Present Day (Day 3)...
You are in bed alone, tense with worry and guilt, certain that Martin isn't coming back to the hotel for a second night in a row. You have called him incessantly and he only answered once, at lunch, to tell you to 'sort yourself out'.
You don't know what to do. You are not denying you have issues. After all, that is how you met him. But you can't begin to figure out how to 'sort them out'. Martin has always been the one to help you cope and lead a 'normal' life. You need him. So where is he now in the dead of night in a foreign city?
You stir when he creeps into your hotel room. You hold your breath and stay still as you hear him undress behind you, then quietly slip into bed smelling of booze, sweat and unfamiliar aftershave. He has been on a night out. You want to ask who he rubbed himself against to pick up the unfamiliar male fragrance that clings to him but you don't. You have no right. Not after your fuck up.
And besides, you are grateful and relieved beyond belief that he is back. You want to apologise no end for what you did. You want to tell him that you were stupid to think of anyone but him.
The thought of losing him fills you with a fear so intense that it matches the fear you felt for everything around you in the months following your abduction and before Martin came into your life. He means so much to you. He stabilises and grounds you. You rely on him and need him.
Yeah, maybe you are needy when it comes to him but is that a bad thing?
You start to beg for forgiveness but he is having none of it. He won't talk to you but he does let you hold his hand. It reassures you that he won't leave you when you fall asleep.
xo
The sudden loss of contact with warm skin is what wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. Martin's hands push you away from him at first but then he tugs at your pants and the t-shirt you are wearing (his t-shirt) pulling them off you so that you are naked in no time. You don't have time to wake up fully as he flips you onto your back. His hands are determined, insistent and impatient. He makes his intentions clear to you through his actions. He wants to fuck.
"Marty." You try to slow him down. "We need to talk-"
He silences you with a heated kiss.
"Not now." He whispers.
Why is he refusing to talk? Instead, he paws at you, multitasking; stripping out of his tracksuit bottoms, kissing you over your torso and neck and parting your legs to settle between them.
"Wait, Marty." You say uneasily. He can't seriously think that the situation can be swept under the carpet with sex. You encourage him to look at you. The fire in his eyes speaks volumes. He licks his tongue over your lower lip then lightly bites it.
"Just want to feel close to you, Ste." He whispers heatedly.
He pushes your legs further apart, lifting them so that your hips and knees are fully flexed either side of him. He lubes his cock and pours some of the warm viscous fluid directly onto your hole before snapping the top of the bottle closed and tossing it aside. The defined muscles of his chest and arms flex and relax with every movement. He is mouth-wateringly sexy. You should feel horny as hell as he rubs his fingers against your opening in time with his dick's thrusts against your thigh but you aren't. He isn't forceful exactly but he is single-minded and unwavering in his actions.
It makes you panic. You don't want this. You aren't in the mood. You instinctively try to clamp your legs together but his position between your thighs blocks you. This is not okay. Marty knows how important it is for you to feel a measure of control when it comes to sex ever since what happened to you. He knows that and yet you feel a lack of power right now.
He penetrates you with a finger and then two. You can't relax against the intrusion. You bite your lip in distress.
Fuck. This can't happen. Stop!
"Just give me a minute." You hiss tightly trying to not let your anxiety run away with you. Maybe if I get myself into the mood I'll be fine, you think but your nerves build until they scream at you to get the fuck away from this dangerous situation.
Intuition, based on past experience, tells you that you are about to be violated. You envision a big burly man; sweaty, overweight, hairy, with putrid body odour, grunting in short sharp bursts as he pummels into you mercilessly not listening to your cries of pain and supplications to stop.
No. Please Stop!
"Please." You gasp in fear. The hitch in your voice and the dig of your hands into his arms snaps Martin out of his trance. He reads alarm in your body language and immediately stops his actions, pulling his fingers out and collapsing onto you.
His forehead rests against yours. His warm breath is harsh against your face.
It's Martin. Not that man. It's your Martin.
"Sorry." He whispers after a moment. He soothingly kisses your forehead and you calm down embracing the familiarity of his weight on you. All is good. He didn't hurt you. How could you have thought he might?
"I felt up for it." He mumbles then begins to roll off you but you trap him to you by wrapping your arms and legs around him. You run your hands over his back. Its hard plains remind you of the smooth marble of ancient Roman statues but warm and supple.
Marty is solid as a rock in every way.
You kiss his cheek. Um. Stubble. You rub against it. You like it when he grows a little facial hair...
"I didn't think you'd come tonight. I am so happy you're home."
He stares at you as if trying to read your soul. "We aren't home." He whispers.
You confess, "I felt like I couldn't breathe when you weren't here."
"Drama queen. That's not normal." He pulls you into a kiss and things heat up quickly between you.
"No?" You say vaguely. You cling to him. That is how you have always felt in your relationship with Martin; his absence leaves you feeling like you are incompatible with life. That is why you have never gone more than a day without seeing him. That is why you always travel with him...
You want to show him that you need him and that he can't leave you again so you trace your hands over him until you reach his cock and grip it firmly in your hand feeling the weight of its rigid lubed length. You jerk him off slowly, feeling its familiar contours, swiping at the head to elicit a sharp hiss out of him. You position yourself beneath him so that you can easily guide him to your hole, no foreplay. You are ready to be invaded by him. He enters you steadily while kissing you passionately, imitating the plunging action of his dick. That stretch as he breaches the tight ring that guards your warm slick passage causes you to pull away long enough to groan in pleasure and then crush his lips to yours. The graze of his shaft against your insides turns you to putty and you lift your hips up to him even more inviting deeper penetration.
'Yes,' you sigh because it feels good. He fucks you hitting your prostate just how you like it. You love getting filled like this. It is why you almost exclusively bottom. You feel more turned on being fucked than fucking. It's just the way it is and it assures you now that you feel that lust with Marty. It proves your bond, you think.
This time I won't think about him, you tell yourself as your fiancé pummels into you with an abandon that curls your toes and causes you to grip his buttocks to push him closer to you still. This time it will be just Marty and me. Bound together. No one else ever again.
xo
When you wake up you are alone in bed again. Martin has left for his penultimate day at the conference. You stretch out languidly displacing the sheets that cover your modesty as you recall how you and your fiancé spent most of the night and some of the morning fucking.
He was all over you; like a soldier spending a final night with his lover on the eve of his next tour of duty. No words. All action.
Despite all that action you still feel disconnected from your man. You put it down to you having to rebuild trust with him. You are prepared to work through it because you love and care for him and he is right for you. Fuck the contradictory voice in the back of your head.
Marty is the whole package and a perfect fit.
You sit up ready to start your day and spot a note on the bed next to you. Its presence worries you. Marty is not a 'note person'.
He's dumped me.
You are shaking when you pick up the piece of paper telling yourself to get a grip and stop being so overdramatic.
Ste,
I love you. I think that is why I can't say what I need to say to your face; what I should have said years ago. I was blinded by my feelings for you.
The problem is I don't think you love me like I love you. I think you have unresolved issues with Brendan that you have avoided dealing with. You can deny it but it's true and I don't want to go into our marriage worried that I am second best to a man that you can't move on from.
God knows I want you with me but only if you want me equally. So I want you to figure out what Brendan means to you. I hope you come to realise that he is not the man you have made him in your head. No man worthy of you would leave you the way he left you, Ste. Those are the actions of a cold-hearted coward. You deserve better.
I am setting an ultimatum. I have left your ticket for the ball tomorrow on the side table. If you want a future with me then come join me there and we will start a new chapter in our lives together.
Until then do what needs to be done to make your mind up.
Me or him.
I'll be staying with Toby until then.
Siempre te amaré,
Marty
Your tears stain the note. They run unchecked when you see Martin's gold ring not far from where the note was. You slip it onto your thumb. Even then it is loose on you. What does this mean? Why did he take it off?
Has he called off the wedding?
You freak the hell out and tear up the note flinging the ripped pieces into a bin. Then you trash the room like some out of control rock star. Soft furnishings, mattress, sheets, and clothes are flung around. Curtains are pulled to the floor. The bin is kicked onto its side and a lamp is flung to the floor. You try to fling the TV off the wall but it is wedged on so you punch it and hurt yourself more than you dent it.
When you finally calm down, your grief, fear, guilt and pain linger. Your outburst hasn't helped.
The phone rings distracting you from assessing the mess you have caused. For a second you think its Martin calling to tell you that he got a little over-emotional and to ignore the note. Then you worry that it might be a member of the hotel staff who has somehow got wind of your tantrum and is calling to tell you to leave the premises after paying for damages.
"Hello?"
"Oh my God! It's you!"
"Who's speaking?"
"Declan!"
Your mouth dries up at hearing the name. Surely not-
"You know, Declan Brady. Long time, ey?"
O.M.G.
"Declan?" Jesus. Brendan's older son is on the line.
His voice has deepened but in your mind you picture a lanky dark-haired thirteen year old kid whose appearance is a carbon copy of his father. You recall his tendency towards angst and his unsociable obsession with his Nintendo 3DS. But he made the effort to get to know you once he knew you were with his father 'in that way'.
That is how he had put it to you one day when he cornered you, headphones wedged in his ears as they always were.
He asked you earnestly, 'Ste, you know you and dad... Like, are you guys together, you know, IN THAT WAY?' You had swallowed nervously knowing how angry Brendan would be to learn that his son knew his secret but you did not lie to the boy.
You nodded, 'Yes. I am his boyfriend. Is that okay?'
He had shrugged indifferently and said, 'You'd think he would be in a better mood then,' before putting his iPod back on, turning on his heel and walking away while jerking his head to the beat of the music. He never judged you or stressed over what his mates might think about his dad. He scored major bonus points with you for that and eventually you got on with him and Paraic so well that Brendan would roll his eyes in mild exasperation at the three of you, thick as thieves and giggling away, during the boys' visits to Hollyoaks.
'Kill me now!' He would plea to the skies and you three would laugh harder.
'Your dad is such a grouch sometimes, guys!'
"Nikki, dad's friend, told me they bumped into you at Secondo two days ago."
"Right." You say. How did the kid find you? "I didn't tell your dad where I was staying."
"I didn't find out from him. I, uh, I met Martin, like by chance later on in the evening."
"Martin? Where?" You say numbly. The walls are closing in.
His voice sounds cagey. "At a pub in Temple Bar. He was a little drunk, I think. He's a friend?"
So that is where your fiancé went on the night he stormed out of your bedroom.
"Yes, in a way." You say weakly.
"He was out on his own." Declan says cautiously. "He seemed pretty upset about something."
"Oh." You say. "Yeah. Probably work."
"Yeah. Probably." Declan clears his throat awkwardly. "Anyway, he was speaking to my friend and mentioned where you were staying and stuff..."
"Stuff?" How much else did Martin say in his drunken state?
"Um, yeah." Declan says and then does a one eighty change in conversation. "Anyway, the reason I am calling is because I am offended. I can't believe you were going to leave Dublin without catching up with Paddy and me." His tone is light-hearted.
"Yeah, Sorry." You say with a smile forming on your lips. "I would have called..." You lie. You wouldn't.
"What are you up to tonight?"
You can imagine the mischievous smile on his face. His father's smile.
"I don't know." You say uncertainly. "What were you thinking?"
"It's a weekday so something low-key. I could make us something to eat at my house." He says persuasively. "... In halls of residence."
"You cook now?"
"Yeah!" He laughs. "Kind of! Scrambled eggs and sometimes noodles, mainly! I burn a lot of stuff!"
You laugh. "How's that supposed to convince me to say yes to your invitation?"
"Because I'm planning to enlist the help of someone who can cook!" He laughs. "You!"
You laugh harder. God, it's good to get some light relief and Brendan's kids always supplied that by the truck load. Maybe they would be a welcome distraction.
"Thanks, that's just what I want to do when I am on a break from the bistro; cook some more!"
"Bistro?"
"Yeah." You are coy when you say. "I own a small eatery back in Chester."
"Wow. Congratulations. That's awesome!" He says. "Come on Ste, say yes! Otherwise, I won't have an excuse to get out of having supper with my girlfriend's parents!"
"You have a girlfriend?" You ask forgetting that he is no longer a kid.
"Yes. Her name is Aoife. Feisty. Pouty. A bit like you!"
"I don't pout!" You catch your reflection in the hotel room mirror and your lower lip is out in full sulk mode. You rein it in.
"What about you? You got someone special?" He asks.
You are taken aback by his question.
Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know. Until two days ago I was in a stable loving relationship with a hot, smart, caring man. But now I don't know what's going to happen and it is all because I saw your dad again after all these years and he messed with my mind.
"Uh. What's with the personal questions, young man?" You say trying to keep your voice light.
"Just curious. Catching up." He says quickly.
Did Martin say something to Declan's friend about the two of you?
"So I'll pick you up at the hotel at 6ish." He says. "Then we can get Paddy from his swimming class before heading home for food. See you later!"
And he puts the phone down before you have a chance to protest.
xo
That evening you find yourself riding a lift to the top floor penthouse suite of a swanky apartment building flanked by little Paddy and Deccy. You are immediately suspicious. What kind of student lives in digs like this? Why does he knock on his own door? Why is Paraic giving his older brother knowing looks?
The answer is before you when the door opens and you come face-to-face with Brendan. You gasp. You want to run to him, you want to punch him, you want to kiss him.
You look at Declan. He manipulated you. His sheepish expression tells you that he did this on purpose.
How dare he?
You should go. That is the sensible thing to do because being near Brendan never results in anything good. You have learnt your lesson. Martin is wrong. Confronting your ex and facing your past is no use.
But Paraic's puppy dog eyes and Dec's clever persuasion, 'at least have a quick bite before you go', convince you to stay. Or maybe it is when Brendan says,
"I would like it if you stayed."
Whatever. You decide you will prepare the lasagne, eat it quickly and leave as soon as possible.
You work pretty much single-handedly despite offers of help. It is a good way to completely ignore Brendan. You hope that the thud of your heart in your ears and the steady blush that suffuses your skin aren't obvious when he looks over to you from the bar stool he is perched on at the other side of the large open plan room.
Why is he looking at you anyway? Maybe he actually doesn't want me here. Or maybe it's the scars on my scalp and arms. They aren't that obvious. He can't see the ones on my legs, so...
You try not to let that bother you. You don't care what he thinks and if there is anything therapy has taught you it is that it wasn't your fault that what happened to you happened. The scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They speak for what you went through and the strength and courage you needed to come out the other side.
Fuck Brendan if he has a problem with them.
With the sauces for the lasagne made and the fresh sheets of pasta out, Paddy gives you a hand to construct the layers of the two dishes; one meat and one non-meat option. He looks even less like Brendan than he did when he was five but his mannerisms, directness, dry humour and edginess are his father's.
"There. Done." He says smugly as he wipes his hands together dramatically and puts the dish into the hot oven confidently, before you have a chance to tell him to be careful. "How long do we wait for now?"
"Fifteen to twenty minutes." You say, suddenly feeling exposed. How are you going to avoid engaging with Brendan now that you have nothing to occupy your hands with?
You keep your eyes fixed to the chopping board in front of you. The silence is excruciatingly awkward.
"Dad, shall I open a bottle of wine for you and Ste?" Declan asks tentatively.
"Nothing for me, thanks." You say quickly. "I don't drink."
Dec frowns at you like you are mad.
"I mean, I only really drink alcohol on special occasions now."
"Why?" He asks.
You can feel Brendan's eyes on you too and you go even redder than you already are.
To stay in control, that's why. I need to always stay in control.
You shrug. "Health move."
"Declan is still vegetarian." Paddy interjects. "But it has nothing to do with being healthy. It's just that where he sees Bambi I see yummy steak! That's what men do. Make fire. Eat meat."
The kid snorts a laugh and giggles at his own joke.
"Funny." Declan says drily while pouring three glasses of orange juice and a white wine for his father. He passes the drinks around.
"Can't drink either tonight." He says to no one in particular. "I have to drive Tarzan here and me home at the end of the night... And you of course."
Brendan raises an eyebrow at his son. His son mentions giving you a ride like an afterthought.
"You can stay over, guys." He addresses his sons. "Better than your student digs."
You look around at his state-of-the-art, sleek, vast home with wicked views of the city through a floor length window. Brendan has done well for himself.
"Thanks, dad, but I live closer to Miss Tang's place than you. This way Paddy and I can get a bit of a lie in before I have to drop him off for his piano class tomorrow."
Declan looks between you and Brendan. There is that familiar cheeky glint. You wonder what he is playing at. Surely he isn't trying to play Cupid? That kid has always been a bit of a romantic. In fact, he and Paddy make blatant attempts to get you and Brendan talking while the lasagne simmers in the oven.
- "Why don't you take a seat, Ste? Dad?"
- "Dad, has Ste told you that he owns a bistro called Peckish? How cool is that? Tell him about it, Ste."
They also throw in bits of information that they think might be of interest to you,
"You should check out dad's clubs. VIBE is exclusive. It's invited members only unless it is for private functions but THE ELECTRIC is more open. Its 'Gay-friendly' to. That's what the reviews say. It has a gay night twice a week, doesn't it, Dad?" Declan crow-bars into conversation. Is this to showcase that his father has washed himself of the last stain of internalised homophobia?
"You know it has." Brendan mumbles glaring at his son.
Both you and Brendan reply to their attempts at chat with a series of mainly monosyllabic words and grunts. This is awkward, embarrassing and painful.
After a while they give up and march off to play video games on the PS3 located in the living area while waiting for the food to be ready. The room quickly fills with sounds of cars screeching and speeding and the boys taunting each other playfully.
Brendan continues to look at you evenly from his stool at the far end of the kitchen area. The physical distance between you is almost laughable. It is as if he can't bear to be in the same room as you. After a long moment, he stands up and saunters over to you, one hand in pocket, the other holding his half full glass of wine. He stops at the kitchen counter, directly opposite you and speaks softly enough to keep his sons out of earshot,
"Where's your boyfriend?"
You feel a lurch in your heart. "At the hotel." You lie. "Having a quiet one. Watching telly."
He nods and downs the rest of his wine letting the glass land on the granite surface with a loud thud that prompts a curious glance from his boys. They quickly turn their attention back to the game and Brendan smacks his lips together.
"How rock and roll."
"We have fun." You say defensively.
He doesn't reply, just stares at you. You feel self-conscious. You aren't vain exactly but there has always been something about the way Brendan looks at you that makes you think that every pore and follicle of your being is being observed. You feel stripped bare and vulnerable under the scrutiny of his piercing blue eyes. His gaze tracks over you languidly and makes you feel hot all over; makes you want to fan yourself and remove a layer of clothing although that would get you down to underwear. That's the effect his look has on you. It makes you want to strip off in front of him.
Fuck.
There is something he wants to tell you. It is written all over his face but he doesn't speak. He picks up the bottle of wine and pours himself another glass taking a healthy sip out of it.
"How long are you staying in Dublin, Stephen?" He asks.
Stephen. You forgot about that; how he says your name with a strong Dublin inflection from the back of his throat like a purr. It feels like a caress designed to make you arch your back in appreciation.
"We are leaving the day after tomorrow." You say calming yourself down. Why is he asking?
"So this was a holiday." He assumes.
"Work and play." You say.
He smirks after a moment. "Play..." He stretches the word out, over-enunciating it. He downs the rest of his second glass of wine and pours yet another. At this rate of drinking he is going to live up to Irish stereotype if he is not careful. "Is that what you call it now, Stephen, 'play'?"
You can't meet his stare. You blush at the suggestion in his tone.
"Amongst other things..." You say deliberately.
"How long have you been together?"
"Five years."
The tick in his cheek is the only give away that this news comes as a shock to him.
"Well, well, well. The blond bombshell must be doing something right." He takes another sip. He starts checking off his fingers. "Let me guess. One. He is a great fuck. That has got to be number one. You love getting fucked so I am assuming he 'measures' up so to speak."
You cringe at his crassness. Why is he being an arsehole?
"And he probably spoons after, am I right? I am, aren't I? Yeah he does. And he listens to you." His tone is mocking. "Cries over puppies. Knits. Reads poetry."
"Stop it." You whisper angrily.
He rubs his forehead slowly as if kneading a headache away and whispers,
"Sorry."
You look up at him because surprisingly he sounds genuine. Shit. Is he jealous? Is that what the venom is about?
"He takes good care of you, yeah?" He asks softly.
"I'm not talking about him if you are going to mock him."
"I'm not mocking."
He sounds sincere so you say, "Yeah, he takes good care of me... Not that I need taking care of."
"Right. You deserve a man who can protect you, Stephen, and make you happy."
"Are you being sarcastic?"
He shakes his head. "No. For a change. No. I'm serious."
You look at him as he rounds the counter to stand next to you and opens the oven door with some oven mitts to take out the lasagnes.
Is he implying that six years ago he did not feel he could make you happy and care for you? He's wrong. He made you unbelievably happy. And it wasn't up to him to protect you. All you needed was to know that he would be there and support you when or if bad shit happened. That's all.
"Food's ready, boys." He says to his kids.
He brushes his arm against you accidentally as he lays the lasagnes on the heatproof granite surface and you visibly recoil from him. It isn't out of fear, disgust or anger. It is because you feel an immediate spark of awareness. A fire. How embarrassing. Only Brendan has such an effect on you. He ignites you and you burn from his nearness,
"Don't worry. I wasn't trying it on." He says. His warm breath and that familiar scent of his causes your body to melt. "I'm not going to muscle in on another man's turf."
"I didn't think you were trying to." You say. Why do you feel low? It's a good thing that he knows that you are not available and anyway he is almost definitely well over you.
"I am, like, literally starving!" Paddy says exaggeratedly as he runs up to you.
Declan is behind him and grins, "Let's eat!"
XOXO
You wake up and sit bolt upright. It takes you a moment to get your bearings. Brendan's place. You are lying along the length of his sleek black leather sofa with a soft pure white Egyptian cotton sheet covering you.
Where did it come from?
The television in front of you reminds you of what happened. You ate supper with Brendan and his boys. The kids carried the lion share of the conversation. 'This is the first time we have used the table to actually eat!' Paddy commented during supper.
Afterwards, the four of you crammed onto Brendan's sofa to watch a superhero action movie and eat ice cream. The boys sat between you and Bren. The dimmed lights of the room coupled with your fatigue from barely sleeping for two nights in a row meant that you were inevitably going to fall asleep half-way through the film.
"Hi."
You turn around to see Brendan walk towards you wearing only low slung tracksuit bottoms. Fuck, he looks hot even though he has lost some of his bulk since you last saw him bare-chested. You wonder whether life stresses have contributed to his weight loss.
"Hi." You say. How long have I been asleep? "Where are the boys?"
"They've gone back to Deccy's digs. They wanted to say bye but you were... indisposed. You slept for two and a half hours."
You rub your eyes tiredly. Shit. "Sorry. I'll go. I'll get a cab."
You stretch out and he fixes his eyes on the exposed wingspan tattoo on your hip. You let your arms fall quickly and tug your t-shirt down. You don't want him to see it.
He clears his throat. "I'll call one for you. A cab, I mean."
"Thank you." You make yourself busy folding the bedsheet. Gosh, this is uncomfortable and forced. You feel like you have far outstayed your welcome.
"Stephen. Leave it. I'll fold that-" He grabs the bedding. An awkward short-lived tug of war for the white sheet begins. It ends when you pull at it so forcefully that he trips and collapses onto the sofa panting with sweat breaking out over his skin.
You frown. There is no way Brendan is weaker than you. Not the old Brendan in any case. For the first time tonight he looks unwell. Like really.
"Are you okay?" You reach for him but he throws you a death glare that keeps you at arm's length.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look it." Something is wrong with him. "Maybe you are coming down with a cold or something."
He laughs at that; a dry ironic laugh.
"Or something." He mutters as he stands up gingerly and heads for the fridge.
He pours himself some water and drinks it all. "Fuck me, it's hot in here."
It's really not. He is unwell and he is covering it up. Not that you really care...
"Take some paracetamol or something." You suggest studying him for clues about what might be ailing him.
"It won't help, Stephen. I think you are right. I've probably caught a bug. It'll clear."
He sits down weakly, takes his phone out of his pocket and orders you a taxi. He can't get rid of you fast enough.
"How long are you going to be?" He says into his phone "... Make it five and you'll get a generous tip."
He excuses himself once he ends the call and practically dashes to a room that you assume is a bathroom. You wait in silence for him to return and look around his home more freely.
It is a high-end bachelor pad but there are personal flourishes; pictures of family and friends hang off a wall. You look at them in turn, the boys, Cheryl and her family, Paddy (his childhood friend), that Nikki from the restaurant, even Eileen is there. There are some people that you don't recognise presumably new friends he has made since coming to Dublin. There are two glaring omissions. The first is Peter who was once his best friend. You never did get to the bottom of why they stopped talking especially since Pete has been a great friend to you and helped with PECKISH! for the last few years. The second is pictures of a significant other in his life. Brendan is still the eternal bachelor. There is something that saddens you about that. Has he not found someone of his very own to share his life with yet?
You turn your attention to Brendan's wallet on the coffee table. You have this overwhelming compulsion to look through it and find clues about what his life has been like over the last few years; what he has done, who he has done, whether he is happy.
You reach for it but just before touching it the intercom rings signalling the arrival of your cab. You step away from the wallet and Brendan emerges from the bathroom looking even worse than he looked moments ago. You are about to tell him that maybe he needs medical attention but it is not your place. Not anymore.
"Your taxi is here." He says superfluously.
The intercom begins to ring persistently so you walk to the door readying yourself to leave.
"See you." You say awkwardly.
"No, you won't." He replies. His voice is gruff. There is emotion there. That's reunions for you; they create falsely heightened emotions that are really just echoes of the past. That must be what you are both experiencing because Brendan is acting like he cares. "I'm sure you'll be glad to see the back of me."
No, I won't. But you don't vocalise your thoughts.
He clears his throat. "But for me it was..." He grips your wrist without warning and your subconscious screams at you to pull away but your stubborn body ignores it. "... memorable as always. And your food. Amazing."
You are transported through his words to another time...
xo
Six Years Ago...
There is nothing like a midnight snack to fuel a sexathon.
The aches, scents and echoes of recent coitus cling to you as you finish busying yourself around Brendan's kitchen dressed in nothing but your underwear. What you are feeling is a good kind of sore; the kind that makes you warm inside and puts a smile on your face.
'Here you go. Bruschettas!' You say as you join Brendan on his living room sofa with a shared plate of food. You swing your legs round so that they drape over his. He places a possessive hand on one of your thighs and picks up a piece of condiment-topped crusty bread with the other.
'Um!' He murmurs in appreciation, biting into the food whilst caressing your leg.
You smile and ask, 'Is that 'um' for me or the food?'
He chews thoughtfully, swallows, and pulls you into a deep, heart-stopping kiss that is olive, basil, mozzarella and tomato flavoured.
'This is amazing, Stephen.' He murmurs against your lips not clarifying whether he is talking about you or the food, 'Memorable.'
xo
Present Day...
"Say hi to your boyfriend for me." Brendan says with an edge to his voice.
"What's the point?" You say. "He doesn't know you. You are in my past."
You try to get out of there as quickly as possible before you say something you will regret like, 'I don't want this to be the last time I see you' or 'I don't know if he is my boyfriend anymore because I told him I loved you'.
Brendan traps you before you make it out the door. His hands grip your elbows. His eyes lock in with yours and you know what's coming. You hear Rae, Pete and Amy's voices but they fade to mute as Brendan leans into you. 'You are better rid, Ste. Seriously. Onwards and upwards.' 'You have got to move on, mate. There are much better fish in the sea.' 'He is an animal. What kind of person leaves their loved one high and dry in their hour of need? If he were here I would give him a piece of my mind.'
"It is better this way. You hating me." Brendan whispers over your lips as if he is speaking to himself. "I did it for you, Stephen."
You want to ask what he means by that but not as much as you want him to kiss you. With a complete absence of willpower your eager lips part under the lightest pressure from his.
His arms lightly circle your waist and your fingers comb through his hair. You groan when you feel the rub of his moustache on you, the incredible softness of his lips, the skill of his tongue teasing and playing with yours. You sigh as you melt against him relinquishing control of your body in a way you never do now-a-days.
You can let yourself go with this man. You miss this. You miss him. You feel like a thousand flames glow brightly in you.
And then you hear the intercom buzzing again. You snap back to reality and push him away gasping for breath while you touch your own tingling lips.
Without looking at him you pick up your wallet and run out of there.