The Conscious Coupling
I did not know what this summer was going to entail. I had not known what a fleeting moment was going to cause, and I had no inclination that I would fall in love with a married man. Looking back now, it is quite comical on how full circle my life went that summer.
But for all of those I hurt, I do apologize.
I wake up to the feeling of your lips on my neck. It is startling at first but I lie there wondering if you were trying to wake me or mumbling in your sleep. You tend to do that, but you also do not normally sleep later than me. You are typically the first to wake, and I would wake to the sound of the shower, the beeping of your phone, an alarm forgotten to make sure you were awake but already downstairs, or to the sweet ministrations of your lips caressing my skin. The last way was my favorite kind of mornings, starting off the day feeling so much pleasure. Sinfully delectable. This was a summer I discovered my sexual side. A side, I didn't quite know existed in all of my twenty seven years of life. I mean sure I probably wasn't aware the first fourteen years of life, seeing that boys were disgusting messes until that age. They were even bigger messes in high school, and slightly less in college depending on the level of intoxication.
So here I lay, having just completed my last year of my doctorate degree in genetic engineering, and completing my second master's degree in chemistry, because why not, and I was tangled in the sheets, waking up with the man I did not see myself sharing a bed with this summer. Hell that was nowhere in the cards, but I was brought from my thought with the answer to your lips on my neck. The pressure was not enough to be a kiss and then I hear you whisper a name against my skin.
"S'ana." You whisper her name, and my heart stills. I put my hands on your back, caressing the skin and taut muscles, easing you back to me and away from her. I blow a soft breath against your ear to bring you faster back to now and this moment. I know it is not forever, but it is now, and I wanted that, this, us.
"Come back Dei-" I whisper now, and I feel the flutter of your long eye lashes as it tickles my skin. Your hands are on autopilot at that point, the track your thumbs go from grasping my sides and move up, stopping just short of my breast and you tongue begins to trace patterns on my neck.
"Good morning to you." I say and my lips are covered and you respond in your own lippy morning salutation. After a few moments, we surface for air and I look into your dark brown eyes and I can almost feel the words, 'I love you' spill from my mouth. I bury myself back into investigating your mouth. Wanting to stay in the moment for a bit. I felt a familiar pressure beginning to ache and I hooked my leg around your body, spreading wide enough for a connection. You move in swiftly and fully. I catch my breath as your strokes hit that spot causing a delicious tension and my finger nails dig into your back. I start to match your thrusts, meeting each push with a tilt of my pelvis making the connection go deeper. I feel your mouth on my neck. I slide my fingers through your hair, yanking your head back to me and connecting our mouths as the tension was about to burst.
Then everything explodes.
The feeling of release is exquisite and when I come to from seeing stars; I feel your lips back at my neck kissing me back from delirium. Then I hear you speak, "Good morning to you to Doll." You kiss me one more time, pulling your head back and I look into your eyes. I know what is to happen next. I can see the words in your eyes, but we are interrupted by the sound of a chirp. A notification from reality, bursting our somewhat reality to pieces. I give you a chaste kiss, dismissing the ruined moment and shield myself as your pull back and away rolling to the side of the bed, back to your reality. I turn away to my side, lifting off the mattress, and taking the sheet as I extract myself from the bed and walk to the en-suite bathroom. I quickly turn on the shower and step into the falling water. Essentially hiding my tears... I do not hear your conversation but I know that it consists of a promise to be home soon, and declarations of love to a person that is not me. I feel your presence at the edge of the shower and then your hands are on my waist. A fleeting memory surfaces of the passion that existed less than ten minutes and I blush.
"Sorry about that." You murmur into my ear as if to inculcate a sense of confidence in this moment. A fragile, passionate semblance of untruths.
"Roya, truly I am sorry." You say but I remain keeping my back to him, and his hands move from my waist and up to my shoulders. You massage the muscles on my shoulder blades. Your lips move the back of my ears, kissing along the ridge down to the edge of my hair. I swallow my tears and lean back against you. Melting into your touch, and lose myself to your body.
Half hour later, the steam begins to subside from the bathroom, and I know your mind is on the clock. It is funny that after a few months I can feel your emotions. They permeate from your skin and I know the exact placement of your mind and thought. A quality or connection I have not felt with any one in my life. You are dressed in the clothes you wore last night, standing in front of the mirror and tying a knot of the yellow tie with a blue whale pattern. A recent gift you received for the latest Father's Day, something about one of your boys sharing your love of nautical things. You said the blue reminded you of the color of my eyes.
I think you told me that to make me feel better about my guilt of our situation.
I watch from the door jamb adjoining the rooms, I was still lounging in a terry robe, I watch as your eyes move from the concentration of your tie to mine in the mirror. You give me a smile, that cheeky smile that causes my heart ache. I move to you and help finish off the Windsor knot, knowing that you tend to make a mess of the fabric. After smoothing the knot, I wrap my hand around the tie and yank you down for a smoldering kiss.
Wanting to leave you wanting.
"Thanks for last night." I say stepping back and patting your tie in place. "And this morning," I say cheekily as I walk towards the door and dancing away as your hand moves to smack me. I can feel your eyes watching me but there is another chirp from your phone and the moment is over again. I glance to the phone and turn back to you. "Do you have time for breakfast?" I stop short and cutting off the remainder of the sentence. 'Before you leave.'
You walk over to the nightstand and busy yourself with your watch and cufflinks. I know you are not going to straight home. You have a spare change of clothes at your office that you will change into prior to going home. I know you are avoiding your phone on purpose. So I leave. The strain of everything recently was so overwhelming. I remove myself from the room and down to the main floor of the house. To the second place in the house that was my safe haven. A place that allowed me to create and nurture, a place I always had self-confidence; the kitchen. I open the chef's refrigerator and start to prepare breakfast. There was not much to work with, as I pull out a carton of eggs, I see enough ingredients to make a cheese omelet with onions and sausage. A filling meal to restore some energy. I have just finished dicing the onion when you enter the room. I turn to spread the butter around the heating pan on the gas stove top.
"Have time for eggs?" I say combining everything into the skillet. I turn and begin to whisk it together and spread some cheese across the firming eggs. The trick for a successful omelet is to allow the eggs to set up prior to adding the cheese. It stops the progress and turns it into a soggy mess. I hear the placement of corelle-ware being placed on the granite counter top. I took it as a sign he did. The drawer for the silverware opened and closed. I turned smiling at the thought of the morning lasting a few moments longer and I see only one plate set. I feel my lips quiver. I turn quickly trying to find something to busy myself, to distract the tears, to stop the emotions I have been bottling for the entire summer. I did not want to ruin what had been a beautiful time. I did not want you to know how much it affects me when you leave. I did not want to put that on you.
But I know you do.
I busy myself by flipping the omelet over, and I make some lofty comment, "All is fine, there is just more for me." I say when I feel your arms snake around my waist, and you put your face into my damp hair. I inhale; hold my breath for a second, and then exhale and hold for two seconds.
"I truly wish I could stay, but Klay came down with something and Susannah is about to lose it." You explain and I sigh. "I do want to-"
"Its okay, Deidric." My voice is final. "Thank you for last night." I turn and give him a soft peck on the lips and you grip my chin to pull your lips to mine. As if you are trying to commit my lips to memory. I take a second to respond to your passion, but my brain tends to go misty with your kisses. I put my hands into your hair, deepening the kiss for a moment longer. I pull away because I smell the eggs begin to burn and your phone begins to chirp for the third time this morning. "It sounds like you are needed." I say to the urgency of the phone vibrating.
With that you go to your phone, glance at the screen and I know the morning is over. I return to my task at hand and begin to load my plate with egg. "I have to go; Susannah is on the way to the ER with Klay." I watch as you move to the table where you left your leather bag. I nod and you walk back to me for one more kiss and the next I know, I am alone in the kitchen, with lukewarm eggs, and my tears.
I hear the door open at the front and I thought for one moment you have returned for some breakfast. My heart beats in my ears but I turn to see the murderous face of my mother. The look on her face is pure disgust and hatred.
"Well I see you truly are your father's daughter." The words sting and the tears cease on my face. Although it was only eight in the morning, my mother walks to the wine fridge located in the island, and she pulls a bottle of Pinot Grigio from inside. I am fairly certain this is the only appliance she knows how to use in the entire kitchen. I go to my eggs and resume eating while trying to ignore the jabs of my mother.
It is safe to say I am not her favorite daughter.
She stalks about the kitchen silently, making the only noise of slamming drawers and cupboards trying to find all she needed to pour herself a glass of wine. I can only imagine what she will say next.
"Really, Roya, a married man?" She says and I proceed to shovel eggs into my mouth ignoring her hypothetical question. She was paraphrasing to herself and continues with a diatribe for all my failures as her daughter. I did not participate in pageantry, nor did I want to go through being a debutant or join the sister sorority at Yale. I had also shunned her by going there instead of New York University. I also was into ballet, classical piano and horseback riding. I was a runner, and the most she ran was to a sale at the mall. Truly, ask her about the time she save nearly seventeen percent on a pair of a pair of Christian Louboutin heels that she wore once. I think the cause of my mother's ire was I took after my paternal grandmother. There was no love lost between the pair. I took the Norwegian coloring, pale and blonde hair, and tall with blue eyes. I watch as she fills her glass for the second time and I have finished my plate. I know her disapproving face watches as I move from my spot to the sink. I placed the clean plate and set to wash them by hand.
"Does he not have a family?" I heard her words like daggers to my soul. "Yes, and there was a recent birth, a boy. He has a peculiar spelling for his name; I had to check with the mother to make sure we got the spelling right for the monogrammed rattle." She pressed on talking more to herself. "What were you thinking?" She screeched and I just continued to scrub the plate, my hands shaking. Tears threatening to fall. "He is the next door neighbor for shit sake! When did this start?"
Her dark eyes turned on me, glaring at the fact I would not divulge any information. That was not enough for Amelia Alder-Barton.
"It began three months ago..." I hear my voice crack.