.

  “What’s this?” he demanded.

  I cowered near the sink. “What’s what? The eggs are scrambled, just a little runny. The bacon is crisp like you like it, Daddy. The paper-”

  “What day is today?” my father demanded again.

  Gulping, I said, “Today’s Friday.”

  “Today is Saturday, you lying bitch.” He slammed his fist down on the table, spilling the juice across the plate and ruining the food that sat on it. “Where the fuck are my pancakes?”

  I began to shake. “I must have forgotten,” I whispered, looking down as fear consumed me like a wildfire over a brittle forest. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it again.”

  He walked across the room. I refused to look up at him, up at his lightly wrinkled face and balding brown hair. I could see his small feet and his short legs, the pants wrinkled and creased. It was enough to send shivers through me.

  “Marina, you know I love you,” he told me. “All I ask is that you do your fair share. You make me the meal I want on the day I want it. You wouldn’t want to be out on the street where you could be murdered by some psychopath, would you? You wouldn’t want to be homeless or in bed with a communist rapist, would you?”

  I shook my head no.

  My father grabbed my ponytail and jerked my face up. It was impossible not to stare into his face, his blue eyes beady and narrow.

  “When I ask you a question, you answer,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied with a terrified squeak.

  “Good girl,” he said. “But you know what the consequences are for messing up are.”

  He lifted his hand back, palm flat and open, before sending it on a collision course with my cheek. I braced my eyes closed tightly, waiting, waiting, and then--

  I jerk awake in a cold sweat, gasping and panting for air. The spring air is warm, hanging heavy over me. An arm gropes along my naked chest, trying to pull me downward as my sore body begs for relief. My heart, though, is urging me to run as fast as I can before my father can hit me again.

  “What’s wrong?” a voice asks through the twilight darkness.

  I look down and see Fitz’s sleepy face looking back at me. For a few moments, though, I can’t register who he is, why I’m naked, why my body feels like a tornado slammed it into the ground over and over again. Every muscle hurts, every instinct screams in horror, and every thought is about safety and survival, not about piecing together the puzzle laid out before me.

  “Mare?” Fitz asks, his eyes opening more. “Come back to bed, babe. It’s too early to get up.”

  For a few minutes, I just stare at Fitz in disbelief, trying to recall the memories of what must have happened. The nightmare is still fresh and my wounds still raw, even if the physical ones have healed. In their place is something different. Mental bruises, scars on my psyche, wounds deep in my soul. And here in front of me is a naked young man, partially obscured by a thin sheet, tattoos curving up his muscled body.

  “Marina,” Fitz says when he realizes that something really is wrong. He sits up and wraps his warm arms around me and pulls me tight to his body. “If something is wrong you just have to tell me and I’ll make it better. I promise.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Six thirty maybe,” he says in confusion. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  I nod slowly. “My father,” I say. “I can run across the country, but I can never escape from him. He’s not here, but he’s not gone, either.”

  I used to have bad dreams more often than not. The fear that came with waiting for my dad’s temper to boil over plagued my sleeping mind. Even in my dreams, I couldn’t be free. Since running to New York, my dreams had been more pleasant, but clearly that peaceful respite had now been taken from me. I could run for the rest of my life and never be found by him or the police, but I could never truly be free of his hold on me. I can’t run from my dreams.

  Why bother running if you’ll never escape?

  I’m still on edge as Fitz holds me close, stroking my back as he shushes in my ear to comfort me. Having someone by my side to put me at ease after a nightmare is completely new to me, and the urge to run and hide is still strong in my head. I slump against him, too tired to concentrate, but desperate not to fall asleep again. If I do, I know what my dreams will be plagued with.

  “You want to talk about it?” Fitz asks.

  “Not really,” I reply. “I’m so sick of being scared.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. He can’t hurt you now and he’ll never hurt you again. I promised, remember?”

  He did promise. And I still don’t believe him. How can I? It’s not his fault, and he does mean well, but I don’t think he will ever fully understand the constant paranoia and uncertainty that follows me. All the comforting words in the world will do me no good if I can’t convince myself that everything will be okay.

  I don’t tell him any of this. I just nod and let him continue his soothing embrace, enjoying this moment for what it is. When he pulls back to look at me, his expression is one of such calm and warmth, as if all of this could be so easy for both of us.

  “It’s still early,” he says with a kiss to my lips. “Want to get up or go back to sleep?”

  “I think I’ll get up.”

  “Okay. I’ll make breakfast.”

  “You don’t have to get up just for me. Go back to bed. I’ll just get some coffee.”

  “Hey, it’s fine.”

  We shuffle out of bed and look for some clothes. My limbs ache and body feels sensitive all over, feeling the effects of the previous night. I didn’t expect to feel quite as delicate as I do. As I bend my knees to pick up my dress and underwear from the floor where I abandoned them, I let out a wince of pain. Fitz notices and slides over, wearing nothing but a pair of red socks, and picks up my clothes for me.

  “You feel okay?” He asks. “I mean, aside from the other thing?”

  “Yeah. I’m just... Things are a little tender right now.”

  Fitz doesn’t reply but looks a little guilty. He kisses away my furrowed brow then returns to clothing himself. Well, putting on as much clothing as he deems appropriate, which in this case means a pair of socks, some khaki shorts and a t-shirt so tight he may as well not be wearing anything. I make do with yesterday’s clothes, although I briefly consider going without underwear instead of we
aring it two days in a row.

  Fitz won’t let me help with the breakfast prep and insists on doing everything himself. Given that his entire range of recipes is limited to about four dishes, this worries me a little, and I sit close by just in case. To my grumbling stomach’s relief, he manages to make a big plate of scrambled eggs and toast, with minimal burning. We sit together on the couch, balancing the plates on our laps as Fitz flicks through the TV channels, eventually settling on some easy to ignore news channel.

  “What time do you have to go into work today?” Fitz asks in between bites.

  “Not until six or so.”

  “So we’ve got pretty much the whole day together?” His eyes light up. “We could go get your stuff from V’s place and bring it back here, then spend the day doing whatever we want.”

  “Huh?” I choke on a piece of bread, fighting down the urge to spit it back onto my plate. “Move back here?”

  “Yeah,” Fitz says, as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world. “I mean, come on, you can’t keep sharing a bed with Viridian. I did that for a while in art school. The woman does not understand the concept of sharing space fairly. You wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch here. If you wanted, you could sleep in my room.”

  “On the floor?”

  Fitz laughs. “Well, I was hoping in my bed. If you’d prefer the floor, I’m fine with that, but I kind of like having you next to me when I wake up.”

  “Fitz...” I start, treading carefully. I desperately don’t want to spoil this moment more than I already have with our abrupt start to the day. He watches me expectantly, finishing up his breakfast while I nervously push scrambled eggs across my plate with my fork. “Isn’t it a little soon?”

  “Soon? We lived together before, so why not now?”

  “That was different. We didn’t exactly do things in the right order.”

  “Where’s the fun in that? Besides...” He takes my plate and rests it on the coffee table, then presses me against him, our foreheads touching. “It worked out okay in the end, didn’t it? We’re here now. I’ll even take down the picture you hate so much if you want.”

  I notice that the white sheet is still hanging over the picture, exactly as it was the first night I stayed here. He left it up there, waiting for me.

  I find myself pulled into the softest of kisses. It’s hard to think straight with Fitz being so affectionate. My body is far more easily swayed by his touch than my mind is, and the two have trouble agreeing on things in these situations. It’s too easy to become swept up in the passion. However, my determination to do this one thing right wins out against lust, and I pull back as Fitz’s fingers stroke the insides of my thighs.

  “There’s nothing wrong with taking things slowly,” I say. “I liked it when we did it the traditional way with dates and things. We were good at that. I really don’t want us to rush into something and end up screwing it up.”

  “Do you think we’ll screw it up?”

  “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just... Fitz, you know this is all new to me.”

  “I know, but have faith. Marina.” Fitz takes my hand and strokes spirals against it with his thumb, so clearly in a state of bliss that contrasts so wildly with my trepidation. “This feels really right to me. I admit, I’m taking a bit of a leap of faith here, but you have had a huge impact on me from the very first moment we met. When we’re together, everything just works. You inspire me like nobody else and you make me feel alive. I haven’t felt this sure about something in forever.”

  My heart races, either with fear or excitement or a heavy mixture of both. I don’t know if my mind will be able to fully process everything Fitz says, especially as he does so whilst kissing my wrist.

  With his face hovering in front of mine, so close that I can feel the tips of his hair brush my skin and see each individual eyelash, he whispers against my lips.

  “I completely adore you.”

  He kisses me again before he can notice the expression of shock that’s spread across my face. He adores me? Completely adores me? Does that mean he loves me? We’re still so new and unknown to each other, even with the baby steps of progress we’ve made. I want to give our relationship a go. I want to fully experience the kind of unconditional love and affection I could only have fantasized about for the past twenty years. I want the excitement and comfort and overwhelming attraction I feel with Fitz to have the opportunity to mature into something deeper. I don’t want to feel afraid.

  “Fitz,” I sigh. “I want this to work so bad, but I’m... God, I’m fucked up.”

  “No you’re not, Ma...”

  “Yes I am,” I interrupt him as gently as I can. “Not once in my life did I ever have the chance to experience real love before I came here. All of that was shut off to me growing up. I thought love was earned, I thought it was a privilege I would never be allowed. After a lifetime of that, I don’t even know if I’m capable of giving you what you want from me.”

  “You don’t have to...”

  “Shh,” I say, pressing my finger to his lips. “Please let me finish, okay?”

  He nods gently.

  “I want us to do this right, but I need the space to do that. I have a lot of thinking and growing up to do first. You get that, right?”

  Fitz, you need to grow up a little too. You know it to be true.

  Silence follows as we stare into each other’s eyes, looking for a mutual understanding, and when Fitz’s pensive expression turns into a soft smile, I can’t help but smile back.

  “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this your way. Slow and steady.”

  “Slow and steady.”

  “On one condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “You spend the entire day with me today.”

  “I need to go change clothes before work.”

  “Okay, aside from that, you spend the whole day with me.”

  “I can manage that.”

  Again we kiss, although this time I am far more enthusiastic. Just talking things over has made me far more confident about the direction of our relationship.

  Wow, this is definitely a relationship now, I think. It’s not unfolding in quite the way I thought it would, if I were ever lucky enough to get this far, and it’s highly unlikely to go smoothly thanks to our mixture of problems, but we’ve come so far already and it would be ridiculous for me to run away now. The possibility of adoring and being adored is too much to give up. After everything that’s gone on, I think I deserve that much, at least.

  Our kiss almost leaves me blind and deaf to the world. It is only the sound of an all too familiar voice that disturbs my bliss. I glance over at the TV to see that trashy TV judge on a split-screen with a teary eyed balding man.

  My father.

  I push Fitz away as if he is burning my skin and stare at the TV screen, fearful that I’m still dreaming. That’s definitely my dad on screen, but I’ve never seen him look so distraught. He looks human. The TV host, with a thick Southern accent, sympathetically questioning Mr. Simon Phillips.

  ‘Simon, you say you have some potentially good news to share with us?’

  ‘Yes, I do. An anonymous tipper called in to say they spotted Marina at Penn Station in New York City, and the police there confirmed that for us on camera footage.’

  ‘That is wonderful news, Simon. I hope the heinous culprit is caught soon and that you’ll be reunited with Marina soon.’

  “Turn it off,” I say, digging my fingernails into my thighs. Fitz doesn’t need to be told twice, and scrambles for the remote to turn the TV off, but not before my father bursts into tears again.

  “Marina,” Fitz sighs, his hand hesitantly hovering over my own, where my nails are close to breaking the skin. I barely feel it. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel anything again.

  “He’s found me.”

  CHAPTER 26.

  I can’t leave Fitz’s apartment.

  I can’t go to work or return to Viridian’s busy little box o
f a studio that I’ve been calling home for the past couple of weeks. The very thought of stepping outside this building and onto the streets sends me into a panic I can’t control.

  I can barely breathe.

  The TV is off, but my father’s face remains imprinted on the blank screen in my mind. He’s red faced and sobbing and telling me this is all for my benefit because I’m a good girl and good girls need to obey or face the repercussions. My skin burns with the memory of harsh slaps and a hockey stick thrashing my back. All of my thoughts are in his voice, in that shudder inducing tone of passive-aggressive manipulation he used to rule my life.

  He’s here. He’s always been here with me. I just couldn’t face admitting that to myself.

  He knows I’m in New York and they’re coming to get me.

  I’m surprised it took them this long to find me, now that I think about it. After all, I just ran to the nearest train station, sobbing like a child having made no effort to disguise myself, then wandered helplessly around a terrifying new city. I was practically a beacon of helplessness. No wonder Fitz and Viridian gravitated toward me. I scream “victim,” even more so right now as I sit curled up on Fitz’s couch, my former bed, staring into space through a sea of tears.

  Fitz paces behind me, the phone pressed against his ear as he talks to Rachel, explaining my sudden need for a leave of absence. Viridian’s on her way with my things. The three of us decided that Fitz’s apartment was the safest of the two buildings, so my plan to take things slow and steady immediately took a U-turn right back into the den of temptation.

  “Okay, thanks Rachel. Seriously, we both thank you. Bye.” Fitz hangs up and immediately dials in another number. I can see his entire body is tense and ready to snap. “Hey, Derek, it’s me. I’m guessing you saw the news? I have some favors to ask.”

  Fitz’s conversation with his brother continues through a succession of grunts, but I’m barely listening. I’m deafened by my own thoughts. I don’t have a plan for this. I’ve never had a plan for anything that’s happened since I decided to take control of my life. The fear cripples me and any semblance of the confident persona I had been living under for the past few weeks turns to dust before my eyes.