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Part 8: A Gathering Storm
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It was the year 1994; and it was the aftermath of the year before – the preceding year the epitome of setbacks. The repercussions of a year he would rather altogether did not exist.
Misery had left him drowning in his own pool of whiskey and darkness – 14 months of sobriety poured into the drain when the world had suddenly seemed too sinister, darkness enveloping him and drowning him before any measure of counterforce could be used. 14 months of sobriety being pulled apart so easily it left him feeling even more despaired.
Naturally the present was permeated by a cautious approach – his existence carefully balanced on tentative steps. Fear seemed to go hand in hand with caution; afraid to fall back into a world of trouble that would no doubt only bring him under dark water for good. It was a paralyzing fear that gripped him; the notion that one little wrong turn in his life would inevitably lead directly back into throwing sobriety away again.
He just felt worthless.
Weak and utterly worthless.
It had overwhelmed him – maybe he had been too complacent in his sudden victory; it had felt like an assault out of thin air – something unexpected lodging itself into his heart and holding unto him with a heavy grip.
Dead kids and a pedophile on the loose; and his world tumbled into darkness – relief came in forgetting everything. Oblivion only accomplished by drinking. Suffice it to say that 1993 had been a dark underground of broken promises and a frazzled mind. One weekend soaked in whiskey and a whole year had turned into something despicable in remembrance. It was not even a big failure, his sponsor had tried telling him; he had only gone on the bender for a few days and then managed to steer back to sobriety – it did not matter it still felt like a massive failure to him.
Presently five months of sobriety felt too fragile. It felt like a very weak foundation. Five months was nothing; it was too insubstantial to bring any comfort or relief to him. Presently it was better to swathe himself in warm brash aggression; he found it kept brooding depression from colliding with him. Aggression kept him from throwing those precious five months into the drain as well; it was about survival now.
Aggression would keep him going, would fan his existence into adrenaline and fire – whereas depression would only feel lukewarm and not help him in any way.
"People are going to talk if you continue to grope my backside"
Her voice was dark and slightly amused; her breath warm against his jaw as she tilted her head back and looked up. Her body pressed into his, her hands warm on his back – swaying to music would be a better description that actual dancing. The lights were low in the high ceilinged ballroom; a calm presence of being swept in half darkness and in her presence. It was somewhat soothing – but not enough to keep him completely out of dark thoughts and self-doubt.
"Nothing to do about that; they started talking the moment you agreed to dance with me," he grumbled back, his hands splayed on the small of her back, every now and then sliding down over curves. It was a forceful incentive; he needed to touch some part of her – connect and pull himself further into her presence. To remind him of the present; bring himself into remembering that he had been sober five months. However insignificant it seemed now, it was better than nothing.
"They'll talk even more when I slap you into the next century"
Flashing a dark grin he continued to let his hands linger low on her back, defiant and smug in his assurance that she would resort from actually doing anything about it. She abhorred any form of public display – loathed it when he pulled her unceremoniously into touching in public; which rarely happened. She would not do anything that would pull more attention to them; hence she was much more likely to scowl than actually slap him.
Once in the hallway outside the squadroom of the gang division they had met and he had touched her cheek. It had been an unconscious act; he still remembered waking up with her in the early morning light – remembered motionless kisses shared. He knew the guys from the gang unit had given her crap; so compelled by nature he had reached out and lightly touched her cheek. At the tender contact she had practically stalked off, huffing and glowering. He narrowed it down to the fact that she was always on her guard at work; constantly prepared to meet resistance and sour attitudes; she recoiled from anything resembling concern then.
As far as everyone was concerned they barely knew each other; Lieutenant Flynn was the skirt chaser of homicide and Lieutenant Raydor the cold bitch from I.A. Sometimes these reputations amused him, sometimes they annoyed him. When they happened to be dancing closely together – even if it was an annual little habit – it confused many. In the end however most chalked it down to the event; everyone was a bit unusual at these gatherings.
She always looked so lonely at these functions; even if she talked with other people and appeared to have a well-rounded intimacy with her own squad in internal affairs. They always danced together; it was a tradition – dating back to the days when she had worked in Narcotics. Back then they had jumped joyously around – soaring around on the dance floor with too much enthusiasm and laughter. Now it was slow and hesitant; close to each other yet so far apart.
He was not even sure she wanted to dance with him; even if she appeared faintly amused on the surface. She had been nothing but obscure since her separation; it had become almost impossible to gather her moods and what she wanted from him.
"People will talk more if I don't grope your ass; I'm just being my colorful self"
"Then why don't you go grope some blonde"
He ignored her gripe; "Now that little smile on your face; that's a dead giveaway to gossip – you're supposed to look smug or annoyed – not this peaceful"
It was that one time of the year where everyone became a little silly, the top brass drank too much – the young officers drank even more; and homicide detectives danced with internal affairs detectives. The annual police ball was as much a tradition among a large family as was a thanksgiving; it was embodied by ritual and behavior that never really wavered much from the last function. Most importantly; old grudges and arguments were forgotten – which left the popular detectives dancing with the less popular ones.
Most importantly; he could dance with her in public, bodies close – small whispered conversation between them and no one would care much. No one noticed the obvious familiarity in which they danced – no one paid much attention to the fact that they always shared a dance at this event. More importantly; she grazed him with small smiles and familiarity in public.
"You want me to look annoyed?"
"I'm just saying I'm not the one being talked about – my behavior is dead-on. Your behavior on the other hand is slightly uncharacteristic"
"I'm always uncharacteristic," she retorted in a voice that sounded unsure of what it wanted to reflect; caught between slight annoyance and slight amusement.
She had been nothing but unpredictable the last many years; always seeming to get stuck in between two emotions that shared nothing but contradiction. It was something that grazed his nerves raw; forced him to be stuck in the same opposing emotions. She always trapped him in her conflict even if he would rather not feel concerned. It was apparently inherent in him; whatever little ordeal she was going through happened to affect him with equal intensity.
"Yes, my very own strange little creature"
She smiled at the comment; even if he would have wagered it would have annoyed her. Again; every little thing he expected from her was nothing but the exact opposite. A comment sure to bring her into a warm smile in the past would suddenly turn her into a quiet stony silence – her disposition had turned more and more inconsistent and he felt unequipped to handle it.
It was something that settled into him with a very dense composition. He felt compelled to resort to erratic anger, resort to being similarly unpredictable. It was never a good sign.
Rationally it had nothing to with him per se; he knew that and he knew it was a conflict from her failed marriage. Still it nestled within him – prickling and itching. It was bound to bring them both into a deadlock of an argument sometime in the future. It was really the only thing he felt certain about; it was only a matter of time before they both went off their handles and catapulted together in some kind of fight.
They were both caught in an impatient little world – impatience never amounted to much besides trouble. This was merely the foreplay; the tensile, fitful foreplay to heated words. Weirdly enough it felt just as annoying as it felt slightly arousing. It was something he could feel building up within him; something that simmered between them with poignant potential. Maybe it would feel liberating when they finally let go and vented.
She stopped his hand from sliding further down, clutching around his arm and drawing his hand further up her spine; a respectful distance from the swell of her ass; her eyes dark as she gave him a little huff.
Besides the annual little dance there was nothing inappropriate in their relationship when they were both at the office; work never afforded them the opportunity or the need to touch or align their friendship. A little wave and a little acknowledging glint in their eyes were really the essence of their work personas when they accidently met.
No one would able to tell he knew her on a much deeper intimate level; no one would be able to comprehend the familiar bond they shared. His old partner had retired; and he was really the only one who had a little inkling about their friendship. The majority had forgotten Sharon had worked Narcotics; too many new faces and too many years had gone by. Sometimes even he himself forgot it; she seemed so naturally assimilated into her new façade that he had a hard time sometimes remembering she had been different – a hard time reconciling her new image with her old one.
Compartmentalizing was second nature to them both; it was an act that was even easier than donning different masks for different circumstances and people. They were both too familiar with different nuances of what you could present to others that compartmentalizing their relationship into different fragments was something that merely came to be. Despite never having actually talked about it they seemed to agree on wanting separate personal lives from work lives. He had a distinct feeling that if the two became too tangled it would only lead to chaos.
Maybe that was what was happening; maybe everything became entangled once you added sex into it. It would explain why their bond seemed on one hand more intimate and on the other it seemed even more fragile. It felt unstable; most of all. Encompassed by too much uncertainty – enveloped by too many emotions.
Another song started; he slid his lips into her hairline, down to her ear – his hands sliding over her hips in a little caress – no one would able to notice the extra little pressure he put into it. They would only see a brash lieutenant and assume he was whispering something lewd in her ear. Meanwhile he only let his mouth graze the outer shell, complacent in being able to detect the distinct scent of her, heavy in her hair and different in her skin.
Ignoring her little attempts to separate everything had become a little sport of his. It had become an incentive to pull her out of her comfortable bubble – push her off balance. It was a matter of trying to make her come undone; make her react. The reason his hands slipped down again; not too low to initiate anger but low enough to tell her he was content with groping her in public. Why he felt compelled to do this, he had no clue.
"Now they'll think you're trying to seduce me," she breathed into his throat, paused and gave him another little dark hum, "They'll start wagering whether I'll let you down gently or whether I'll rip you apart"
"Maybe they have a bit more confidence in my skills"
She gave a snort. He gave a grin caught between a grimace and amusement.
She leaned closer, stood on tip toe to whisper in his ear; "Maybe I'm the one doing the wooing"
Her voice was dangerously close to something dark and syrupy; low and with that tantalizing timbre he had come to know as her in a dangerously teasing mood. An insidious but seductive mood that was an entire little story by itself. It was a capricious mood he never knew which direction it would choose to thread. Sometimes it greeted him with a teasing humorous connotation, sometimes it went in the other direction and became something that brought them together in darkness and pain. It was ever-changing. It enticed him fully; had him ensnared and trapped. It was a mood that travelled through his body in a tingle, alighting arousal and anticipation.
"I'm going to kiss you if you continue with this," he told her, his voice a low warning. He would do it; kiss her till everyone noticed. She knew nonchalance catapulted him into rebellion; more importantly she knew that her low sultry voice went straight to his cock.
It was another little game; back and forth – trying to make the other stalk off in anger or annoyance. It never amounted to anything but intense desire coursing through their bodies, never amounted to much beside either repressed silence or heated exchanges of intimacy.
Anger was in the horizon but had yet to appear, had yet to inflict them.
Often he found himself wondering what they would be like entangled together in wrath; somehow he had an image in his mind that felt both compelling and repulsive. On one hand he never wanted anger to enter into their relationship but on the other hand he craved to somehow vent all his frustrations on her.
The corners of her lips turned slightly crooked, eyes almost two orbs of blazing fire – a warning as well. If he deigned to lean down and kiss her now it would result in something dark. It did not matter in any event. He knew exactly how their evening would end – he knew exactly what the night entailed.
Another little tradition – a little thing no one knew about. They always slipped out unnoticed and went home together; sometimes they went to his place, sometimes hers.
They saw each every now and then outside work; their relationship however fickle the only comforting constant in his life besides his kids. It was a strange notion that something that felt this obscure and unstable could bring you so intense comfort, could be a constant. It was a contradiction; but one he cherished.
It was a peculiar thing; however much everything had changed between them it still felt as if it was the same. Where he had expected an evolution there was only a slight different little branch to the complicated network of branches that made up the tree of their lives. It was not something that brought turmoil with it; no he was rather comforted by the knowledge that even though sex had been added into their relationship it was still so evermore encased by mystery and something beyond his comprehension.
The extra layer of intimacy only added another outlet for expressing themselves; it was as tenuous as any other aspect of them. Sex was not really the reason they were spoiling for a fight; it was every goddamn other little thing in their lives that came together in a mess. Sex was as much an aspect of that as everything else. He was certain that they would have been in this same situation if they had not added that extra layer of intimacy. He would still have loved her as intensely if they had continued in a platonic manner.
Nothing between them was ever definite; nothing was ever constant. And yet they were still in each other's lives; the bond between was still existent.
However close they were in both physical proximity and in the closeness that comes with knowing another person there was always this little layer of uncertainty to it. There was always a little part of her that remained elusive to him; always a little part he wasn't sure whether he wanted to unravel or not. There was a part of her that was outside his reach.
She was not ready for another man in her life; he knew that. She was not ready to suddenly pull him into category that did not make sense to any of them. No he would rather they continued as it were; the comfort of dark creatures every once in a while – the comfortable knowledge that no matter what she would always be there. The strength in their friendship was built on a foundation that might not be something they needed to forge every day but it was ever present.
But there was something different; something that had sneaked into their midst and was intent on wreaking havoc with them. Something novel. It had never been like this before.
They seemed to have wrapped themselves in darkness and low simmering clouds; preparing for a battle of some kind. It flared between them, in every exchange they had – it felt very tensile and volatile.
It was again a matter of nature; too alike in the mindset to imagine that a life completely together would be anything less than devastation – and yet still too dependent upon each other to simply let it be casual. That was really the crux of it.
She forswore men and had no intention to contemplate any kind of relationship with anyone that bordered on domesticity. He had no room for anything but sobriety. In that aspect it was perfect; they fit together maybe too well.
Something invisible had situated itself between them; intent on creating obstacles.
Again it was the impact of their separate lives that held too much gravity; it was not something he felt remorse about – not something he wished was different. It was the impact of the past that still lingered too vividly in their minds. Habits were hard obstacles to break. Nature was a complicated puzzle to figure out.
In essence she was a wild flower; he had no intention of uprooting her from the ground. He had no intention of putting her in shade, covering the sun – he did not intent to put her in an environment that would only make her brittle and wilted. He merely wanted to observe; possession had never been a part of them.
Dark creatures did not languor in the possession of others. They recoiled at the notion.
No, rather immerse himself into the moments when they actually came into contact, rather immerse himself in knowing that being so alike and yet so elusive brought just the right sense of belonging to someone in both of their lives.
Yet; why was he so consumed by the idea of claiming her? Why was the notion that she did not belong to him so heart aching it left him on the brink of insanity? It was a contradiction; a wile one. It went against his nature. It was the root of a tensile thing inside him – the reason the forecast read a storm on the horizon.
If only she would refrain from flickering in her demeanor; if only she would stop jumping from one end of a spectrum to the other end; constantly ever changing. She seemed determined on taking away any chance they had of remaining calm. She was spoiling for a fight; testing him as much as he was testing her.
"I want to lick you from head to toe," he whispered in her ear.
Dark shadows played in her hair as he watched the minute tightening of her eyes – a little smile playing dangerously on her lips. It was not a warm smile; it was liquid danger on her lips – only more menacing the wider she smiled.
He leaned down again, "I want to fuck you on your kitchen table"
Her lips curled further, eyes swirling with something that seemed to become darker and darker. Her eyes became a storm when she became this creature; a brewing gathering storm that always tipped him off balance. When she was in a tender affectionate mood they became clear water and so bright and vivid it took his breath away. But this was definitely a storm; so very different from clear eyes. A storm which only really meant she wanted to tear his clothes off; whether it would be in pleasure or in pain he had no idea.
Gathering dark shadows in her eyes meant she was feeling playful; similar to a predator showing glistening teeth at the prospect of a meaningful hunt.
She was a predator when she emerged like this; a creature he was sure would end up hurting him in some way.
The discernible glint of danger in her eyes told him her apartment was empty, told him her kids were at their father's place or at their grandma's place. Otherwise she would tilt her head and tell him he could do the fucking in his own apartment. Another thing she was peculiar with. She had become peculiar with a lot of things; it sometimes saddened him even if he knew there was a reason.
He had helped her move years back; helped her find an apartment big enough for the little family of three when she had just legalized the separation – before they had added sex into the mix. He had helped her paint the new place – had helped her unpack. He remembered stumbling upon a framed picture of her and the dead-never-mentioned-brother, the moving boxes littered across every surface of the floor, pristine walls painted in warm colors.
"You were twins?" he had commented, his head skewed as he observed her – another piece falling into place in his mind. There was no mistaking the two young adults in the picture; so very alike even if different gender; the same red shine to their hair – the same gray eyes – the same little chin and nose. The exact same upturn to their lips as they smiled in the photo.
"Mm-hmm," she had hummed in response. But her eyes had been very murky and obscure as they regarded him; she had never mentioned the brother to him at all. She had a sudden color to her eyes that felt both familiar and new; it had just left him with the feeling that if he prodded into this subject she would close completely off – become aloof and throw him out with some obscure comment. She had taken the framed picture from his hands abruptly, fingers around the frame afraid he would somehow break it. He did not ask her about the brother again.
Instead he had helped her unpack another box; left the one obviously with family photos to her. He remembered that time as precious however; remembered lying on her new mattress on the floor – the bed had yet to arrive. The apartment had been so empty and devoid of anything but unpacked boxes and painting gear – her kids had been at their grandma's place. Yet it had felt nothing but warm and content to lay next to her, close to the floor and wake up to coffee and the morning sun – curtains had yet to arrive as well.
It had felt awfully domesticated; a fact neither of them had mentioned back then.
It had felt serene; even if moving brought her into a thing caught between winter and spring. She had been raw and shy; fragile at the notion that her marriage was over. Fragile at the notion of being unloved. Fragile because the bastard had in reality abandoned her even if separation was her incentive. He had foregone prodding into the distinction but he wondered why no one talked about divorce.
She had had trouble sleeping back then; one moment almost compressed against his side and the next as far away as possible from him. It had been a difficult time for her and yet now it had felt like a serene time. It was before they had made love; and still that time had felt maybe just as intimate as the time after that pivotal point in their relationship.
They had made love so many times now he had lost track; he never felt sex was an adequate description even if sometimes it was imbued by something animate and wild. They fucked as much as they made love; still he felt compelled to pile it into the same little category. He was not sure what to call it; sometimes it felt too fragile to describe it.
And yet there would be months where he neither talked with her nor touched her; again it was something that merely was.
In the end she would always suddenly catapult into his life; or he would end up in hers when he felt a need to.
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