Part 2
I find myself sat at the back of an old double Decker, I'd forgotten how much these things stank and had the ability to feel on the verge of breakdown at the first sight of stopping. It's relatively empty though, and so it should be at gone half eleven. Quite why I'm on a bus headed to the middle of nowhere is even beyond me. But I've not seen Connie in three days, having taken her home that night I've not heard hide nor hare from her, it didn't worry me to begin with, everyone needs space after something as big as this, but not that much space, she lives in a fortress of a house in the country, rattling round there must feel like hell. Yet I see its' attraction, it's the type of place you can get lost in so easily and never find your way out, it suits her down to a tee.
I am only interrupted by the noise emanating from two girls, rather teenagers sat in front of me, they are listening to music, sharing giggles at amusing lyrics, about life, about boyfriends no doubt, completely unaware of harsh truths of life. I wasn't as wise as them at their age, it evolves with generations, you learn more about life from those ahead of you, and pass it down to those below you, it's human nature; it's the reason I'm on my way to see Connie, as a friend, as someone who I care about. Too much. I don't deny that too myself, it seems pointless; cheating yourself is the ultimate sin. I lie my head against the cold, damp window of the bus, I can feel the dirt grate under my touch, but I am too tired to care, being at work all day suddenly washes me with a fuzzy feeling of sleepiness, coupled with the motion of the bus it's lethal. I feel my eyes begin to shut. The only thing to keep me from keeling into a deep slumber is the noise from passengers, the odd smattering of coughs, the sniff at the festering air, the giggle of friends, the loud whisper of a lover on the phone, then me. All alone. My shoulders heave under the weight I silently, carry, visible to no one, no one but me.
The bus soon churns to a halt in the middle of the village I know Connie stay's in; I vaguely remember it from a dinner party I've attended in the past. The bus stairs are grimy from age, my foot only adding to the general antique nature of the bus as I get off, saying my polite thank you to the driver I stare up the dimly lit lane; it looks eerily quaint, soft by daylight no doubt, yet ugly and morbid right now. I make a start up the road, looking for the grand cottage door; it's red that much I do remember. As I spot it appearing in the distance I see her faint shadow appear at the window, she waits for a while, staring out of the window holding something in her hand, as I get even nearer I make it out to be a photo frame, my heart sinks.
I have to stand ringing the doorbell for several minutes before anything remotely happens, she is taking her time to answer, but when you can't feel your feet for the cold it gets irritating. She opens the door and my frustration pails out to insignificance, her face is white and corpse like if I'm blunt, she is still holding the picture, like a child with a teddy, his grey jumper envelops her body like a comfort blanket; she is grieving what am I to expect.
"Can I come in?" I ask, stating my point rather as I step across the threshold, her house is cold, I doubt she's felt it's chill for want of death, my arms immediately reach around her giving her a friendly hug which for once she doesn't shy away from, it's a step of progress.
"Would you like some coffee, you look like death," she informs me, I stutter a laugh at such a stupid comment, she looks more like an angel than me, I'm just cold from the journey here, she is cold from the emotional debt she's just incurred. We follow one another towards the kitchen in perfect silence, I'm still getting used to the layout of her sprawling pile, we come to a standstill in the heart of the home, lost cold and forgotten as she flicks the light on, her slippers scuffing the tiles as she fills the kettle and sets it to boil in the aga, she turns to me, leaning softly on the metal bar, her face drawn to the floor.
"How have you been," I stutter, removing my coat as the heat thaws my cold body, she fails to respond to my statement as various biscuits and condiments are thrust before me on the table, as she invites me to sit down I give her a forcing look, edging her to speak more.
"I miss him," she whispers as the coffee rises wistfully from our mugs, she is concentrating on the mug too much, I reach across the table, I squeeze her hand, reassuring her, but the response is unexpected, she takes my hands and rubs her thumb along my palm, each hair stands to attention as she does so, it's such a bloody turn on, so much so I pull away picking up the hobnob sitting proud on the plate and busy myself with picking it to pieces and lifting each crumb I make.
"It's only natural," I stifle eventually, quelling every rise in tone that would signal my weakness for her. It's like playing a game of staring in primary school, something you do to pass hours of boredom, except this time it was serious, like competing in the world champions, the prize not a half second of glory but unlocking the keys to a tattered soul, being given the chance to repair it, after all its what I've spent years in training for. Surgeon, councillor, the names are interchangeable; the only difference the subject, the rush from this one a million time greater.
"But he's treated me like crap in the past, why can't I live without him when it's all I've done for the past few weeks, adjusted to it, it's not like anything's changed," she sighs as we move the debris to the old ceramic sink, laid only with a couple of mugs and plates, I ignore her lack of food for the minute, forcing the idea of an eating disorder on her now would be vehemently stupid.
I follow her through to the sitting room, there is a blanket sprawled on the sofa, various wine glasses littering the coffee table, the lights are low and moody, by any measure she's been camped out here twenty four hours a day. Rigid with grief. She clears a space on the sofa, piling the debacle up in the corner of the room, folding her arms across the baggy jumper, crumpling into a tiny ball in one corner, the opposite corner.
"Is there anything I can do," I sigh sidling along the sofa slowly, fully expecting her to recoil further, but I fear she needs someone to lean on just now, and right at this instant in time, I wouldn't say no to being that tower of strength.
"Hold me?" she asked strongly, not mincing her words in the slightest. I do as she asks and encompass her in my arms, softly thrilled at the buzz her dirtied, tainted skin leaves on mine, skin on skin, black on white, it makes me frizzle in excitement, enticed to her, like a dad protective over her daughter, yet like a lover obsessing over his partner. I find my lips traversing down her body, flinging themselves passionately over her neck, I smile, turn towards her face, feel the overwhelming attraction towards her lips, falling on their vulnerable puffiness, sucking all the pain away as my tongue works round her lips, tasting the coffee faintly, the smell of lust rising above it.
There is no words of response as I carry her up to her bedroom, only a puzzling look of worry as we trade our way across the bargaining line, I can tell she hasn't been in here for some time, the bed is completely made, the clothes neatly lined up on the cupboard, his slippers sitting idle at the foot of the bed; a reminder. I ignore it, for time beyond my knowledge I've been waiting to do this, waiting to have her, blunt is the theme of the day. She is still cradled in my arms like a helpless baby, its not about the foreplay this time, it's about the mutuality, I've learnt enough to distinguish between the two of them.
I lay her out on the bed like the princess she ought to have been, pulling the jumper over her head to reveal nothing underneath; it astounds me at first, her breasts sitting there ineffectually beautiful. I hesitate, unsure of whether to pull the string to undo the joggers she's currently wearing; she smiles, answering my question with ease, it's like getting the icing on the cake, she's reverberating waves of lust onto me, purring with her facial expression, I'm the cat who just got the cream, licked it and yearns for more. She seems intent on doing the same to me, sticking her hand forcefully at my crotch, taking the zip out in one swift movement, yanking my trousers to the floor, my boxers losing themselves along the way, it is beautiful. As my top is ripped from my skin I fall onto of her, trapping her in with my arms as I crash on top of her, my stomach transcending over hers sending her nipples into erotic spasm, it's too fucking beautiful. Our lips brush against one another, she is pure now, I'm the one dirtying her. She writhes under my touch, I'm unsure how to take this, but when her hands flinch towards my crowning glory my doubts flutter away, she lets her forefinger tickle its way up my length, bloody hell how am I suppose to resist this. I decide to take control, now I'm functioning perfectly, I pin her arms to the bed, unlocking her with my key, releasing all the tension and frustration hidden behind it; swamping us both. Twisting the lock is like undoing the chains, ventilating her heart, steaming it fresh, clean, ripe for the taking, something I doubt she's had for several weeks, its clear, makes it all the more worthwhile to me. I smile at her as she bites her lip in resistance, preventing the neighbours from hearing anything; I respect that. She smirks as I continue, varying speeds, slow then fast, building her climax up with all the anticipation I've been feeling, the sting and burn of passion, the pleasure. HER hands release from underneath mine, stroking down my chest, groping at me on her way, a fling of the hand to her, the edge of something greater to me, her hand rests on the boundaries to my stomach teasing at the hair, I slide out unable to enforce anything more on her, she slips her hands down, taking a firm tight grip, making it seamlessly amazing. The next think I know she's flipped me onto my back letting her body move fluidly back towards the end of the bed, pausing as her lips caress my tip, it's absolutely fucking amazing, feeling her lips squeeze is like tipping yourself into a tub of chocolate swimming in heaven, floating above the clouds in sweet sensual happiness. Right now I'm sitting happily at the gates, glimpsing at Paris and his great grandfather, Michael sitting bored in the corner. She withdraws, I come plummeting back to earth.
Crash, bang, wallop.
Into her, into love.
THIS IS WRONG but feels right.