A Stormy Night Pt. 13

I'm finally going on my first date with Jake.

It was long overdue, yeah I know, but now I'm more than ready to take that step with him. After everything that has happened, I need a real good distraction to convince me that I didn't dig my own grave, and he's it. Yes, I sound like I'm just using him as a rebound, and maybe I am, but I need to move on from him and Jake is the guy I think I can see myself with in the future.

Taking a matte bubblegum pink lipstick, I skillfully put the finishing touches to my lips, pressing them together to even out the spread, spray a little Dior perfume behind my ears and then sit back to view myself in the mirror. My eyebrows have been darkened and shaped into flawless arcs, and I've created lovely soft smoke eyes with shimmering violet eyeshadow and black eyeliner which cause my eye color to be even more mesmerizing. With some powder, my skin looks perfectly smooth and a subtle rose pink blush highlighting my cheeks completes the makeup portion of my attire. An amethyst jewelry set with studs adorning my ears, a platinum necklace holding a larger one that is nesting securely in the hollow of my neck, a platinum bangle with three more gems and a ring, all of them sparkling enticingly in the light. My hair is buffed up so much that it seems wavier, bouncier and more lustrous than normal, a black glittery flower barrette holding back one side of it to reveal more of my face. Standing, I walk over to the full-length mirror to check the rest of my body. A lush strapless burgundy midi dress with a sweetheart neckline baring more of my chest and shoulders caresses my curvatures brilliantly well with its fit-and-flare design, having an asymmetrical hem that shows off my legs, and sultry black high heels make me appear three inches taller. I smirk sneakily at myself. I've made sure that I look modest and sexy—modest to appease my parents and sexy to appease Jake—since dinner isn't the only thing we've planned for tonight.

Only one part is bothering the fuck out of me like it has been doing for the past week: the lingering sadness in my eyes. No matter how attractive I make myself look, I'll still be able to see it there, like a homeless person refusing to leave a house. Right now I'm practicing a smile and getting pissed at myself when the corners of my mouth start to tremble. I relax my face and then try it over and over and over again until the quivers aren't visible anymore. I really just want to go through tonight without remembering any of the shit that still harasses me.

That isn't too much to ask, right?

With a deep breath, I turn around to pick up my black jacket and purple clutch purse then head out the door and down the stairs, entering the living room where my parents are seated. Once they take a good look at me, their expressions brighten up in a flash as they stand and approach me.

"Sweetie, you look stunning!" Mom exclaims, holding my hand as she looks me up and down with an approving smile.

"Just magnificent," Dad adds, pleased awe emanating from his face.

Smiling bashfully, I say, "Thank you."

"Now, where's this boy you're going out with? I swear that if he's late for your first date—"

Just then the intercom buzzes, and Mom and I turn our heads at the same time to give him shrewd looks.

"Never mind," he grumbles as he walks towards the front door, letting us be alone for a while.

"Oh, Sandra! You really are so beautiful. It's so hard to believe that you've grown up into such a woman so quickly," she gushes, a slight gloom touching her smile. "We've been spending too much time away from you and now we've missed so much of your life..."

"Mom, please don't!" I stop her, gently placing my hands on her shoulders. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

She nods, tears shimmering in her eyes, and we hug, all the mother-daughter affection flowing freely between us. Lately, she has been evidently feeling terrible for not being around me much and chastising herself for it, but I'm genuinely just so happy that they're both here now, especially after a certain ugly phase of my life has occurred.

Separating eventually, we head towards the door where Dad is delivering to Jake the mandatory paternal "Always Be a Gentleman or Else You'll Die" speech. I roll my eyes at him. Like really, if only he knows how we're more than prepared to shoot it down to hell in a couple of hours.

"Hi, Jake," I say cheerily as I step forward, saving him from the mortifying moment.

"Hi, Sandra," he greets back, a wide grin spreading across his face as he looks me up and down casually. "You look more than lovely tonight."

I grin. "Thank you."

I also assess him and value the way his tailored black dinner suit fits his lean figure splendidly and his blond hair is stylishly gelled back to highlight his handsome face. I mean, I'm already quite breathless just gazing at him, and now I'm wondering if he's even more appealing without clothes on. Damn!

He hands me a bouquet of vibrant red roses that truly are exquisite yet still put a sour taste in my mouth when a particular unpleasant period of my lifetime bursts into mind. But forcing a smile, I manage to say, "They're beautiful."

After taking a whiff of them and getting assaulted by their heady fragrance, I hand them to my mom who looks like she's witnessing my wedding vows right now with her Cheshire cat smile almost splitting her face in half. For heaven's sake, it's just a date!

"Shall we?" Jake asks, proffering his arm.

"We shall," I reply, taking it.

"Please be back by ten. Or just before the storm starts," Mom prompts, the weather forecast about a beast of a rainstorm due to arrive late in the evening distressing her.

"Okay, Mom," I reassure, and with a farewell to my parents we exit the house.

He opens the passenger door of his black Audi for me and then closes after me before circling around the back to the driver's side. Buckling in, he turns on the ignition then drives us towards the opening gate.

As soon as we do the first turn, I say, "I hope my dad didn't put you off."

Grinning with mischief, he says, "Of course not. I mean, I only promised to behave during dinner after all."

I giggle, looking forward to the time we'll get to be alone and do what should've happened months ago.

Lightning strikes in the distance, tearing up the black sky for a brief second. About forty minutes later we reach our destination: a brand new, fancy as hell restaurant that I've been dying to go to. After Jake parks in front of it and opens the car and restaurant doors for me like a gentleman he 'promised' to be, we enter the large, chic building. Inside, the heat of the place immediately wraps itself around us since it's nearly packed, a pleasurable change from the nightly chilliness. Checking in with the hostess for our reservation, my jacket gets taken away before we're led through the spacious area to our table. It's a small yet cozy round table for two, a white linen cloth covering it and the chairs elegantly carved out and polished to a high shine. All the necessary utensils and napkins are already laid out on it, and an incredible bouquet of white and pink azaleas surrounded by four tiny lit candles that flicker slightly project this charming atmosphere to finalize the look.

Yeah, it's awfully romantic, warranting a very good start to the evening.

Jake pulls out my chair for me, and I smile gratefully as I sit. When we're both seated, the hostess hands us two menus whilst a waiter pours us some sparkling champagne into our glasses before they both leave for some minutes with friendly grins. Taking a sip of the champagne that fires up my taste buds in the most delightful way possible, I view the menu, all types of extravagant starters, entrées, main courses, desserts and drinks screeching at me to choose them but then I get distracted by Jake's abrupt cough. Looking up at him I see him show me a speculative expression, a small smile curling up his lips, and I have to smile back.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I eventually ask.

"Well... I'm still wondering why, after all this time, you've finally decided to go out on a date with me, is all," he states nonchalantly, raising an inquiring eyebrow at me.

Oh shit! Instantly, I frown and my heart skips a beat or two. I would rather not think about the reason why that's so. "I guess I was a little preoccupied with the recital."

"For two months?"

I say nothing to that, shrugging as I take another sip of my drink to soothe my dry throat. I really wish he would see how much this subject troubles me and just drop it.

"Look, Sandra. I'm just saying it's a little weird that not so long ago we seemed to be tight and then all of a sudden it felt like you were actively trying to avoid me and now we're back where we started. I mean, I'm receiving crazy-ass confusing signals here."

I glance down at the menu, not replying to that for a few seconds. What can I exactly say to him either way? Obviously, I can't talk about anything that would ruin our time together, but I also am sick of this whole dishonesty bullshit. Is it fine for me to trust him with the truth? Fuck! My brain is beginning to hurt again from all this excessive thinking.

"I was... going through a phase. I'm sorry for the way I treated you but I'll make up for it. I promise," I eventually admit with a suggestive smile, and he seems to be content with that response when he flashes me a starved grin.

I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. At least that part of hell is over.

A minute later the waitress returns to take our orders and we initiate a different, lighter conversation that carries on through most of dinner. We talk about nearly everything: my ballet scholarship, his baseball scholarship, my passions, his obsessions, my parents, his mom and two younger brothers, our best and worst moments in school and even about the teachers we like and hate, cracking jokes the entire time. I haven't felt this... relaxed in what feels like years, and for once I see myself being able to fully function without him in the picture.

When we get to dessert—a dark chocolate mousse that is absolutely spectacular in taste, appearance and scent—I'm unexpectedly overcome by an ache all over my body, infuriatingly gnawing at me. I try to ignore it, inhaling deeply to calm myself and eating the cake as unhurriedly as I'm able to but then I subconsciously start tapping my foot impatiently and my body squirms from time to time as my pussy throbs, pestering me even more. Heated anticipation courses in my blood, crawling around until I actually feel a little too unpleasant in the end. I've never felt this hungry for sex since... then, and it's almost as if I'm about to combust right the fucking now if we don't leave at this very moment.

"You alright?" Jake asks, but I see his body react in a similar way as he shifts in his chair.

"I think I'm full," I announce, setting the fork down on the plate and sending him a meaningful stare.

Knowing just what I mean by that, he calls for the waiter, his jaw clenching with tension. After paying the bill, he takes me out of the restaurant and back towards the car, opening then closing the doors for me again. He slips onto the driver's seat and speeds away for our next destination: his house. Since his brothers are having a sleepover at a friend's house and his mom works nightshifts at the hospital it means that we'll have the whole place to ourselves, therefore can make all the damn noise we want.

My only goal tonight is to lose myself in him, and I'm hell-bent on doing just that.

We get there in record time, the only lights illuminating the modest place being above the porch and in the living room. He parks in the garage and gets out but this time I don't wait for him to open the door for me when I hop out, haste lancing through me.

"Whoa! I see you can't wait," he says with a smirk.

"You have no idea," I confirm as I follow him into the kitchen and then the hallway.

We head upstairs, virtually running up the steps, and enter his bedroom. The first objects I notice are the trophies of all the games he has won, posters of famous baseball players, and bats, gloves and baseballs stored in a corner. But what my eyes really concentrate on is his twin bed, navy blue sheets covering it, basically calling to my carnality.

"You really are hot, Sand—" Jake starts, but I cut him off by grabbing the lapels of his jacket to yank him down towards me and crashing my lips into his, swallowing his yelp of astonishment.

I moan as I feel his warm mouth on mine, biting his bottom lip gently as I pull back. He gazes down at me with desire dancing in his eyes, his breathing shallower and harsher.

"I didn't think you could kiss like that," he compliments, a commending smile forming on his lips.

"Just take your fucking clothes off," I order, unable to wait a second longer.

His grin widens even further as he complies, hurriedly removing his jacket then unbuttoning his dress shirt. My own hands fly for his trousers waistband, undoing the snap then tugging the zipper down before shoving his pants down. I see his hard-on strain against his briefs and lick my lips, already wet enough to have him inside me. Placing my hands on his chest, I push him back until the backs of his knees bump into the mattress then roughly shove him so that he falls back, causing him to exclaim in surprise once more. Crawling over his body so that I straddle him, I take off my jacket and toss it away before leaning over to give him another hard, seeking kiss. He groans in want, his hands clumsily roaming my body, attempting to take in as much of it as quickly as possible.

I kiss him as if it's my last, parting his lips and thrusting my tongue into his mouth. All that's on my mind is getting the diversion I want­—need—at all costs, right now, and I don't give a shit as to how.

I sit straight back up and reach behind me for the zipper of my dress. As soon as my fingers touch the cool metal lightning flashes, and in that enormously short moment Jake vanishes in an instant, replaced by a fine-looking face that I'm all too familiar with, his spectacular grin temporarily paralyzing me, his dark brown eyes gazing up at me with fondness, and all the oxygen in my lungs freezes, my heart halting mid-beat.

No...

When the white burst of the lightning fades away, Jake returns, regarding me quizzically.

No...

"Hey, Sandra. What's wrong?" he asks softly, but I can only shake my head.

No!

With speed and agility that shock even me, I leap off him in a blink, my body now rejecting his touch. He sits up, mystified and alarmed but I pay little attention to him as I lunge for my discarded jacket and purse, my mind and heart tortured by the thoughts and emotions that are simply relentless and refuse to leave me the fuck alone!

Oh god no!

"Sandra, wait!" Jake calls out but I dash out of his room, struggling to see through my blurred eyes.

For the fucking love of my sanity, no!

Flinging the front door wide open, I'm instantly met by a drizzle of rain that's somehow as icy as my blood and remembrance of Shawn. I sprint as best I can in my heels across the lawn in the direction of home, my sobs wreaking severe havoc in my glasslike chest, quaking my whole form from their formidable power, making it near impossible for me to catch a quarter of a breath. I run and run and run and run, not feeling the physical pain I'm placing my body under, only able to experience the emotional and mental suffering razing me internally, devouring whatever was left of my willpower and composure like the building storm, my mind gradually shutting out the earth.

Why? Why can't I move on from him? Why do I feel like my soul continues to be bound to him, no matter how far apart we are or how critical the damage he inflicted on me is? Why do I feel like I've been crumbling much more rapidly ever since I last laid eyes on him? Why do I feel as if there isn't any real future worth expecting if it doesn't include him? Why do I feel so hollow?!

Because he's the only one for you, Sandra. Has been ever since you let him into the house the first time you met, and given that he has become a part of you, hollowness is what you naturally experience when he's not with you. Your love for him is your immortal cage, you know that.

And of course my conscience is right—so damn fucking right! I really was more than foolish to believe that I could just flick away my love for Shawn so swiftly and effortlessly. We had spent only two months with each other but it was more than enough time for me to fall hard for every little trait of his, good or bad. What I feel for him is ten times more powerful than the might of gravity, I know that. He's not a wound. He's a scar—one that will always mar my heart and mind and soul—and there will not be a single second where I'll be able to do something without him influencing me. I've been trying so hard to deny all of that but he has become such an integral part of my world, so without him it has transformed into nothing but a flaming skeleton, black smoke billowing into the sky as a testament of the death and destruction below, everything being burnt and crushed down into smaller, less significant versions of what they should be. The insight crashes into me with such cruel force that I let out a wail of sorrow which echoes in the condemning night, a new burst of energy causing my legs to pump faster, the peril of a single misstep utterly oblivious to me.

Time—it might as well be eras—goes on before I subconsciously notice that I'm slowing down. My mind progressively returns to earth and I look down to see my feet wobbling in the heels, each step now directing arrows of ache up my legs. Stopping is the last thing I want to do—I want to try to outrun myself, but if I continue pushing my body like this I won't be able to make it home. So coming to a halt, I stoop down to undo the ankle straps, rotating my feet a little when they're unrestricted before resuming the journey home but at a measured pace this time, all the muscles in my body denying to endanger themselves any longer. Tipping my head up to the weeping sky, the drizzle has evolved into a heavy rain in such a short time—well, in what I think is such a short time—the fat raindrops beating at my skin as if they're attempting to match my inner turmoil with their ferocity, my hair and clothes drenched beyond belief, my sight useful for only three yards. I hug myself when shivers unexpectedly break out throughout my body and start debating on whether wearing the sodden jacket will help at all or not.

Then another realization blasts into my head: Jake's house is literally just an hour away—by car. On foot, it will take a gruesomely extended amount of time to get back home—forever in this storm. I stop in my tracks, uncertainty and fear slicing into me. Going back or calling Jake to pick me up are the most sensible options to select, but nothing I've done so far has been sensible, and either way I can't handle needing to explain why I ran out on him right now. Also, I can't bring myself to call anyone else I know for that matter, positive that all they'll do is interrogate and lecture me. But then maybe a cab can get me. So I fish out my phone, glad that it's waterproof, and call Uber. It rings twice before a computerized female voice comes on, apologizing for not being able to lend any assistance because of the incoming viciousness of the storm. I cuss loudly which is immediately drowned out by the blaring might of thunder that causes me to jump on the spot. Shit! Because of my excessive stupidity I'm going to suffer out here, and I might not even be able to survive the night.