The Voice in the Dark Ch. 01

"Yeah, and I am surprisingly okay with not knowing, Lucy. I promise you that. It was just something I can chalk up to experience," I say with satisfaction.

She pauses for a moment and I can tell she wants to know more but instead she says "But... you're okay? Right?"

And I mean it with every fibre of my being when I reply, "Yes. I feel better than I have for a long time."

"What changed?" She asks, "Over two months ago you barely left the apartment, and one night out with a stranger suddenly changes all that?"

I shrug and smile my biggest, most genuine smile for the first time in months.

Lucy smiles back tentatively and hugs me again. I hold her close and pride myself in how good I feel after months of misery. I am jubilant. I have a great job in an amazing city and I have the best friend in the world next to me. I feel nothing but hope for the future and the stress and anxiety melts away from me in one great sigh.

"All I want is to see you happy again, Jess." Lucy says quietly.

I don't respond but instead kiss her on the cheek and put my arm around her once again. I know she isn't satisfied with my answer, but sometimes, there really is no explanation for suddenly feeling happy again.

We carry on watching the movie for the next hour or so, and through the sad part of the movie, I notice Lucy beginning to cry, something she almost never does. Her bravery and strong mindedness melts for a moment as I Will Always Love You plays on.

"You know I will always love you Jess, right?" She says unexpectedly, and with such emotion it almost frightens me. I choke back my own tears and kiss her forehead before I begin to softly sing the words in her ear. I feel touched that her tears flow freely when with me above anyone else in her life.

"I know you're crying because of my bad singing, and that's okay." I joke.

She laughs and whispers through her tears: "Promise me that we'll always be friends, Jess. Even when we are old and forgetting our names half the time."

"Us always, Luce." I promise, and I latch onto her.

She then pulls me into her and kisses me full on the mouth, without preamble and begins kissing down my neck and around my ear. I return her kiss and pull her close, holding the small of her back. She places her hand on my breast and I hold her hips as we deepen the kiss, our tongues dancing in that leisurely, familiar rhythm.

She pulls down the strap of my nightdress and kisses her way down to my hard, rosy pink nipple. She takes it in her mouth and my hand finds its way into her shorts, rubbing her slowly. She grinds against my hand and tweaks my other nipple as things begin to heat up.

We move even closer together, if that's possible, and I relish the feel of her hands, her mouth, and the smell of her silky skin and hair. My hands trace down her sides and cup her ass, like she did to me, and she moans with remembered pleasure. She breaks away from the kiss momentarily with a wicked look and starts using her fingers up and down the whole of my wet pussy. I can feel her slender fingers move in a delicious path up from my opening to the very tip of my clit, circling it with increasing speed before moving her hand slowly back down to where she started. I gasp and hold her even closer to me before I bite into her shoulder, not enough to hurt her but enough to leave a mark.

It all suddenly becomes too much and we break away, breathless and giddy. She looks into my eyes and holds the sides of my head as she moves to kiss me once again. This time, it's slow, gentle and filled with affection. I don't wish to let her go but she gathers herself and says, "Time for bed I think, Sweetie. Or you and I may never stop." She then gives me one final kiss on my neck and tweaks my nipple through my nightdress as I yelp in pleasure.

She moves with a sensual grace as I gaze at her, and I become aware of just how wet my pussy is. Just before she closes the door to her bedroom, she winks at me and says: "Sweet Dreams." The muted closing of the door is the last thing I hear before I feel an overwhelming urge to rest my head against the pillow of the sofa, and the glow of the lamps and the TV are all I see before my eyes close tight.

The next time I look up it's about 1:00 in the morning and I jump in surprise. I am still lying on the sofa, but the room is in almost complete darkness and I try to recall what happened just before my brain shut off. And then I remember...

Okay, I won't lie to you and say that I haven't thought about my best friend in a way that most friends don't. They respect and admire their friend wholeheartedly, as I do, but they never once cross that boundary with them. Lucy and I have crossed that boundary many times and have never looked back since.

Lucy has a gorgeous body that I have enjoyed many times, and she has taken just as much pleasure in mine, but I know we would be unfulfilled as lesbians. I can recall only one time that I tried to broach the subject with her before I got with Justin, nervous about what my occasional flings with Lucy would mean for my budding relationship.

Lucy and I were sat at the breakfast bar one Saturday morning sharing our usual coffee when I suddenly said:

"Luce... I'm seeing someone. I think he could be the one for me." I said nervously, unsure how she would react, and whether or not this meant that I would have to go find someone else to live with for fear of the awkwardness.

"That's wonderful Jess. I was waiting for the moment when you'd tell me. I am so thrilled for you." She hugged me, genuinely pleased it seemed that I was now forgoing our occasional sex for a full-time relationship with a man.

"But, what about...?" I paused, not quite able to say it out loud.

My mind instead pictured me moving against her wet pussy with her leg up on my shoulder and her hands on my hips moving me faster. The thought made me sad.

"Jess. Your life is with Justin now. Be happy, and don't worry, we will always be friends, and roommates, no matter what" she then kissed me on the cheek and changed the subject before I could gather the courage to ask again.

Of course, I was honest with Justin about those moments with Lucy and I can't say he was in any way upset by it, in fact he seemed delighted. I never gave specific details, but I did make it clear that my devotion was to him and that I would stop sleeping with Lucy to make a relationship work with him.

As I retire to bed, I hope that sleep will bring clarity to my bewildered brain once again. My encounters with Lucy aside, I feel like there's something bugging me. Something I can't quite place. I have always felt a little uneasy about my sexual relationship with Lucy, as I was worried in case she was harbouring romantic feelings for me and wanted to have me to herself. I know I could never be entirely fulfilled without men, and I am not convinced she would be either. Yet, this isn't the biggest worry I have right now, far from it. I punch the pillow, trying to get my head into a comfortable position and I think hard. I remember a couple of purple cocktails, the comfortable atmosphere of the bar in Lucy's restaurant known as The Laurel Leaf, and intense brown eyes. The eyes that matched the deep, relaxing tone of his voice. I am unable to place the words or their meaning, but they send me to sleep almost immediately. They call my name as my eyelids close and unconsciousness takes me.

*

I stride into the office early Monday morning and am pleased to get back to some semblance of normality after such a strange weekend. I remove my cardigan and straighten my black sheath dress as I put my bag down beside my desk chair and wait for my computer to boot up.

I am half tempted to make up for the lack of coffee at the weekend, as per Lucy's request to stop my Java dependency, but think better of it and instead fish out the bags of Yorkshire Tea in my desk drawer. It may not stop the cravings but at least it's a better alternative to reaching for the instant. Especially after a night of crying and sleeplessness over Justin.

I refuse to drink the instant coffee brands here; Americans may do coffee right but I hold onto my British roots in small ways. When I do get the urge to do it though, I prefer to go to a small local business for a freshly brewed coffee.

As I make my way into the staff kitchen, I say hello to my work colleagues that I have passed every weekday for nearly three years in the office of Johnson's Publishing, as owned by The Johnson Brothers family corporation of almost three generations. This is a relatively small business that the company manages in conjunction with the media empire that they have created from the ground up.

They own many magazines and newspaper companies in the city, and so I don't think it was a stretch to go and buy this ailing company and make their mark on the publishing world, but there are those who would disagree with me.

The steam rises from the kettle and I fill my cup to the brim before dipping my teabag in and out continuously. As I stare out of the small window, the awe-inspiring view of the Chrysler Building in the distance makes me sigh with pride for the millionth time since I arrived in New York City. Having dreamed of this place since I was a child, I had always imagined looking out of a floor to ceiling window, staring at the magnificence of this city both above and below me. It makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

When I arrived in this city at twenty-three years old, I had longed to escape my mundane existence as a young English girl having only been able to recently travel for the first time at twenty years old.

I was born and raised in a small, Yorkshire town with two loving parents and no siblings. We were a happy little unit, until my father died after a long, drawn out death from cancer when I was thirteen. The man we loved had suffered and it left a big hole in our hearts. I then spent the majority of my teens helping my mum to cope without the man she loved and therefore I never really got the chance to live until I started college.

Then out of nowhere, my mum then told me she was seeing somebody new, and shortly before my twentieth birthday, my mother had married a slightly older, and much wealthier, man after nearly seven years on her own. She was smitten the moment she saw him and he was a wonderful man to her.

Steve is an Investment banker who made it big some years ago, and he gave my mum a much-needed dose of happiness after so long. Steve was also very kind to me and I liked him a lot for making my mother so happy.

Yet, I knew that I was no longer needed with my mother. I was becoming a woman, and Steve encouraged me to go and do what I wanted for once.

I left for University in Manchester shortly afterwards, and it was like I was reborn. I had all the freedom I had lacked for so long, and with few responsibilities.

Steve helped me a lot through University and I even went to work one summer in Paris for one of his partner companies as a secretary. I loved it despite my mother being most unwilling to let me go at first. I guess you could say I was hooked the moment I could travel without having to worry about all the things I did before.

Steve may not have been my father, but he gave me a push in the right direction, including helping me get started in New York before I set out to find somewhere on my own. I would always be grateful to him for that, as well as many other things. I would not be where I am today without his help and encouragement.

Coming to New York after so much dreaming and longing felt like coming home, even though I had never seen it before. I was no different to literally anyone else on the street and all the stifling small-town standards I had been raised on melted away. I could be whatever I wanted to be, and that feeling hasn't left me, even after nearly three years as a New Yorker.

In a city where you would expect to be swallowed up and then spat out as a bitter and defeated person, I have instead found a new identity.

They don't call America The New World for nothing. I remember a boat trip I took once to Liberty Island after arriving in the city only a few weeks before. I was taking in the magnificence of Lady Liberty, and the broken chains at her feet.

It was there that I got to first glimpse the emerald green eyes and the long, fiery red hair of my best friend. We stared in awe at the city that was foreign to both of us and spent the whole day exploring it together.

Now, our love for the city is like that of an old friend we never get tired of seeing every day. We have become New Yorkers in our own, unique way and we take a bite of The Big Apple every day with gusto.

I then take my place back at my desk and begin my work for the day. As the assistant to the many fiction editors, I keep an eye on the most recent submissions. I cherish the role and settle back into the familiar, safe routine of work. It has helped me deal with the stress of losing Justin, and I saved my tears for Lucy's shoulder or the silent darkness of my bedroom.

Right on the dot of 9:30, Gloria Sanchez, my friend and work colleague, walks past my desk with a wink. Her statement earrings cover her lobes and hang down to her shoulders and she carries a red Birkin bag over her shoulder, one of many in her collection. As always, she looks sophisticated and well put together. Her short, straight black bob and olive skin look amazing against the deep purple of her pencil dress and her yellow Jimmy Choo shoes click across the marble floor. Whilst my usual choice of work clothing aims toward blending in, Gloria prefers to be bold and dramatic.

I met Gloria almost a year into my job and she has been another wonderful companion on my New York adventure. She is a wonderful ally to have in my life with her infectious laugh, and wise cracks that never fail to bring a smile to my face. She's also very close to becoming an executive within the company, her mind is that of a steel trap when set to a task.

Yet, I honestly believe that Gloria missed her calling as a police interrogator. She will look into every single detail to the nth degree until I am screaming for mercy. I try to avoid her gaze but she taps her watch and nods in my direction. She knows that I'm not myself, her skills at sniffing out a lie could rival that of Lucy's, but unlike Lucy, she may not spare me her scrutiny out of sympathy, and I go pale at the thought of her invasive questions.

As she walks off, I slip into work mode and begin tackling this day's manuscripts, using sticky notes as I go and never once checking the clock.

When I finally look up again it's 11:00. Gloria appears at my shoulder, and I pick up my teacup in resignation.

"You look like a woman who has a secret." She says in her Puerto Rican twang, her eyes zeroing in on me, like she can see inside my brain.

A chill runs up my spine and I hide my face behind the brown curtain of my hair. I don't want to talk about the weekend, as I haven't even begun to process how I have such a big gap in my memory.

"Just a wild night on Friday then recovering the rest of the weekend. You?" I say in a desperate hope that it will suffice.

"Hmm, you don't have wild nights. You're also not one to drink too much. Did something happen?" As usual, Gloria never misses a trick.

I know it couldn't have been down to too much booze. I distinctly remember only having one, maybe two drinks. I confirmed it this morning when I checked my balance on my credit card. I know the lie shows up on my face but I can't risk upsetting the apple cart right now.

I want to get the night clear in my head before I even attempt to tell Lucy, let alone Gloria. I know this isn't normal behaviour for me, but I suppose I kind of like keeping something to myself, at least for now. I have never had a secret I couldn't quite explain before.

"No Gloria. I guess I may have just blacked out from too much to drink. We all do it at least once in our lives right?" I chuckle half-heartedly.

"Did you mix your drinks? You know, even if you don't have many, mixing them can really be really bad for you."

"It's possible but I can't say for sure. What did you do this weekend?" I try feebly to change the subject.

"Were you drugged?" Gloria asks in her usual no-bullshit way.

"Good God! No Gloria! Why would you say that? And if I were, how come I ended up back in my bed at home and not tied up somewhere?" I almost yell out.

As soon as I opened my mouth, I wished I hadn't said it. I know Gloria is like a dog with a bone when she senses something doesn't add up.

"If you were drunk to the point where you couldn't stand, how did you get home?"

"I, I guess Lucy came back and then called me a cab." I say unconvincingly, and the red explodes across my face and chest, exposing my lie.

"Well, maybe so but I think you and I need to talk a bit more. You're lucky that our break is almost over." Gloria says, staring at me straight in the face.

The clock suddenly ticks towards 11:30 and we go back to our desks for another hour and a half before we break for lunch.

To my profound relief, Gloria is meeting her husband for an impromptu lunch, leaving me alone with my sandwiches and my Facebook messages.

Gloria fusses with her jacket and her hair as the rest of the office suddenly starts cleaning up their desks, putting away files and fixing their appearances. It's such pandemonium that I feel obliged to just stay in my quiet corner with my sandwiches, not wanting to bother anyone.

The reason for such craziness has been all the office has talked about for the past week:

Mr Richard Johnson, the CEO and Owner, is paying us a visit.

This kind of like saying the President of the United States is coming. He only ever makes a visit to our workplace once or twice a year, and the last couple of times have been with an agent on his behalf.

"What are you doing, Jess? He could be coming into our department today!" Sarah, one of the fiction editors, almost screams at me.

"Sarah, you know there are four other departments that will take at least a day to look at thoroughly," Gloria says dismissively. "If Big Dick Johnson were coming to sell us off, I think the managers would let us know so they can begin the process." Gloria gives me a sly smile and I try to disguise my laugh as a cough.

"No, Gloria" says Sarah in a frustrated tone. "Mr Johnson transferred his ownership to his son Jack. He's coming to take a look at the place." Poor Sarah looks like she is ready to crawl into hole and die somewhere, her hand shoots over her mouth and I know we weren't supposed to know that just yet.

With the exception of publicity for their businesses, the Johnsons are very private about their lives, and so any bit of gossip is worth a small fortune.

"Oh, do tell..." Gloria says, rubbing her hands in glee.

Sarah shakes her head violently and looks for literally anything else to do or say, but we move closer and prick our ears up.

Sarah sighs in resignation before she says, "Alright, as long as you won't spread this around...," Sarah pauses before continuing. "Apparently, Mr Johnson Senior, had this big fight with his son Jameson. Like, seriously bad. Not sure what about but essentially, he's been cut off."

I chew my bottom lip thoughtfully as she continues to spill the beans.

"Now, it seems as though his other son Jack is going to become the owner of the publishing house. Possibly the rest of the company, provided he proves himself." Sarah looks more and more uncomfortable the more she tells us, but there's no help for it now.

"You mean, the one who runs everything from a great big important office but whom we won't see except for the Christmas parties or occasional visits to the department." Gloria says, in a biting tone.