by Penny Wylder
Dalia stops dancing, focusing sharp eyes on my face. “What are you doing, Lyle?”
Scooping her face in my hands, I hold her there. From the corner of my eye I see a familiar figure in the background. My eyes glance up, and I feel the sizzle of anger in her stare.
Sandy is leaning against the back wall, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes lit with fire. The anger is pouring out of her like lava. I'm not sure why she looks so pissed.
Maybe it's because I'm not alone like she is.
Maybe it's because she thought I wasn't coming and now I'm here.
Maybe it's because she hates anyone she thinks is beneath her, and she considers Dalia one of those people.
“Lyle,” Dalia whispers, drawing my gaze back to her.
“Yeah?” I ask, looking quickly back over her shoulder, and noticing my sister's gone.
“Why me?” Her voice is so soft I almost miss the question.
Holding her cheeks, I smile. “Why not you?”
Her eyes light up, exploding with a million little fireworks.
Kiss her!
The voice inside my head is strong and loud, and I have no choice but to listen. This could be my only chance. Lowering my face, I brush her nose with the tip of mine. Our lips are so close I can smell the vanilla scent of her lip gloss and her warm breath on my face.
Her chest is rising and falling, faster and faster, and her fingers inch around my neck, interlocking behind my head.
She licks her lips, and I lick mine. She lifts up on her toes, I drop down. Her fingers caress the back of my neck, working up into my hair. My hands move around her waist, holding her so close I can feel her heart beating inside her chest.
Closer and closer our mouths move, until they're about to touch.
Everything in my body is on fire. My heart is racing and my palms are sweaty. My dick is getting hard as her nipples bead up, becoming visible under her dress.
Errrr! Errrr! Errrr!
The sound is jarring, causing us both to unfurl our bodies and take a step back. Bright white lights are flashing at each exit, and kids are moving out of the room with a slight look of panic on their faces.
The fire alarm is so loud I can barely hear myself think. Dalia looks around us, reaching her hand back to grab Kira. We move with the crowd out the exit, and in the middle of it all, I lose her.
Her hand is in mine, I feel her fingers, I feel them tighten, and then she's gone. My hand is empty, cold, and Dalia is nowhere in sight.
Just like that, it's over. Our almost kiss will remain that. Almost. A wish I want back. A desire I'll relive over and over in my dreams.
Her lips will be there. Her chest pressing against mine will sit like a weight on my ribs.
But I'll always open my eyes before we kiss.
I won't let a chance like this slip through my fingers again.
If I have the opportunity, I'm just going to take it.
8
Dalia
I inhale a short breath right before the elevator doors open, and I hold it in. I can't let it out, it's like my brain won't let me until I know.
For years I spent tiny moments wishing to be noticed, to become the light in a room full of darkness so his eyes would fall only on me. And now all I want is to become invisible.
Don't see me. Don't see me. Don't see me.
The mantra plays over and over as the doors open so slowly it's like they were oiled with molasses. I'm met with a smiling secretary holding out a folder, and a list of requests from Sandy.
“Ms. Vox is requesting immediate action on the file, plus she wants you to go over a few other slides from the D Sneakers advertisement images. She's not very happy with images three and five.”
“Got it, thanks,” I say, taking them from Giada. My eyes shift nervously around her face, and she gives me a thoughtful smile.
“You okay, Ms. Greene?” she asks.
“I'm all right. Things aren't—” The phone rings, and she lifts a finger for me to hold my thought.
“Vox Design,” she says into the receiver as she taps the keyboard and stares at the monitor.
I don't stay to finish our little conversation, I just give her a quick smile, and head to my office. It's better that way. I really don't feel like explaining anything to her.
My heels click on the hard floor, so I try to step a little lighter, a little less noticeably. Looking over my shoulder, I stop at each hall, peeking first before moving past.
He could be anywhere. I don't want to see Lyle, I'm not ready, not after our fight. I feel weird, like I'm on the verge of crying any second. My emotions have been going haywire, I'm high and low, angry and sad. It's like I can't control any of it.
Everything I remember feeling back in school is coming back to life inside me. The embarrassment, the anger, the sadness. It's fresh, alive, and burning through my veins.
I feel rejected, like he's justifying what she did by writing it off like it never happened. He's refusing to see her for the real person she is. I don't understand it, it seems obvious to me.
It's always been obvious to me, even when I chose to ignore it.
Stepping into my office, I close the door behind me, and lean back. Finally, I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm safe. Hiding in the confines of my own space.
I walk to the window and look out at the horizon. The sun is peeking out, and beginning to seep over the buildings, dusting them in red and orange. The city below me is coming alive as more and more cars fill the streets, and people begin their day.
Pulling the folder out, I open it up, and thumb through the papers. It's one of the client work sheets I drew up with a mock idea for the upcoming advertising campaign.
And Sandy drew red lines all over the fucking thing.
With my eyes on the paper, I walk to my desk and drop into the chair. My entire body is clamming up, my skin is getting hot and sticky.
Setting the folder down in front of me, I flip through page after page and all I see is red. Red lines stripe the paper like cuts. Every single one stings. My eyes start to fill with water as I read her comments.
'This is awful, what are we six? Change it to something more modern, and not like it came out of Sesame Street.'
'Dumb.'
'Stupid.'
'Just no.'
The last one isn't just a cut, it's a damn gouge. Scribble after scribble of ink marks every inch of the picture.
She hasn't changed at all.
Is she doing this because she knows Lyle and I got in a fight?
It makes sense. Sandy knows about the argument, and now she's pissed. Hanging my head, I can't stop myself from breaking down. The tears come, falling one after the other onto the design. My design.
“Dalia, what's wrong? Are you all right?”
Lifting my head, Lyle is standing in the doorway, concern flooding his expression. He starts to move into my office, and all I want to do is run away.
Can this day get any worse?
Jumping up from my seat, I quickly stuff all the papers back into the folder, and close it. I'm not looking at him as I sniffle, wiping my nose with a tissue I tugged out of the box on my desk.
“I'm fine,” I say firmly, keeping my voice strong.
“You're definitely not fine. What's going on?” I can feel him staring at me, and I hate it.
I don't want to see him, I don't want to be around him, I don't want anything to do with him right now. And I definitely don't want to feel the weight of his eyes on me.
There's something about the way he looks at me that I can't handle right now. It's so deep, so heavy, and I want nothing to do with it.
Picking up my folder, I walk around to the front of my desk, and head to the door. “Don't tell me what I am. I said I'm fine, so I'm fine.” Storming past him, he reaches out to grab my arm and misses.
I feel the air off his fingers, and I exhale a relieved breath. I can keep going.
“Dalia, wait.” Lyle follows me out, but I don't look b
ack at him over my shoulder.
Picking up the pace, I hit the button for the elevator. I watch the light above the doors, not making eye contact with him. I'm still crying, I can't shut it off, and I'm trying so damn hard to.
My chest hurts as my tears become sobs, and Lyle softly touches my shoulder. “Dalia, please, tell me what's wrong. You haven't answered my calls or my texts all weekend. Talk to me, I can't fix anything if I don't know what to do.”
Jerking my shoulder out from underneath his hand, I don't answer. I won't.
And why should I? Why should I tell him anything at all? It's not like he'll care. He'll just go back and tell his sister, and then what? I get fired?
No. Not a chance.
The doors open, and I charge inside. Hitting the star for the lobby, I dart my eyes up. I'm slamming my thumb against the button to close the doors, but Lyle is inside before they slide shut.
“Please, talk to me, Dalia.”
Tipping my chin, I don't even bat a lash in his direction. As far as I'm concerned, my silence should tell him exactly what's wrong.
Lyle grabs my shoulder, spinning me to face him. “If you're not going to talk to me, that's fine, you can just listen.” His fingers dig deeper, holding me in place. “I haven't stopped thinking about you, I can't get you out of my head.” His eyes bounce around my face, feverishly desperate for something from me.
The tears are still flowing effortlessly. My lungs are gasping for air as I cry. His eyes scan my face, and I know he's waiting for a response. He wants me to answer. He wants to hear my thoughts and know what I'm thinking.
But I can't give him that. I'm afraid that anything I say will come back to haunt me later. It obviously has already, the folder in my hands with red graffiti is all the evidence I need for proof of that.
Using his thumb, he captures a tear and wipes it away. His eyes trace my face, moving over my lips. And then he kisses me.
He kisses me hard and fast, coming out of nowhere. Shock makes me freeze, my body limp and motionless as his lips wet mine. In a single breath, he erases everything.
We're not in the elevator. We're not on this earth. We're floating. It's just us, lighter than air, and no one else matters.
Reality quickly rushes in, dropping me back down on to flat feet.
This is wrong! Stop! With firm hands, I shove Lyle away.
“Dalia,” he says, softly caressing my face in his hand. “Tell me you still feel it. Tell me you still want me as badly as I want you. I know I'm not crazy, I know there's something here.”
Silence.
“You're refusing to talk to me, but you know what. . .” Pausing, he reaches out and runs the tips of his fingers around the edge of my ear, and back under my jawline. “I don't need to hear you say it to know it. I can see it, I can feel it. I can smell it.” His eyes drop to the V between my legs and he smiles. “And it smells so fucking sweet.”
His hand cups my cheek, and I lean into it. I don't even mean to do it. My body reacts to him, to his touch, to the way he feels on me, around me, in me. I'm wet instantly, my pussy biting at air, hungry for his cock.
Crushing his mouth against mine, he kisses me again. And this time, I kiss him back. My lips part, my tongue reaches for a taste of his. And for a moment, I let go.
I let go of everything, giving myself to him the way he wants me to. He has me, and I have him.
No! It won't work!
Breaking the kiss, I take a long step back. “We can't do this.” Floating my eyes up to his, I hold his gaze. “You might not see your sister for who she really is, but I do.” Pointing at myself, my eyes expand. “And I know if she ever finds out about us, she'll fire me in a second.”
“Dalia, stop, San—”
Holding up my hand, I shake my head. “We're done, Lyle, whatever this was is over. I'm not going to throw away everything I've worked for. Sandy doesn't play fair, and I'm done risking my job for someone who can't even stand up for what's right. It's easy to see who's really in charge.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Running a finger under my eyes, I wipe away black smears of mascara. “I don't know, Lyle, you tell me.” Slapping the folder against his chest, the doors open to the lobby, and I walk out of the elevator alone.
Lyle stays inside, he doesn't move, holding the folder to his chest as he watches me walk out the glass front doors.
Maybe if he sees her stains on my work himself, he'll start to see how she works. Stay on her good side, and you’re her golden goose. Make one mistake, and she's dumping you in the trash.
Hitting the street, I start to feel dizzy. The world is going in and out of a purple haze, and my head is spinning. Resting my palm against the side of the building, I hold myself up.
My stomach is churning and I'm sweating like I just ran a marathon. Keeling over, I grip my knees, and throw up on the sidewalk.
What the hell is going on? Where is this coming from?
A woman stops, asking me if I'm all right. I nod and thank her but tell her I'll be fine.
“Are you sure?” she asks, glancing at her watch. “I'm about to grab a taxi, we can share it if you need to get home. I'm heading toward Staten Island.”
“No, I'm okay. It just kind of came out of nowhere on me. I felt fine last night.”
She smiles, sticking her arm out to flag a cab. “I remember those days. I got sick like you when I was pregnant with my son. Not my daughter though, with her I just got heartburn.”
“Oh, no, I'm not pregnant.” Laughing it off, I give her an awkward smile. “It would be a miracle if I was. I'm covered, no chances here.”
“Nothing is one hundred percent, sweetie.” She holds the cab door, giving me one last chance to share it.
“No, thank you.” I watch her cab pull away, and I stand still, just thinking about what she said.
I don't want to admit she's right, but she is. Nothing is one hundred percent safe. And the thought scares the fuck out of me. I take the pill, so the chances of me being pregnant are slim to none. But what if?
I can't be pregnant, the pill should protect me. . . I'm safe. Right?
Standing up straight, I rub my belly, trying to soothe the tsunami inside. I'm not pregnant. There's no way.
I have felt weird recently.
The hot flashes. The strange cravings. The emotional rollercoaster rides I've been on.
Oh shit. Could I be?
My breathing picks up as the realization starts to swell inside. Looking right to left, I remember there's a pharmacy two blocks away. I don't wait, I head right there.
Standing inside, I'm in the family planning aisle, blankly staring at all the options. Pink boxes, boxes covered in flowers, digital results, lines. There are a million ways to see if you've been knocked up.
This is ridiculous. Does there really need to be so many choices?
Picking up one of the boxes covered in flowers, I flip it over to read the back. All the fluff on the outside seems so unnecessary. I mean seriously, is it a scratch and sniff? Because what the hell do a bundle of daisies have to do with being pregnant?
Setting it back on the shelf, I grab the simplest box there is. It's purple with block letters, nothing fancy. I just want the confirmation that I'm not pregnant so I can go on with my day.
Paying at the counter, I take the bag and go into the bathroom. I'm not waiting one more second. The box says I'll have an answer in three minutes, that's fast enough for me.
Locking the door behind me, I peel open the box, and take out the instructions.
One, remove tester from wrapper.
Two, urinate on colored tip.
Three, wait three minutes for results.
That's easy enough.
Following all the steps, I set the tester on the sink, and pace the small bathroom. Three minutes isn't long on a normal day, but three minutes right now feels like a lifetime. I keep checking my phone, but it's not changing.
This is the longest minute of my life
.
“Come on,” I say out loud, gripping the sink and hanging my head. The tester teeters on the edge, but I catch it before it can fall.
My eyes land on the small window where the results show, and I can't look away. I watch. I watch as one line appears, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
One line. Okay, good, I was right. I'm not. . . The thought dissolves as a second lighter line appears next to the first.
No. This isn't right.
“No, no, no. This is wrong.” Talking to myself, I rake my nails through my hair and just stare at the window on the test stick. “No. This is definitely wrong.”
I'll take it again.
Throwing the tester into the garbage, I take out the other one from the box. I either screwed it up, or it got messed up when it almost fell. That's why it isn't right. Somehow, some way, I fucked up the test.
Following the directions again, this time I sit it on the back of the toilet where it can't fall. I'm not taking any chances.
Rubbing my hands together, I walk back and forth in front of the toilet. It's not time yet, and I'm not going to jump the gun, and mess this one up too. All I need is for one to give me a negative sign. Just one.
Pushing a hard breath through my lips, I slide my palms down my thighs to dry them off. I can look now, but fear holds me back. I braid my fingers together, curling them around each other, and rubbing them together anxiously.
All right, let’s get this over with.
Picking the tester up, I hold it straight and steady. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths, and then I open them.
Fuck.
Two lines.
Leaning against the wall, I rest my head back, and close my eyes. That makes two. Two tests, two results, both positive.
I'm pregnant. . .
I'm fucking pregnant.
Sliding down the wall, I rest my head between my knees, gripping my temples with the pads of my fingers. Everything is spinning. My head. My stomach. The world.
My phone rings, sending my stomach into my throat. With shaky hands, I pull it out of my purse to see the word Vox flash across my screen.