Page 53 of Safer Alone
I’m not intoxicated. That I know for certain. I had only finished one glass of wine for the entire evening, and when you then add the two glasses of water I also consumed, I’m not even a little bit tipsy. I am generally a clumsy person on a good day, worse when it’s dark or I have been drinking. So it’s a relief being able to see exactly where I am going.
I sit down on the couch, bending down to start unbuckling my black sandals. Once both are free from my feet, I drop them onto the floor directly in front of my legs. I lift the hem of my dress slightly, needing to scratch just above my knee, being careful not to show my scar, before dropping my skirt again.
I feel rather than see Elliot sit down beside me. The movement of the couch accommodating more weight. My body seeming to be completely in tune with his presence. When his hand makes contact with my own that is resting on my thigh that electrical current starts bouncing over my skin. The hairs on my body all lift off my skin, standing to attention. My heart starts to beat double time. I intake a slow breath. I thought that I was beginning to get used to this feeling, especially since it comes back every time he touches me. Every single time, since the very first time.
I turn my face to look at him and notice that his eyes are slightly hooded.
“Do you feel that?” I release the breath I had taken moments ago. I regret it as soon as I say it. He couldn’t possibly know what I am asking him about. He couldn’t be feeling this could he? Am I affecting him the same way?
“You mean, like static electricity?” Elliot replies.
Huh? He knows? He feels it, too. Our eye contact doesn’t break and I feel our bodies shifting closer to each other, as though we are being pulled together, just like a pair of magnets. Unable to pull away, even if I wanted to. We keep moving toward each other, as though there is an invisible hand on both of our backs pushing us ever closer, until our faces are only inches apart. He lifts his hands to cup my face, leaning his forehead against my own.
I hear his sharp intake of breath, I follow suit, quietly. I don’t want him to hear me. Something is building inside of me, of us possibly. I don’t say anything, hoping that his earlier mention of static electricity is a rhetorical question that he is asking himself. Hopeful he wasn’t awaiting a confirmation.
I ponder my thoughts. What should be my next move? Or will he be the one to break this moment? Another couple of seconds go by, with so many thoughts popping into my head I focus on two of them. This is going to go either of two ways:
1. I should break away, stand up from the couch and get some distance between us, or,
2. I should wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me and kiss him
Luckily, I don’t have to make a choice. Elliot does that for me. He presses his lips against mine and that slow burning ember inside of my body catches on fire, making its way down my throat, and into the center of my body, spreading its warmth all over, into all limbs of my body. Our lips move against each other, with desire, with need. He offers his tongue to me and I accept, giving him unguarded access. They meet and massage each other before I push back with my own. They dance together in perfect synchronization, as though this is a well-practiced routine. Reveling in the feel of each other. We pull apart, well he pulls away from me. Seconds or minutes could have passed by during that kiss, for all I know it’s been an entire day, but when we separate I hear him draw plenty of breaths. Just like you would if you had run a marathon and it becomes apparent why it is he had to stop the kiss.
I, too, inhale several deep breaths. I try to be as quiet as possible, so he won’t hear the effect that he has on me. Earlier I had hoped, with every fiber of my being that I had the same effect on him, I no longer have to hope. It’s obvious. I affect him. My inner self claps.
“How the hell am I going to be without you for two whole weeks?” He murmurs. So quietly I presume he is voicing this to himself. I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear him. My heart is already racing and I desperately wanted to kiss him again and again and again.
If I am going to be able to keep my hands off him then I am going to need some distance. I need to go into another room. I stand up and walk around the couch, through the bedroom and into the master bathroom. I pull out the small padded stool that is positioned under the vanity and take a seat, staring at myself in the mirror. I take out my makeup remover, and pour some of the liquid onto one of the cotton balls I had packed and gently started to sweep over my eyes with it. Then with a new impregnated cotton ball I wipe over the remainder of my face. With my face now makeup free, I bend over to place the dirty cotton balls into the bin. Just as the lid is closing I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. Instead of remaining seated, I jump up, kicking the seat behind me slightly, standing now I catch my reflection in the mirror. I’m no longer alone. I can see him standing a few steps behind me. Even though I knew he was there I’m still surprised.
I try to ignore his presence behind me, pulling the seat back into position. I make myself comfortable and set myself the task of cleansing, toning and moisturizing, hoping that this methodical process will be enough to calm myself down. It works great. When I have finished rubbing the cream in, my breathing has returned to a normal rhythm.
I stand up and turn to face Elliot and discover that he is looking directly at me.
“You are so beautiful”
Not knowing what to say, I lower my head to look at the floor, continuing to do so as I wander out of the room, until I am standing beside the bed. I plunk myself down on the edge. I sit here, waiting for him to follow, which he does, almost immediately.
He stands before me, staying quiet for a moment. When I don’t look up at him, he takes a seat beside me reaching for my hand and squeezing it gently once it is in his grasp.
“Are you okay, Angie?”
I nod, still not meeting his gaze. I am determined not to let him see how much I wanted him. If I can just control the urges I’ll be fine, and yet with him sitting so close, the feel of his hand in my own, it is almost impossible. My thoughts are not helping. The main one involves me pouncing on him and kissing him with everything I have.
We sit here, on the edge of the king-sized bed, holding hands, for a couple of minutes. Comfortable in the silence surrounding us. Knowing that we can’t keep this up for too much longer. We need a distraction. My mouth opens and I blurt out what I know will get a reaction.
“I’m getting tired now Elliot. I’m going to get changed and try to get some sleep. You can lie here with me if you want to?”
I look up as I voice my last word and see the shocked look on his face. I’m sure in this moment that he will say no and excuse himself. Wonder if I am serious. After all, who asks someone to lie down with them when they are in their pajamas without wanting to take things to the next level?
Instead he nods, sliding off the bed and walking slowly towards the chest of drawers on the other side of the room, sitting next to the window. Opening the bottom drawer, he pulls out a pair of pajamas. Seeing my eyebrows raised in question he laughs.
“I sleep here sometimes when the main house is having renovations,” he states as fact.
I stand up and grasp my nightgown from under the pillow and pad into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me and then locking it, I quickly undress and slip into my satin shift. I am so thankful that I packed my one nice item of sleepwear.
I brush my teeth twice and rinse my mouth thoroughly. I then spray a small amount of perfume into the air and I walk into it so it wouldn’t be overpowering. I brush my hair, allowing it to settle over my shoulders. Looking at myself in the mirror, I can do this, I am completely covered. I look nice, we are just going to talk for a little while, then he will either stay or leave and I will go to sleep.
Nothing is going to happen tonight. I’m not going to let it. I am sure Elliot will feel the same, as he has the same thoughts on waiting for marriage as I did. Before I open the door I call out.
