Sometimes, we have to forget who we are to become what we should be. We have to be put in flames, to be melted and molded again. You were not a sinner before we met, and probably you shouldn't be, and probably I am selfish for making you one. But for once, you are happy. Ironically, you feel like a better man because you are living. You told me so. And nothing that makes you happy will ever be wrong in my book. Immoral? Sure. Wrong? Never.
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We've been friends for six months now. No one knows about it, of course. He is a respectable man in society, and God forbid I taint that with my baggage. He shows up at my doorstep every Tuesday evening after work, under the pretense of meeting with a new client. Everyone who knows him thinks he is working on a super-secret deal for his company. I wonder how long he can keep this excuse up but whatever. I'm not complaining. Sometimes we watch a movie, or do Karaoke (he loves it and I hate it, because he sounds so good and I sound like a croaking frog), or just order pizza and talk.
It's like high school allover again, except this time I actually get to hang out with the most popular guy.
Edward once told me that I can read him like an open book, but the truth is he can read me better. He can tell when I'm down in the dumps, so he goes out and gets ice cream for me. He can tell when I need a comforting shoulder, a pep talk, or just a hug. My budget was a little tight last month – business was not good at the club – so I got my cable cut. I don't even know when he noticed that, but he did, and despite all my protests, he gave me his money, not only for the cable, but enough to feed me for a month without earning a penny. That same week, he showed up at the club and paid for two hours with me.
I was angry. So, so angry. I hated being treated like a helpless, poor girl. I wasn't, dammit. He knew I would be stubborn about it, so he promised he would take that money whenever I could pay him back. It didn't stop me from crying, though. Those two hours that he 'bought' me for, I spent crying on his chest.
But today I get to pay him back. I've been working double shifts; waiting tables in the morning, dancing/whoring myself in the evening. And I finally have the money. He shows up with an ice cream tub and I joke about weight gain hampering my 'business', and all of it being Edward's fault. He doesn't even smile. I hand him the money and his mood worsens.
I sense that that ice cream is more for his sake than mine.
"Come on, I wanna show you something," I tell him, and without waiting for a reply, grab his hand and pull him up from the couch. He doesn't protest or ask questions as I make him wear his overcoat again while I put on a thick sweater. I take out a couple of blankets from the cupboard and take him to the rooftop. He looks surprised that it's so clean, compared to my messy apartment. I playfully smack his arm and tell him that it's because I spend a lot of time here.
I spread out the blankets and lie down, patting the space beside me and asking him to do the same. He puts the ice cream tub on his side (he's not going to part with it tonight, I just know it) and imitates my position. Facing the sky, we lie together in this freezing weather, and watch the sunset. It's quite relaxing.
After a few minutes, I can't take the silence anymore. I shift and lie on my side, to face him.
"Edward?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?"
He lets out a long, foggy breath. "I've just had a bad few days." Then he turns his head and looks into my eyes. "I'm a lot better now. With you."
I raise my left hand and hesitate for a second before reaching up to his forehead and smoothing out the furrow between his brows.
He sighs and captures my hand, bringing it to his cold lips and placing a small kiss on my fingers.
"Talk to me," I whisper.
And he does. He tells me how regularly he's been arguing with his wife, Tanya. He tells me how they both almost hate each other, but can't stand to put their daughter, Sophie, through the ordeal of being raised by a single parent. They want a divorce, but they won't do it. They have to live together but they sleep on the opposite sides of the bed. He tries to give her flowers and she wonders what he wants from her. He gives her whatever she needs, and won't even get a thank you in return. He's just so fed up of living like a stranger in his own house, of tolerating Tanya as the trophy wife. He is fed up of his family nagging him to take a decision and leave her. He hates that Tanya won't even make time for their kid, but has time to get her eyebrows done. He wants her gone, but knows that if it came to a custody battle, she will cry her silly tears and take the light of his life away from him. Not only that, her father and Jasper own a major portion of the shares in his company, and if he divorced Tanya, that would hamper his business also. He hates that he got family and business entwined.
By the end of it all, he looks exhausted. He looks defeated. So I lean forward and give him a much needed hug. I tell him I'm sorry about his situation. I tell him if there was anything I could do to help, I would do it.
"You're already helping. When I'm with you, I'm myself. Free to feel what I feel. No more hiding," he tells me, and holds me tighter. We're so close that we're on just one blanket, so he reaches behind me and pulls the other blanket over us. I'm a little taken aback. This intimacy is as rare for me as it is for him. I sleep with a lot of men, but I don't lie down with them and bask in twilight. I don't embrace their body heat and allow myself the simple pleasure of a blanket over us in cold weather. I don't snuggle deeper into their chests while they place small kisses on the top of my head.
And I most definitely do not kiss.
So I am stirred to my bones when his kisses move down my face and his lips touch mine softly, questioningly. My only answer is to twine my fingers in his hair and pull him closer, to hold on to this rare feeling of being cherished for as long as I can. I don't care about the wedding ring on his finger. I don't care that it's so cold outside. I don't care that he's only seeking comfort and taking it where he finds it.
My selfish heart only knows that it has never felt so alive before. My soul knows that this feeling makes my toes curl and makes me feel my heartbeat everywhere. My skin is warm and content with his lips touching it, and I just never want to lose this moment.
The heat of the kiss changes slowly. From a soft, sensual kiss, it burns with passion and intensity in a matter of a few minutes. Our tongues mingle and gooseflesh springs up on every inch of my body. In my daze, I gasp when I feel his cold fingers moving down my face and neck, to my shoulder, under my shirt and under my bra strap.
"Inside," I beg against his lips and we only part for the five seconds it takes us to stand up. His lips are back on mine even before we've reached the staircase, and the blanket and ice cream are promptly forgotten. We somehow shut the door to the roof and make it down the stairs without falling face first. He wraps his arms around my waist, hugging me from behind, and places hot, wet kisses on my neck that drive me wild.
Our shirts are off even before we've made it to the bedroom, and once there, we don't stop. If anything, our movements become more frantic than ever. At some point, he confesses he has no condom with him, and I shrug it off because what kind of a whore would I be if I wasn't on birth control anyway?
He gets upset that I call myself a whore again, but that is soon forgotten as the rest of our clothes come off.
I have never felt more complete than I do when we become one. What he makes me feel frightens me, but also gives me hope. It hurts me somehow but it's the sweetest torture.
When we lie together in the aftermath of crossing the point of no return – his weight over mine, his head on my chest and my legs around his waist – I expect guilt. From him, from myself. But there is none. There are no spoken promises, no life shattering statements…just no words. None are needed. We've found the balm to heal our souls.
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