Stories We Ruined Together Pt. 12

We worked on my book, and we worked on each other's bodies, and we talked about everything we could think of. That's how we spent the following two weeks. I did a good job of pushing down my doubts, ignoring and avoiding the voice of reason that implored me from the back of my stubborn, denial - driven mind. I didn't want anything to burst my precious bubble and take me from the pedestal upon which he had placed me.

A strong cold I developed interrupted our passion. I felt rough and unattractive, and knew I was almost certainly very infectious too, so I asked him to stay away. I didn't mind too much, knowing that my immune system would fight back quickly like it always does, and confident that the time apart would just intensify what we had. An excuse to miss work and to laze around with Romeo, watching films and eating chocolate, was also welcome. Writing was something I could do, and I put what I felt to be the finishing touches to my book, a process I enjoyed. My own descriptions of sex turned me on, evoking fresh memories of things we'd done together. Avenues we had explored. In particular I remembered the last time, and wondered if I had a real thing for being dominated, or if I had just enjoyed the novelty of it.

I called Brian and told him all about what had happened, how Ed and I had got back together, how he'd said he loved me, how I felt like I was nearly ready to say it back. Brian disappointed me. I expected him to be happy for me, to celebrate my delight, to be excited about my future. But he was hesitant, with lots of questions and lots of long pregnant pauses, like he couldn't make up his mind about this. Like he was trying to warn me.

"You're supposed to be pleased - because things are actually working out for me, things are good for me now, okay? And all I'm getting from you is this... weird concern."

Brian's tone finally warned up a little. "I'm sorry, honey. I just... I just worry, about how sudden this is. Are you sure you can really forgive him? For those photos?"

I waved my hand dismissively, although only Romeo could see the gesture. "I don't want to keep holding on to that. That's in the past. We all make mistakes."

"Okay. If you're sure, then great, good for you. I mean it. Good for you."

I said thanks, and we chatted about his life for a while, he made me laugh, and told me I sounded disgustingly blocked up. I felt good when we hung up, glad someone else knew that Ed and I were back on.

It took a few days for me to feel better again. I stayed off work, watched more films, carried on tweaking my book, and messaged Ed all kinds of little jokes, silly videos, and dirty little promises of what I was going to do for and to him as soon as we could meet again. I teased him about how he had finally revealed his dominant side. I didn't want to infect him by jumping the gun, and there was something exciting about having to wait a while. He responded with the same sort of stuff, just a bit funnier and a bit more daring than me. And I was glad for that -- something he had done from the start was draw me out of my shell, find the more daring sides of me, encourage me to have more confidence. Despite feeling physically run-down, that week was a very happy one for me, with my affection and lust building up steadily, making me feel all warm and loving.

When I woke up and felt completed recovered, my first thought was to grab my phone and message Ed, and tell him to come over. But I rethought that, and had what I believed was a better idea -- go over to his place and surprise him. What could be more fun that that? He wouldn't be expecting it, I would be taking the initiative, being a great girlfriend. I knew he wasn't working, he'd told me his plan for the day was just to relax, and maybe write another short story. It was perfect. I spent that morning getting washed, dressed, dolled-up with a lot of care and attention, and thinking through what I could do in the bedroom, what new thing might give Ed a thrill. I briefly considered making a return to the sex shop we'd visited together, but didn't fancy the walk, so I decided I would just tell him that he could do anything he wanted to me, and hope he didn't want to fuck me up the arse or any of the other painful sex acts.

I waited until late morning and then off I went, in the very best of moods, with headphones on and my special good feelings playlist filling my ears with lovely sounds. It was an overcast day, a classic English winter grey-blue day, with grey winning out. Cold but above freezing. I pulled my coat around myself and strode on, weirdly aroused by knowing that under all my layers I was wearing my skimpiest, sexiest underwear. Just for him. Lost in a reverie of thoughts of our future, I walked right past the house, and had to come back on myself fifty metres or so. I walked up to the door and knocked firmly.

A delay, and then it was opened, by Gareth. He stared at me like I was some possibly dangerous animal, and he was waiting to see if I would attack. I waited for him to recognise me, widening my smile a bit in case this was one of his jokes. He looked nothing like the first time he had opened the door to me, and not because the moustache had grown thicker and become unruly, it was something I found it hard to put a finger on. Could he have been even skinnier than before? He definitely seemed paler.

Finally there was a spark of recognition. "Lizzie. It's... good to see you."

"You too Gareth." I shrugged, and made a show of rubbing my hands together. "Cold today, isn't it? Can I come in? I've come to surprise Ed."

Gareth licked his lips in a nervous manner, and glanced behind him, then back to me. "He's not expecting you?"

"No, he doesn't know that I've got over the bad cold I've had these last few days. I thought I'd give him a nice surprise." I felt I was repeating myself now, and my cheery smile was not melting Gareth's frozen face. Although his eyes looked less fearful now. More... sad. Or perhaps that's my unreliable memory. A few people have told me that I remember things poorly, that I change details of the past to fit what happened later, to fit my own needs. I don't think that's true. I don't think I do that.

"Well, maybe you should... you could call him, maybe."

"Come on Gareth, don't be daft. You know it's safe to let me in. He's home, yeah?"

He nodded grimly, and stood aside to let me past. I took my coat off and hung it by the door, removed my shoes, closed the door very quietly because I wanted to maintain the surprise, and followed Gareth into the kitchen. His walk was more of a shuffle. I was concerned for him.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked quietly. A nod in response. "Shall I make you a tea, or coffee?" Nothing for a moment, and then another nod. I put the kettle on, made two teas, and sat down at the table opposite him. "Gareth, you're worrying me now." I put my hand on his, and he jerked it away like I'd electrocuted him. Then gave a slight smile, and returned his hand, patting mine gently before running his through his hair.

"I'm fine and dandy."

"Okay. Just tired?" A shrug from him. "Well... I'll go up to Ed then -- he's in his room?" A slow nod. "Okay. I'll see you in a bit."

Gareth opened his mouth as if about to blurt something out, but then just closed it again. He lifted his mug and sipped it, face hidden behind its shape and its steam. I went softly up the stairs. At Ed's room I paused, with my hand ready to knock on the door, all movement halted by a sound. Not a male sound -- a high, female whimper. I didn't knock. Instead, I gently eased open the door, only enough to see into the bedroom.

Mary was on top of Ed, riding his cock on the bed at the far end of the room, her beautiful blonde hair freed from its usual bob, swaying with her rocking motion, and her tits swayed too, and her back was arched and her eyes were closed. His eyes were closed too -- they were both oblivious of me. He was holding her hips, really digging his fingers in, ecstasy written across his face. In my shocked state I had the strange thought that he should have his eyes open, to see her body, see her face. Because she was gorgeous. Anyone would tell you that. She whimpered again and Ed groaned in approval, guiding her movement with the hands that I'd thought were for me alone. Enjoying being inside of her. Clearly, obviously, loving it, and shut off from the rest of the world. She was the same. I stood there for a while, watching there passion, but when the tears came roaring up I turned away, stepped clear, silently left them.

Gareth hadn't moved from the kitchen table. He glanced up when I entered, then back down again. I sat down gently next to him, and put my hand on his shoulder. He patted it with his, then went back to using it to turn his mug round. Round and round on the table. Round and round. I was feeling too much to say anything for a while, so we just sat there. Periodically the sounds of the bed shaking against the floor filtered down to us. And that was the only sound. Eventually I made us another cup of tea and then sat across from him, trying to get a hold of my thoughts. How could I be so stupid?

"Gareth. Gareth, look at me. How long has this been going on?" He just shook his head. "Come on, tell me. Please."

A defeated, disconsolate shrug. "A while."

"But specifically, how long? Please."

"Few months, this time."

"This time? This had been like... off and on?"

Gareth raised his eyes to mine for a moment, and gave me a sad smile. Like he felt bad for me. Pity for me. "They have phases. It never lasts."

"So it's just... fun, for them?"

"Mary likes to mix things up sometimes. She gets bored."

I exhaled, realising at that moment that all my breaths for several minutes had been shallow, constricted. "I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this." I wanted to throw my mug at the wall, but I didn't. "Why do they... for fuck's sake. Fuck fuck fuck."

There was another silence, not even any sound from above. For a moment I thought Gareth had fallen asleep, but then he sighed, and scratched his neck. My brain was racing through possibilities, trying to find any way in which this was not a complete disaster, any possible way that I could hold onto Ed, sort things out, and eventually come to trust him again. There was nothing. It was impossible. And with that, I felt seething, scraping anger deep inside.

"We have to get back at them. We have to... there's got to be some kind of revenge. We could... we could smash up their favourite possessions, or... get them into trouble at work. Something." Stupid things to say, things that I would never actually do.

"No," Gareth said quietly.

"Come on! You've got to fight back here -- look at what they've done to us!" I'd raised my voice, and I looked to the stairs, nervously. I didn't know how I would react if one or both of them were to suddenly appear. I tried to control myself, and lower the volume. "At the very least we should get up there and confront them. And let them know that this... lying, this lying is just wrong. And that they've hurt us. And they're bad people."

"She's never lied to me."

"How can you say that?" His passivity was irritating me. I wanted action, I wanted to put things right.

"She hasn't." He looked at me and smiled. "She's always honest, when she needs to be with another man. She always tells me about it."

My mouth hung open for a moment in shock. "And you're just... fine with this?"

"She always comes back to me in the end. It never lasts."

"And what about me?"

Now he did look uncomfortable. "I thought you knew. I thought he must have talked about it with you. When I saw those pictures he'd shared with Mary, I just thought you must have had an agreement of some kind. Sorry."

"Has the whole world seen those fucking pictures?!"

"No, I don't think so. He wouldn't do that."

I put my head in my hands and cried for a while. When I lifted myself out of it, Gareth was gone. Numb, I made my way to the door, put my coat on very slowly, shoes even more slowly, and after one more look at the stairs I left the house.

**

I came back a few nights later - I only came back to say goodbye. And only in my head, not out loud.

Another long look up at the dark, closed window and then I'll walk away. That's good actually, there's a line in there somewhere -- dark and closed like... like my heart, or my soul, something like that. I'll write that down. Inspiration strikes me in a moment of despair, again. Or is that just rubbish, in the same way that my last book was so completely rubbish? Well, I'll write it down when I get back in and we'll see. Everything makes more sense when it's written down.

Alright, time to go now. Bye bye Ed. See you never, probably. I'm done now, I'm never going to open up again. Done done done. Hope you're happy. I'll find someone else to write with, someone who isn't so disgustingly sentimental. Honestly sometimes your storylines made me want to puke. When you write, everything is just so... nice. It's all so perfect. Your characters face only the bare minimum of conflict, and it's always of the neatest, cleanest kind. No one ever does anything truly shameful, nothing truly awful ever happens. And you always had to give everyone a happy ending. Everyone except me.