Fallen Ch. 1 Pt. 1

1.

“Michael,” she said, “We did not have sex.” Her gaze shifted to somewhere over my left shoulder. “Not really.”

“Not really?”

I stared at her incredulously. I watched as a flush began to spread across her face.

I waved the now crumpled piece of paper in my hand.

“Maria?” My tone was rising. “Tell me what this means?” I glared at her. She began to shy away.

Just a moment before, I’d been happy, when I’d come in through the door. I’d thought it was a prank, a joke, a silly rumor. I thought she would explain. I hadn’t expected this.

“Michael,” she said, backing up. She almost tripped on the low table near the door. She glanced quickly back. “Michael,” she said, “Please, listen to me.”

She dropped the paperback she’d been holding in her hands onto the table. “We didn’t do it,” she said, “I mean we did not have sex, I mean, at all.” She held out her hands.

“What does that mean?” I asked. She continued backing up. I followed her.

“Please,” she said. “Listen to me.”

“Maria,” I said, trying to control my voice, “I am listening. Tell me what you meant.”

She backed up against the counter that separates our kitchen from the living room. She stopped there. “Michael,” she said, “I did it for us, for the baby.”

“For the baby!” I stared, wide eyed, at her. Her fair skin had nearly lost its blush. Her blood-red lips were slightly parted. She licked them nervously. I could see the fear there - she was afraid of me.

I felt my own face begin to burn. The paper I’d been holding fell from my hand.

“For the baby,” I said, angrily. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Michael,” she said, “Don’t use that tone with me.” She widened her eyes at me. She sounded angry, ashamed, and frightened, all at once.

I felt a little frightened myself. I stared at her a moment, and then turned abruptly, looking back at our front door. For the baby, I thought. I felt a little dizzy.

“Maria.” I swallowed and tried again. Our neighbor’s little girl rode by outside, on a new bike without training wheels. “Maria-” She was going much too fast, I thought.

She interrupted me. “No, Michael,” she said, “Listen to me.” I felt her nervous footsteps on the floor. “I’m trying to explain.” She’d stopped somewhere in the middle of the room. “Listen,” she began again, “It’s not the same – it’s not the same with us. I mean with him. As it is with him.” I felt my stomach drop, like it does, when you come up over the top on an amusement park ride. I opened my mouth. Not a sound came out. I took a step toward the door.

“Michael,” she called out, “Don’t leave!” Her voice was shrill, plaintive.

I paused, looking out.

Maria was standing just behind me. I felt her fingers on my arm. “Michael,” she breathed, “Don’t go.” I stood there for a moment, thinking: it’s vertigo, I thought, that’s what they call this.

She clutched my arm. “Try to understand,” she said. She stepped in closer. I could feel her breathing on my neck, her nipple through her blouse, her thigh through the thin cotton of her small summer skirt. “Michael,” she said, “I’m doing it for us.” I swallowed, feeling a fierce hot anger building inside me. I started to pull away, but she pressed her nails into my flesh. “Don’t go!” she said. I turned on her.

“Michael,” she said, “Don’t.” Her blue eyes were rimmed with red. Her blonde framed face was smeared with tears. “Michael,” she stammered, “I don’t- I don’t enjoy this!”

“Don’t enjoy it!” I yelled back into her startled face. “You don’t enjoy it?” I breathed, panting through my mouth. A little spittle landed on her cheek.

“I don’t-” she moaned, eyes darting, clinging tightly to my arm, “I don’t enjoy it!”

I stared at her. I had a premonition: a vision: “You’re blowing him,” I said. I felt a preternatural sense of calm.

Her mouth was open, looking up. I saw her small pink tongue. I watched her touch her lip with it. Her face was turning red again.

“Michael, I-”

I pushed her. I shoved her. I shoved her small body with all my strength. Her nails tore into my arm as she fell backwards. Falling backwards, she was unable to break her fall. She cried out, falling badly. She landed on her butt, and then continued, rolling up onto her back. Her legs went flying in the air.

Finally she curled into a little ball, lying on her side, on the floor.

I stood over her, staring down. She lay there and began to sob. An enormous rent exposed her legs all the way up her thighs.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “Oh God, Oh Michael.”

I swallowed, still breathing hard. I unclenched my fists. I stared. “Maria?” My voice sounded hollow, rasping. She hugged her knees up to her chest; her hair had fallen across her face. I couldn’t tell what I’d done to her, if I had hurt her. I thought of the baby – our baby – inside her.

Finally I knelt down. I touched her gently on the shoulder. “Maria?”

“No,” she mumbled wetly, quietly. “No.” she said. “I’m sorry, Michael. I never meant it. I never meant to hurt you.”

I felt a painful swelling growing in my chest. It rose into my throat, choking me.

“Maria-” I tried to swallow.

She shook her head. I could see her pale cold cheek, her necklace, the one she always wore, tangled in her hair. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I really am.”

I opened my mouth. Not a sound came out. I knelt there and watched her breathing. A pool of tears had gathered along her nose. “Maria-”

The buttons on her blouse had broken open. The small gold cross she wore fell off her trembling breast onto the floor. “Maria- I’m sorry.”

A narrow slit of blue appeared between her eyelids. She was looking up at me.

I gathered myself and stood. “Maria,” I said, “I’m sorry too. I should not have done that, no matter what-” I turned away, but I heard her call my name.

She was crawling. Crawling to me. “Michael,” she asked, looking up at me, wiping her tears and hair from her swollen eyes. “You believe me?”

I inhaled. “I didn’t say that.”

She kneeled there, trembling. “Say it!” she said, “Say that you believe me!”

We stared at each other a long moment. Then I turned to go again.

“No!” she cried. She wrapped her arms around me, around my knees. “Wait!” I inhaled, and slowly let it out. I turned.

“Don’t go,” she breathed quietly. I could see the smooth white contours of the insides of her breasts. Her hair was tangled, her blouse and skirt were torn, and eyeliner streaked her face.

“Maria-”

“No,” she said. She squeezed tightly, pressing her face against my jeans. “Don’t go.” I reached out to her, to keep my balance.

“Michael,” she said, “I want to make it up to you.” She turned her face, and pressed her other cheek against me. She was rubbing her makeup and her tears into my jeans. “I want to win your trust again.” She paused. I felt her swallow. “Ask me what you want. About what happened.”

I thought about that, and shook my head. I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my vision. “No,” I muttered quietly.

She looked up. “Michael?” I shook my head again, not daring to breathe. She leaned into me.

“Michael,” she asked, “Do you still want me?”

I stood there swaying, clutching at her head. “Maria-”

“No,” she said. “Answer me.” She tilted up her head. “Do you? Do you want me?” She squeezed my legs, pressing me against her breasts. “Anything you want,” she said. I knew that she could feel me. I knew that she had felt me. I knew that she would know what it was that I would want.

I closed my eyes. I had to. They were rolling back inside my head.

I felt her rub her other cheek against me. “Do you?” I had a vision of her kneeling there, it appeared inside my lids. “You can,” she whispered. “If you want.” I suppressed a groan, but it came out as a sigh. I couldn’t help it.

“Maria-” I gasped out.

“You don’t have to answer me.”

She slipped her fingers inside my pants.

“Yes,” I hissed.

I looked. Her lips were shining wet. Her makeup had smeared into angry looking bruises on her cheeks.

“Yes?” she asked.

I closed my eyes again. I inhaled and let it out. “Yes,” I breathed.

I didn’t see it, but I imagined her sharp white teeth showing in her mouth as she heard me say it.

“I’ll show you,” she said, “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

No, I thought, please God no. She continued on. “I don’t know why I wouldn’t,” she said. She pulled my pants apart, and drew them down. “I guess I was afraid.” I swallowed, my dry throat hurting me.

“Maria-”

“No,” she said, “Just hold on.”

No, I thought, please no. Then she had me out. She’d released me.

“Maria-” I tried again.

“Shhh.” I imagined her pouting lips. “Let me do this.”

I felt her soft cheek rubbing up against me, against the underside of my cock. Oh God, I thought, Oh God. I felt the wetness there, the mingling of her tears and the semen leaking out of me. Oh God.

She paused, and I reached out. I touched her hair. I touched a drop of slickness there. “Shhh,” she said, “Let me take my time with this.” I groaned, my mental picture of her changing inside my mind. She continued to rub me with her wet slick face.

“Maria-” I gasped. Oh God, I thought, Oh God. I moaned, open mouthed, and started coming into her hair. I felt her hands on me, her face as she moved her head. “Oh, God,” I moaned out loud. I felt her lips, her tongue. I heard her voice. “Go ahead,” she said.

I groaned unintelligibly as the last of it squirted out.

When I looked down, she was still looking up, eyes closed, smiling, my come glistening on her face and in her hair. I took a half step backwards and fell against the couch. Oh God, I thought, Oh God, Oh God.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, fluttering her sticky lashes.

She did not say a word, but got up and walked around into the kitchen. She ran the tap, and came around the counter where I could see her. She wiped her face with a kitchen rag. She was smiling.

I tried to smile back. She turned the rag, looking at the mix of makeup, come, and tears on it. She turned it again, and wiped her eyes with it. “Did you like that?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer. She smiled with one half of her face. “Do you think less of me?” she asked.

I slowly shook my head. She was wiping my come into her skin.

“Good,” she said.

She came around the counter, her torn skirt swishing on her legs. “Michael,” she said, looking down. “Look what you’ve done.” She drew the skirt apart, showing me the tear. I licked my lips, and then I saw her grinning. She was teasing me; she was showing off her panties. She dropped her skirt and reached up to her blouse. “You’re going to have to pay for this,” she said, fingering the threads where her buttons used to be.

She came around, and knelt beside me. “Michael,” she said, “Come into the bedroom?”

How could I refuse?