The Lustful Truth Ch. 04

"I'm glad you called me, Bells. I'm glad we did this. After last summer, I didn't know if I was ever gonna speak or talk to you again and it's been eating me up inside," he puts a hand up as I begin to protest and continues. "I know you don't believe that, but it's the truth. I'm glad you're at a point now that you understand what happened and what's going on." I look down at him, a bewildered look on my face as he takes my hands. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to have been able to do this, to have this with you. I can't tell you how much I'm going to look forward to spending this time with you. I swear, as often as I can, I'll meet you here."

I take a step back.

I just became a whore.

I'm too stunned to speak, and Christian, in his own little world, neglects to notice that I've stopped moving or seeing, even breathing. I hear a vibrating noise and focus myself on him pulling his phone out of his pocket, then glancing at me with a look that says "gotta go". He stands up and kisses me on my frozen mouth, then answers it with a "Hey babe. Sorry I didn't call, I'm just heading to the subway now," while walking out the door and softly shutting it behind him.

. . .

I stand there for I don't know how long.

I think about crying, but don't. I think about screaming, but don't. I think about sleeping, but can't.

I stand there, next to the bed, my mouth dry from being stuck in an open state of shock, my fingernails digging into my palms, my feet numb from lack of movement. I hear a buzzing, over and over again. I finally realize it's my own phone. I bend down to my bag, pull it out and look at the screen. The picture I see is of Jon, his tan face tilted to the side, his white teeth gleaming, his black eyes showing no hint of the brown I saw that day a week ago.

Now I start to cry.

I answer in sobs, and hear the panic in his voice.

"Where are you? What's wrong? Bella, what's wrong?"

"Leave me alone, Jon," I barely get the words out, "I don't want to talk to you."

"Wait Bella, wait, please, where are you?" I continue crying and he starts yelling. "Jesus Bella, where the hell are you? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Jon, just leave me alone. I'm going home now, going to bed, just leave me alone."

"I'm here Bella, I'm at your place."

"Why are you at my place?" I ask, my anger building through my tears. "You haven't been able to fucking look at me in a week, why the hell are you at my place?" Now I'm shouting.

"I saw Anna on the street, she said she'd just left you and that you were upset and drunk, so I've been waiting here for you to come home. Where are you, let me come and get you."

"I'm coming home, Jon, I'll get myself there and by the time I get there, I hope you're gone." I cry harder. I hang up the phone, thinking of him sitting there waiting for me, thinking of everything that had happened that week. If for a second I felt guilt, it was quickly replaced by anger. What I want is to go home and have Jon waiting there for me, but what I had wanted more was for Jon to be there six days ago, five days ago, four days ago. Jon showed up after the fact. That was too late.

I wipe my face, take some extra tissues from the bathroom and leave the hotel.

By the time I get home, he's is gone.

. . .

I speak to Stavros directly. I apologize for the situation, but explain that I really need to take a few weeks off and I'm sorry that it wasn't scheduled, but everything's organized and easily accessible and they can always call me at home. He says not to worry, to take my time and feel better, and says it in a way that makes me think he knows what's going on. I thank him and hang up.

I finish packing my bags, get the call that my car service is here, and take off to Pennsylvania. My grandparents were thrilled to get that call that I wanted to come and visit for a few days. And I am thrilled to be going, away from this city, away from these people, away from all this complexity. I need the simple now.

The quietness of their house, pushed deep into a wooded area, is soothing in itself, and I spend a lot of time just sitting outside, watching the trees, listening to turkeys, feeding deer and stray cats. There are chipmunks and birds, flowers and wind, grass and water. I feel calmer and more settled than I have in a long time. We spend the days walking around their town, talking to everyone we pass, eating at restaurants that are slower then New York traffic on a Friday night, playing cards and drinking wine to pass the evenings by.

It takes me eight days to feel like I can bring myself back to my city existence. Eight days of no contact with anyone, not even Anna. Eight days of sleeping when I'm tired, eating when I'm hungry, crying when I feel it, laughing when I feel that too. I don't want to leave, but I have to try and get myself back to a place where I can deal with what happened and still function.

I smile as the car pulls away, even though I'm sad.

. . .

I expect a change as I push the door open. I look around, everything so familiar, and yet it feels foreign to me for a moment. Nothing is out of place, nothing is different. Things are just as I left them.

I bring my bags to my bedroom, lie down on my bed and close my eyes. I think of what I was expecting as I drift off to sleep.

When I wake, it's to go to the bathroom, and I push the door open and squint my eyes as I turn on the light. I rest my head in my hands as I pee, my thoughts cloudy and my body tired. I don't notice it until I go to wash my hands; a single red rose and an envelope sitting on the counter. I open it and read.

Oraios –

You've been gone for eight days and for eight days I've come here with a new rose and written a new letter, hoping that you're back, hoping that you're better.

That day that I came here and you told me you'd seen Christian, everything around me stopped. I'd been going on, day by day with you by my side, hoping, dreaming that your past was behind you. I allowed myself to dream of my future with you; of spending nights with you, watching you laugh out loud at stupid movies, sitting in bed with you and watching you read, having you yell and laugh at me to stop staring at you. I dreamt of taking you to my home, my real home, and bringing you to my favorite places, introducing you to the rest of my family and friends, having you eat the greatest food and drink the sweetest wine. I dreamt of laying you down on my bed and having the sunlight pour onto every inch of your beautiful body, of making love to you with the doors open and the salty air on your lips and the waves crashing into the ground.

I dreamt of calling you my love. I dreamt of calling you my wife.

When you cried to me that day, I knew that as hard as it would be, I could not make my dreams your dreams. I knew that there were things in your past that pulled you back from your future, and that, to move forward, you had to find your own way.

For those reasons, I stayed away.

I don't know where you are now; I don't know how to find you. I don't know how else to let you know I love you and I want you then to leave this letter here, on your bathroom sink.

It's the last place I saw you happy.

Kostas

. . .

The difference between his dark skin is almost shocking next to my white. He runs his tanned fingers and hand slowly and softly across my stomach, and I smile, watching him, seeing his eyes taking all of me in, seeing the way my body fascinates him, seeing the way he loves me.

He bends over me and kisses everywhere his hand just was, his warm, soft lips and tongue burning into my skin with each new touch. His mouth makes its way to my mouth and his soft, slow kisses excite me more than anything ever has. He lowers himself on top of me and smiles a soft smile, his nose nudging my face as his mouth meets my mouth once more and he enters me.

He pauses for just a moment to look deep into my eyes, and whispers "Beautiful" as he does. He moves himself further into me and I hold him as every move sends another burning sensation through my body. He simultaneously sits back while pulling me with him, until I'm sitting on top of him, his cock throbbing inside me. I ride him from on top while he fucks me from the bottom, our bodies moving in sync, staring into each others eyes the whole time, until our bodies release their pleasure.

We sit there, sweating, staring at each other for what seems like forever, our hands running along each others bodies, our mouths finding each other over and over again, our words caressing each other in places our fingers and mouths can't find.

"I love you. I love you," he says over and over again.

"I love you. I love you," I say back to him.

The sun is pouring through the windows as he lays me down on the soft white sheets. There's a slight breeze and the sheer curtains move slowly back and forth against the wall. The doors are wide open, the balcony railing the only thing even remotely obstructing the view of the beautiful blue water, and I can hear the waves crashing into the ground. He takes my left hand, our silver rings shining in the sunlight, and wraps his arms around me.

"Oraios," he whispers once more. "Oraios Niarchos."

I smile.