Page 20 of Enemy of Ours 1
“Yes, Lass. I’ll get the shower going for you and add one of those relaxing, calming steam scents to start your day off well.”She clears her throat again and hurries away, leaving me gaping like a fish fresh out of water at her retreating figure heading into the master bathroom suite.
I shake my head, instantly regretting the movement. It makes the pounding behind my eyes worse. Maybe she has the right idea of letting the shower steamer relax my muscles and hangover, along with a hair-of-the-dog drink if I can get Inga to make me one. I move cautiously towards the bathroom, feeling a throbbing pain on my upper inner thigh like a rug burn. Right at my pussy entrance, it aches like I lost my virginity. What the hell did I do last night? I stand outside the bathroom door, listening to Inga turn the shower on and open a wrapper of one of the steamers, so I discreetly raise the fingers of my right hand to my nose and take a deep inhale.
I quickly drop my hand, fighting a blush crawling up my chest towards my cheeks as the musky smell of my orgasm fills my nostrils. Well, that explains the soreness between my legs. Just how hard did I finger myself, and for how long? I shift, feeling the dry stickiness on my thighs, along with an ache, and pray to God my bed doesn’t show my masturbation celebration from last night. I hate myself a little for thinking ofhimwhile touching myself, remembering his strong fingers and his intoxicating scent that always drove me crazy with lust whenever we met in passing. As an artist, I used to study his hands and long, strong fingers, wondering what they would feel like stroking along my body. My imagination is crazy vivid; I can almost feel the ghost of his touch on my skin but quickly shake that thought away. I haven’t been in contact with Romeo for nearly three years and plan on keeping it that way.
I’m never drinking again. Those memories and desires only come out when the alcohol is flowing through my body. That’s a bold-faced lie I tell myself. I think about him all the time and hate that he never leaves my mind.
“All set. I’ll lay out clothes for you; it’s a lovely day. I figured we could take a stroll and see from there. I’m going to go make you a hearty breakfast and a stronger drink.” She chuckles to herself as she walks out, probably seeing my grateful expression just before I step into the steam-filled bathroom. I slip off my cotton nightshirt and step into the shower, a sigh of bliss leaving my lips. I grab my honey and vanilla body wash, cleaning in slow glides over my skin. Everything feels more sensitive; I’m hyperaware of the heaviness of my breasts and the tightness of my nipples as the water soaks my body. I can’t help pulling on one with a moan, my body arching into it before slipping down my stomach and over the tight ache below my belly button. I gasp as my fingertips drift over my swollen clit; it’s almost painful, like it’s been used and abused. I must have masturbated for a long time and came too many times, which is unusual because I can’t come more than once, and it takes me a while to get there. My mouth drops in shock when I feel small bumps on my upper inner thigh, accompanied by a burning sensation as my soapy hands glide over the soreness. I hiss from the burning sensation, and it’s hot to the touch.
What the fuck?
My mind races, and I snatch my hand away to quickly finish my shower because I suddenly want out of here. I need fresh air to clear my pounding head so I can think clearly.
He wasn’t here. You just fingerbanged yourself to thoughts of him. Nothing more.
I repeat that to myself, rushing through my shower and stumbling out, almost slipping on the wet marble flooring in my haste to leave. I tie my hair up in a messy knot on top of my head since I didn’t wash it and walk nude out into my bedroom without bothering to dry my body. As I pat at the sheets so I can hide the evidence from last night, my fingers graze a soft material. It’s a sundress laid out for me by Inga. I blush inembarrassment upon noticing that my bedsheets are wrinkle-free and that the comforter is tucked into the bedframe corner; then I plop down at the end of my mattress to slip my dress over my head.
I wear a long-sleeved cotton dress with a high neckline and buttons running all the way down the front, ending at my ankles. The outfit exudes comfort, ensuring that nothing can touch me and enveloping me in a cocoon of safety.
“What in the world is going on?” I mutter to myself, wondering why Inga picked this exact outfit today for me. I grab my red ribbon and begin tying it behind my head to cover my eyes.
She even laid out a pair of my favorite Converse sneakers to pair with the dress. I don’t like secrets or surprises, so I’m determined to find out just what’s bothering her and why she’s trying to comfort me by dressing me in the softest clothing, like a perfect shield to wrap myself up in.
“Come on, girl. Go give Inga some puppy dog eyes to distract her; she won’t be able to resist you.” I chuckle as Sofia trots over to me from her bed and leans heavily on my thigh for behind-the-ear scratches.
I start to leave my bedroom, Sofia running ahead of me with a bark, but I stop in the doorway as I suddenly feel like I’m being watched. I turn my head slightly towards the windows, the curtains wide open to let in natural sunlight. I stare in that direction for a long moment, feeling seen, and goosebumps cover the back of my neck. They start to fade away after a minute as I continue to look in that direction.
Maybe I’m finally losing it. Life has thrown too much shit at me, and I might be going paranoid.
I shiver and wrap my arms around my chest as I leave my room, still feeling the odd sensation that someone was watching me. But that’s just crazy. Right?
“What doyou say we head over to the art museum, and you can listen in the headphones to how the art is displayed with its history and the techniques of the brushstrokes?” Inga suddenly asks me out of the blue, her voice so high-pitched that it makes my sensitive ears ring for a second, causing me to wince.
I stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling strangers grumble in annoyance as they step around me to go about their day. Sofia lets out a low growl next to me as a person bumps into my shoulder, but I just keep a tight fist around her leash and give Inga all my attention.
“Okay, that’s enough. First, you scattered around me like a mouse if I got too close to you this morning, like you were guilty of something, and you didn’t even mention my hangover. This dress, you know, brings me comfort, and you went all out for breakfast that I couldn’t even finish half of the food. Now you want to go to the art museum…” I trail off, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at her through my silk ribbon as the pieces start to fall into place.
“Now, don’t be mad, lass,” she starts, but I raise my hand, palm out, to cut her off.
“Absolutely not.” My tone comes out harsh, my breathing speeding up because she deceived me yet again.
“He wants to see you. And you know I can’t say no to Mr. O’Connor,” she whispers, her voice pleading, making me even more mad.
I already know she won’t deny my father anything because he’s her boss. She may always claim that she holds me dear inher heart, but I’m second to her. Like I’ve been with everyone else my whole life.
“I’m sick of being used and can’t say I’m not surprised where your priorities lie. Let’s get this over with,” I say stiffly, stepping cautiously towards the curb with Sofia staying tight by my side. I lift my hand out above my head and whistle with my fingers between my lips.
Inga sighs heavily, deciding not to say anything as a New York City cab stops and the cab driver jumps out to help with the door, probably noticing I’m blind even though my face is covered with the ribbon and my sunglasses. Sofia does have a harness for walks, and the vest does have a logo for a guide dog for the partially blind. I slip into the seat with a quiet thank you, Sofia jumps in next to me, and Inga decides to sit up front once she notices I don’t make room for her in the back seat.
“The Metropolitan Museum of Art, please.” She gives the driver the instructions from the front seat.
The rest of the ride is spent in awkward silence, the driver no doubt sensing the tension between Inga and me. I know she feels guilty and really does care for me, but I’m not number one for her, even though she’s been like a mother to me my whole life since my real mother died in childbirth. In the end, she’ll always choose her boss over me. It just hurts.
When will someone be on my side?
Within ten minutes, we arrive at the museum, pay the cab driver, and climb the stairs leading to the grand doors that were once my happy place. I could spend hours here, studying the art, one painting at a time, and always find something different each visit. Now, it just makes me sad, like a piece of me is missing. I can no longer sit in front of artwork with my breath catching from the emotions it evokes. I don’t bother asking Inga where to go; I always meet him in the same place where I used to feel safe. It’s a public place, with hundreds of people coming and goingthroughout the day. My father is the last person I want to be around, but at least it’s here. He can’t cause me any more pain than he has here. I’m untouchable, so no one will kidnap me in broad daylight; he would just allow it to happen, as he did in the privacy of our old home.
I can hear school tours, the guide describing artwork in incredible detail, and the gasps from people when their eyes land on a masterpiece. I used to understand that feeling; now it’s just a past emotion I’ll never experience again.
