The Unnamed

"That really was amazing", said Paula, stretching her bare arms above her head, and then snuggling closer to him.

He felt her naked body warming his and, for a second, a brief twitch of interest. It had indeed been fun, and perhaps a second round was in order. He turned to her, buried his face on her breast and sighed contentedly. Taking a cue from him, Paula lowered both hands and closed them on the back of his neck, then let them roam lower, in between his shoulder blades, stroking and caressing and urging him to offer her a second serving of that delicious treat that was his body.

This feels so good, so sweet, so... wrong!

His head snapped up so violently he barely missed hitting Paula's chin, as she had bent her own head towards him.

"What's wrong?"

Her hands, that's what is wrong. They are too big, too strong, too...

But it was no use lying to himself. There was nothing wrong with Paula or her hands. The only problem was that Paula was not her. Not the one he'd really wanted. Not the one who had gotten away.

Laura non c'è, capisco che è stupido cercala in te...

He didn't speak much Italian, in fact he only knew the few words and phrases he'd learnt during his 3 weeks holiday in Italy, a few years before, but this song he knew by heart and understood the lyrics quite clearly. Just as he clearly understood that, no matter how gorgeous the woman next to him, she would never be her and it was, indeed, stupid to look for her in other women.

It's not like I have a choice. A guy has needs. And I am a free man. Might as well make the most of it.

But the mood was gone. The little interest he had managed to stir was gone too. He got up and got dressed, turning his back to the woman still naked in his bed, knowing what he would see if he happened to look at her. Two big, luminous eyes, shining with disappointment.

What else? You are the king of disappointments, are you not? You let them down, always let them down, one after the other. Just like you've let Tracy down, time and time again.

And that was even more idiotic. He knew, his brilliant, rational mind saw with absolute certainty that what had happened between him and Tracy had not been his fault. Just like what had happened with her hadn't been his fault either.

Absolutely not. She knew what she was getting herself into. She knew not to fall for me. She knew, she had been warned, and still she went ahead and did it. Tant pis, as the French would say.

"Look, it's late and I'm hungry. How about we go get pizza instead of beer and chips, and then I'll drive you home?"

He now turned to look and, sure enough, the disappointment was there, he saw it bright and clear. He also saw the silent question, her half-hidden desire to spend the night with him, at his place...

"No. I'm sorry. You know I don't do that. Come on, get dressed, will you?"

He could have been milder about it. Kinder. But mild and kind didn't work. Brutal was what he needed to be. As brutal to Paula as he was to himself. As he had been to her too.

She whom he dared not name. She who had loved him. And did she love him still?

 

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And did she love him still? There was so much uncertainty in her life right now, so much doubt and so much fear, but on this particular point, the one question where even a touch of uncertainty would have helped her, there wasn't any. Nope. Not the shadow of a doubt. Not one brief moment of anxiously telling herself that perhaps it had begun to fade, perhaps it was slowly getting better, perhaps it was only a matter of time before he became a distant memory.

Yeah, right. As if it was that easy. As if I could push him away from my mind and my heart, give up on him the way I'd give up an addiction that was threatening my life. I feel it threatening all right, not just my life and my future, but also...

"So? Think next Saturday would do? The weather forecast promises a splendid, sunny day, and... You're not listening, are you?"

"Of course I'm listening. I just got lost in thought for a moment there. You were saying?"

Phil looked at her with something rather close to disappointment. And regret. Definitely regret. She looked so pretty, small and fragile, but also, somehow, strong and brave. He felt like he could find the strong and brave in her, and so much more than that, if only he was given a chance to get close to her. Just a little bit closer:

"Happens to everybody. So... yeah. A hike? Through the woods where you usually go running and beyond? Next Saturday? I have a couple more friends who are into hiking and I'm sure it will be a lot of fun."

He stopped, waiting for a reaction from her. He knew better than to ask her on a hike with him alone. He needed to be patient. Whatever was going on in that little head of hers, it was obvious she wasn't looking for any one-on-one fun. Not yet, anyway. But even so, he could lay the groundwork with her. It wasn't going to be easy, but he was certain it was going to be worth the effort.

She looked at him and saw it all so clearly as if she was watching a movie. Phil was a reasonably handsome guy, with a reasonably nice character, interesting hobbies and, yes, reasonably interested in her. They would go on that hike, share stories, take pictures, sit down for a picnic. He would then ask her out again, perhaps to go to the movies, or go get pizza, or some cake. He'd accidentally on purpose touch her hand, her back, her shoulder, maybe go in for a brief hug, a kiss on the cheek before he moved on to the next step...

All of the sudden the half-eaten cake in front of her looked like a pile of rotting garbage, complete with tiny maggots crawling greedily through it. She clamped her teeth and lips in a desperate effort to stop the wave of nausea that had hit her so unexpectedly. She turned so pale that Phil, forgetting all caution, reached a hand for her, fearing she might faint:

"Are you alright? Did something happen?"

She dared not reply. She could not open her mouth for fear of throwing up. She shook her head slowly. She didn't want to lie. But she couldn't tell the truth either.

It makes me sick. Violently so. Even the thought of some other man touching me, of any other man touching me, makes me so sick I can't stand up. But I must. I must leave as quickly as possible, before this gets any worse.

And then it did. From livid white, her cheeks turned bright red when she realized she was crying again. A sob escaped her lips. And then another. And then, before she knew it, she was sobbing uncontrollably, struggling to keep in check both the nausea and the mortification that threatened to swallow her. To shatter her.

As brutally as he had done it.

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Tracy just loved this moment. Loved it. There was no better way to describe. These last few steps of the seduction game, the delicious anticipation of the tender touches she was going to enjoy, the malicious pleasure of the definitely not tender gestures she was going to impart herself to the hapless fool in front of her... yes, it was going to be fun all right. So much fun.

A pang of guilt - an ever so small fragment of doubt - threatened to spoil her pleasure for a second. A very brief second. She mentally shrugged away the evil impulse, then lifted both her shoulders in a very physical shrug that made the lacy robe that she was wearing fall to her feet in one fluid movement. She stared into Christopher's eyes and smiled her wicked smile:

"Like what you see, hun?"

Christopher opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it back again. Tracy suppressed a laughter.  A fool he definitely was. But hapless too? Probably not. She could think of quite a few others who would have killed to be in his place right then.

And then she thought about the ones who had already been there. And quickly dismissed the thought. They were history, all of them. All of them except for him.

Her wicked smile twisted in a half-cruel expression with the effort to banish him from her thoughts. Talk about a kill-joy. Her ex-husband was quite the last person on earth she wanted to think of while busy seducing Christopher. This was her game and her most exquisite pleasure and damn if she was going to let anyone ruin it for her.

Half-dazed and half drunk with the sight in front of him, Christopher reached a hand towards the naked goddess which seemed to be burning and vibrating only inches from him. She took it, kissed the inside of his palm, then started gently sucking on his fingers, one by one. With the groan of a dying man, Christopher pulled her in his arms and captured her mouth in a kiss that left him breathless.  And her too, but not so breathless as to stop her from quickly getting rid of his clothes. This was her boy, this was her toy, and boy was she in the mood to play.

And everyone else be damned.