Thank you for all of the amazing feedback and reviews. It warms my heart. I apologize for this taking forever. I got a bit distracted with summer things. And then there was some beta-fright. Haha. But, yes, please read and review. And I hope everyone's having a great summer. Much, much, much love. And hopefully the next chapter will not take as long as this.
PrincessJade
Falling is Like This
07: Tripping
When Serena woke, it was with a smile, sensing that the morning was clear and bright.
Though it was nearly noon by the time she finally got herself out of bed—due to an explicit James and Gael filled dream (which included chocolate and sprinkles) that regretfully had to come to an end—and was surprised that Darien had let her even sleep in at all. It was rare, on their weekends together, that he did. And it was an even rarer occurrence that he was not beside her, spooned against the curve of her spine with his breath warm against the pale, translucent shell of her ear.
And it seemed that he always desired her—morning, noon, and night—though she frankly believed her desirability was rooted in the carefree glamour of being twenty and less because of her actual person. But she didn't mind, because, to her, Darien's desirability lay within his age and experience and, of course, his money. And it was better that, no matter what happened later, no matter what intimacies arose, the relationship would always be and have been rooted in those selfish beginnings.
It was a relationship of advantages. She gained from his money and connections (the incredible cunnilingus was only an added bonus); and he from her recklessness and age of no commitments, something that was refreshing, simply because he knew she'd never have expectations. She would never want the ring or the house or the kids—at least not now and not from him.
And so they used each other, extensively and without apology, and seemed to be equally good at it. In fact, they seemed to revel in what each took from the other.
Though, she was aware, a bit disconcertingly so, that last night had been something new. It was the first time that they had both let their guard down. Not that they had ever had specific walls up, per say, but rather they had kept their perceptions of one another blocked off. And perhaps it had been the magic of the moonlight or the sweet sonata of the sea, but she had allowed herself to see Darien differently—not only as a man, but as an equal. He wasn't above or below. He simply was. And she now wondered, gazing out from the bedroom balcony toward the rolling green waves, had his vision of her changed as well?
Was she still only a pet to him? Amusing and entertaining and in need of care? Or had he come to think more of her? Maybe even see her as a friend?
Because, she feared that she was beginning to like the person he was, the one without the frills and embellishments, and hoped he felt the same. It would be nice if they could be real friends, since as lovers they could never be real.
Still absorbed in her thoughts, she continued to dawdle, despite hearing the clang of pots and pans from the kitchen below. Darien must have started on their Thanksgiving dinner, because he had promised her a full home-cooked meal. But, enjoying the time to herself, she decided to tidy up the room first and unpack their bags.
When she opened up the large cedar wardrobe, which stood majestically at the head of the room, it spilled out the scent of lemons and gardenia. Inside, taped to its doors, were Polaroid pictures, not at all like the dreamy faded colors of Graham's images. But instead, these were black and white, their edges faded and colored with age—documents of a smiling couple, at the height of their youth and beauty. She figured they must be Darien's grandmother and grandfather, captured in their moments of newlywed bliss.
Opening a few drawers, she discovered more pictures, stacked neatly in the back. Casually, while flipping through a handful, she came across another smiling couple, hand in hand, with a young boy. Instantly, she knew it was Darien and his parents. They were beautiful.
His mother was radiant—dressed in a summer dress and a wide-brimmed hat, one arm wrapped around her son, the other entwined with her husband's. They were all laughing—at what Serena didn't know. Perhaps it was the moment, or a silly cameraman, or maybe even something the young Darien had said. But, regardless of the reason, they looked happy—they looked whole.
Fingering the picture, she decided that he looked most like his father, tall and tapered. She could see where he had inherited his feline grace. And could understand why his stance, with his neck long and shoulders back, had evolved to be that way.
The stolen image of Darien's youth caused a rush of sentiment to flood her, touching her in an unexpected way. She stood there for a long time. Much longer than she realized, before remembering how and why she stumbled upon these pictures in the first place. Chastised, she quickly got back to work, knowing it wasn't nice to snoop.
She finished putting their clothes away and then began to make the bed, taking extra care to tuck and fold the sheets the way she imagined his grandmother would have.
When she finally headed toward the bathroom, she noticed on the vanity, with a sort of satisfaction, that Darien had cut her two lines, as seemed to be his custom lately. And, as usual, she took them, quickly and without thinking—like it was no different than brushing her teeth or combing her hair—before hopping into the shower.
--
Half an hour later, Serena made her way downstairs. She looked quite demure, freshly washed and dressed in jeans and a light pink sweater. Her hair was wet and had begun to curl down her back and around her unmarked face—her freckles a visible sprawl across the bridge of her nose.
She was smiling. And she was hopeful. But, one may wonder, of what exactly?
Well, of that, she wasn't quite sure.
Thus, when she rounded the corner and headed for the kitchen, she had been fully intent on getting her hands dirty. She had decided earlier that she would help Darien with whatever he needed, despite the fact that she was succinctly aware that she was a horrible cook. Well, it wasn't that she necessarily horrible. She just hadn't had many experiences in the kitchen and, like anything, cooking took practice. But yes, the point was, she had been fully intent on trying to help Darien cook until she had heard:
"Don't forget the sugar, silly."
Instantly, her hopeful mood vanished. In its place was a feeling of wariness. Even though, at her entrance, both, Darien and the dark-haired woman at his side, turned and gave her a welcoming smile.
"Serena. This is Simone. She's an old friend of mine." Darien introduced, hands deep in flour. Serena couldn't help but notice that Simone's hands were covered as well. She wiped them on her pants, before offering one in greeting.
"Hello. It's nice to meet you." Her voice was deep, but magically feminine. And her smile was honey-lipped and genuine.
Serena was torn between admiration and dislike.
Simone was long of limb and elegant in dress. She had an olive complexion and unique hazel eyes, which in the sun, had a ruby-like quality about them. There was no denying she was gorgeous, making Serena wish she had put on some make-up.
She especially hated feeling like a child. But with Simone standing near Darien, looking very much his equal in finesse and age, she couldn't help but feel her inferiority.
Fuck, wasn't she above this childish feeling of envy?
"It's a pleasure." She heard herself say. Then, turning to Darien, she asked, "Need help?"
"Not really." He shrugged, and then smiled. "I think Simone and I can handle it. I invited her and her daughter over for dinner. It seems kind of silly to cook all this food for just the two of us. Besides, I know how you hate to cook."
"True." She conceded, carefully, trying not to sulk. She didn't have the right to be petty. She looked to Simone and attempted a smile. "How old is your daughter?"
"She's seven. I adopted her three years ago actually. She's really the best thing that's ever happened to me." Simone explained generously, though she glanced briefly at Darien as she said it. "She's looking for seashells outside right now. See?" She pointed out the window. Serena looked out and saw a tiny girl, dressed in purple, crouched down near the waves. "Her name is Hannah."
"She's the sweetest thing." Darien told her as headed past her to grab something from the refrigerator. On his way back, he dropped a kiss to her forehead. It did little to pacify her increasing annoyance. "Why don't you go out and keep her company? Dinner should be in a few hours."
Don't sulk. Don't sulk. Don't sulk.
"Are you sure you don't—"
"No, no. We're fine. Don't worry about it." He waved her on.
"Okay. Sure. No problem. I like seashells." She said sweetly, anger flaring as she turned on her heel. She resisted the urge to slam the door, but as long as she was being dismissed like a child, she allowed herself, even this once, to simmer and boil and stew in a full-blown sulk once safely outside.
--
Darien was right.
Hannah was a sweet girl, though it took the child a while to warm up to Serena. It was most likely a combination of natural shyness and keen perception. Serena did not doubt that her foul mood had been felt by the pale-faced Hannah.
Children were known to be like that, especially at this age.
Together, they meandered along the gray sea, collecting shells and frosted glass. They counted seagulls. And, finally, when they were tired of walking, they dropped down onto the sand in front of the house and watched the clouds pass by.
Serena asked Hannah if she liked living here. The girl nodded, with a quiet intensity, and told her it was much better than an orphanage. She liked having her own things—especially her own mother.
After a while, the child cuddled up to Serena's side, finally won over.
"Are you Darien's girlfriend?" She questioned innocently, training violet eyes on Serena, who was unsure of what to say.
She decided to take the question at face value and answered, truthfully, "No. We're just friends. I have a boyfriend back in New York. His name is Graham."
"That's good." Hannah smiled. She was missing one tooth. And then, in confidence, said, "Mommy won't be sad then. She always gets sad when Darien has a girlfriend."
"Oh, yeah? Does he bring them here a lot?"
Hannah shook her head. "No. You're the only girl he's ever brought here. I think that's why Mommy was sad last night. But I'll tell her! I'll tell her that you and Darien are just friends." Then she giggled, pointing toward the sky. "Look! It looks like a rabbit!"
"Yes," Serena said, absently. "Yes, it does."
--
Dinner was delicious.
Darien carved the turkey, while the women passed around the side-dishes. Everyone drank wine, even little Hannah, who was allowed a small glass. And for desert, there was a chilled pumpkin roll and a game of go-fish, much to Hannah's delight.
The envy Serena had first felt when meeting Simone, was now replaced, courtesy of Hannah, by sympathy. It was obvious by Simone's body language that she loved Darien deeply. However, what kind of love it was, Serena was not sure. For, the history between them was obvious, even if Darien hadn't mentioned that Simone had been his first childhood friend.
It was dusk—the sky a reverse tequila sunrise—when Simone and Hannah departed. The child needed a bath and Simone allowed herself to be pulled away by her giddy daughter (who had won three hands of go-fish)—thanking Darien for a wonderful dinner and once again expressing her pleasure at meeting Serena.
They waved goodbye. And once their heads disappeared over the dunes, Darien grabbed Serena's hand and pulled her close. "Thank you for being nice. You weren't too bored, were you? I'll make it up to you—"
"Why would I have been? Were you?"
Darien laughed. "No, but it wasn't what I had originally planned."
"Oh, no?" She glanced up at him, surprised. His fingers were wiggling themselves underneath her sweater.
"No." He pulled her tighter and leaned in for a kiss. "But Simone dropped by this morning. You were still sleeping. And she looked a bit lonely. I thought it was the least I could do."
"Well," She evaded him, angered by his easy dismissal of Simone. "I think she's in love with you."
He laughed, until he saw her serious expression. "That's ridiculous. I'll admit that we were in love once. But it didn't work out. We decided we were better off as friends."
Perceptive, she poked him in the chest. "You mean you decided you were better off as friends."
"No—well, yes? So what? She agreed."
Serena shook her head, glaring at him. "What choice did you leave her?"
"I…I don't know. Jesus, Serena. What has gotten into you?" Darien asked her, exasperated. She was so confusing. "You were jealous of her this morning and now—"
"I was NOT." She squeaked in protest, hoping to cover her embarrassment. "I was annoyed at the way you dismissed me like a child. I wanted to help. I don't hate cooking that much."
"Yes you do. You told me. I thought I was being kind by letting you off the hook. I thought you were glad to be out of the kitchen. I thought—"
"Well, obviously you think too much." She cut him off, icily.
"Obviously." He answered, going deathly still. From his back pocket, he tossed a plastic bag her way. "I had gotten these before we left. I thought that…I don't know…never mind. Take them. I don't want them. Do what you want."
Serena watched him walk away from her and toward the ocean.
Glancing down, she peered at the contents of the bag and felt her throat tighten.
--
Because she was stubborn, she went inside and cleaned the kitchen. And because she understood the way men were, even though Graham and Darien couldn't be any more different, she decided it was best to let him be.
He'd come back in. He had to.
She listened to the clock as it first chimed seven. She washed dishes. Then it chimed eight. She opened a book, but remained on the same page, the words a jumbled mess beneath her.
The clock chimed nine.
Yet, still, no Darien.
Not knowing what else to do, unless she go mad, she dialed the familiar number and sighed in relief at his voice.
"Serena. Love. How are you?"
"Okay."
His tone was like water, warm and protective.
"You sound upset, what's wrong?"
"Oh…I've been a crazy bitch. I don't know. I guess I feel bad about it. It must be the hormones."
"I see. One of those moods. You must be with someone then—Darien?" His voice was not unkind.
Oh, why was Graham so saintly? Where was his temper? Where was his fire?
"How'd you know?"
"It was just a guess. Piss him off, did you?"
She pouted.
"Don't pout."
"Graham! How'd you—"
"Serena. I know you. And I know how you act." She heard him sigh across the line. "Go apologize. He's not me. He doesn't love you as I do."
"I know." She whispered. His voice, especially the tender roll of his "l", was like a caress. Shit. Now she really wanted to cry. "I miss you."
"I miss you."
"When you come back, we're going to spend a whole week in bed. I promise. I'm a mess without you."
"I know you're lying. But thank you. Thank you for saying that. I'll be back soon. A few more days."
"I can't wait. Call me tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Always."
"Always." He answered. This was how they ended their phone conversations. Always.
It was them. It was their love. It was their friendship.
Always. Always.
Hanging up, she felt better.
Graham always did that.
She felt softer, all her insides and edges, but confident. She knew she had to apologize.
--
He watched her walk toward him, her hair a wild fury behind her. It was almost dark, but her pink sweater glowed. She sat down beside him, holding out a glass of water. He took it and waited for her to elaborate.
"I'm sorry." She said at last and turned to him on the sand. "I've been in a mood lately. I didn't mean to argue with you. Sometimes I just need it. And so I push. And I push. Until I push too hard."
He watched her open the bag and pop a stem in her mouth and then, coyly, nudge one at his lips.
"Come on. You were right." She told him, holding his gaze. Her face was sweet. "I would love to trip…with you. I'm touched. I thought you were done with all of this."
"Well, maybe you changed my mind." He murmured and took the stem, chewed on it thoughtfully. They both grimaced slightly. "Still taste like dirt, I see."
She giggled and handed over two caps. "They're flecked with gold. These look amazing."
He nodded. "They should be. Andrew knew someone who specializes."
When they finished the bag, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. "Blue Raspberry? Or Sour Apple?"
"Blue."
She handed the lollipop over. They were quiet for a long time, sucking on the candy, until Serena fell back in the sand with a sigh.
"Fuck." She laughed, dragging her arms through the sand. "These are real good."
"Are you tripping?"
"Soon. I feel it. I've got that crazy body high. I'm about to fall."
"The benefits of being a tiny girl." He teased, pushing the glass of water into the sand so he could lie beside her. "I suspect I have another twenty minutes yet until I feel as you do."
"I'll wait for you."
"That's my girl." He grinned and grabbed her hand.
Beneath the darkening sky, they waited, with their limbs floating on an ocean of sand, until the stars began to rain down on them in big gold and silver drops. They felt as if they'd swallowed the moon. And, like the song, she thought dreamily, he fastened her to his side, while she hoped it would be soon.
"Oh, Jupiter." She nibbled and bit and tongued.
He must of caught her reference, because he laughed, opening his mouth for more.
