Chapter Five
The next morning, I woke up in the armchair. The silk dressing gown was wrapped awkwardly around my naked body, and my neck hurt from the angle at which I had slept.
I drew myself a bath, and took my time getting ready. I just couldn’t imagine myself getting much painting done. Perhaps this obsession with Vic was just another form of the procrastination which had haunted me over the past year, but it felt different.
He felt different.
I put on a black skirt and dark green sweater with a plunging neckline. Remembering the way Vic’s eyes had perused me the day before made me all the more eager to give him something worth looking at.
Margaret was standing by the sink when I entered the kitchen. She was washing a colander filled with salad greens, but I could see that the water was piping hot.
There was no sign of Vic.
“How’s Edith doing?” I asked.
Margaret shrugged without turning around. “About as well as she ever does the day after one of Matthew’s ‘treatments.’ She’s a little groggy, but more or less herself. At least she’s in no pain, as far as I can see.”
“That’s incredible,” I said, in spite of myself.
Margaret nodded slowly, though she kept her face turned away from me. “It’s certainly beyond anything I’ve seen in over two decades of nursing.”
“And you have no idea how he does it?” I asked.
Margaret let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Don’t think I haven’t asked. I’ve begged to find out what my patient is ingesting, but any time I so much as ask him the time of day, he threatens to end her treatment.”
“Do you really think he would?” I asked.
She breathed out heavily and switched the tap back on. The water was hot enough to steam.
“I can’t risk it. Edith was close to taking her own life before Vic rented the basement apartment to Matthew.”
“So, Vic already knew Matthew?” I asked. I could hear eagerness emerge in my voice at the slightest mention of Vic, but hoped that it would go unnoticed by the beleaguered nurse.
“I don’t think so,” Margaret said. “Vic says he advertised the apartment for a couple of weeks before receiving Matthew’s application.”
Margaret’s hands were now just resting under the running faucet, and I could see her skin reddening beneath the hot water. I had the sense that she was waiting for me to leave, so I exited the kitchen, trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at my empty stomach.
With nothing else to do, I retrieved my remaining belongings from the car and carried them to my bedroom. I kept my senses sharpened as I set up my easel by the window. Though I was ostensibly making some progress, in reality, I was just killing time waiting for a sign of Vic, mindlessly going about those few tasks I could drum up.
A few hours later, I glanced out the window, only to see Matthew getting into his small, blue sedan. He angled out of the driveway, narrowly avoiding side swiping my car in the process.
I could hear that Margaret was still in the kitchen, and I suddenly decided to explore the basement. If I were being honest, I would have to admit that this curiosity was spurred by the continued creative stalemate to which I had consistently fallen victim before. Instead, I considered it nothing more than a caper fueled by boredom.
Content that both Vic and Matthew were outside of the house, and that everyone else was occupied, I took off my high heels and placed them against the wall. I slipped downstairs, past the kitchen door, and descended the steps to the basement, closing the door silently behind me.
I was afraid to switch on the overhead light, in case it could be seen under the door to the basement, so I felt my way down in the dark. Once I was about halfway down the stairs, I pulled out my cell phone and switched on the flashlight.
At the bottom of the steps was a small hallway. The first door on the left was made of glass. I shone the flashlight, but had trouble seeing clearly past the light’s reflection. I slid the door to the side and stepped into the room.
This was the wine cellar Margaret had mentioned earlier. The walls were made of exposed brick, and each wall supported a dark-finished, wooden wine rack, each of these about twelve shelves high. I could see what she meant about just how well stocked the room was. I walked through the slightly chilly space, shining my flashlight onto the necks of bottles, stored on their sides everywhere around me.
Reminding myself of my reason for entering the basement, I left the room, quietly sliding the glass door back into place.
Further down, on the opposite side of the hall was another door, this one made of solid wood.
I tried to open the door, but found that it was locked. I knelt down outside of the door and shone my light through the keyhole. Inside, I could see stacked boxes, and little else besides. Though I could not open the door, I was more or less content that this was not Matthew’s room. In fact, it looked like no one had been in there for some time, given the level of dust visible at even a cursory glance.
Finally, I reached the last door, the one which lay squarely at the end of the hall. This door was made of solid wood, like the last one. I tried the handle, but found it was similarly unyielding.
Again, I got on my knees and shone my flashlight through the keyhole.
Inside, I could see a cluttered desk, and a table which had been moved to extend the desk’s reach. There was a twin size, unmade bed in the corner of the room.
I heard a sound above me, and the twitch of the door at the top of the steps.
I walked as quietly and quickly as I could back into the wine cellar, but I couldn’t slide the door fully closed behind me without making some noise, or delaying my hiding.
So, I left it slightly open, while I tucked myself against a wine rack beside the door. There was nowhere to truly hide in the room, so all I could do was pray that whoever was entering the basement didn’t want a bottle.
I heard footsteps come down the stairs and walk slowly through. I heard the door at the end of the hall open.
Matthew must have only been gone for a few minutes.
I waited a moment, before pressing my fingers against the door and sliding it open a few more inches. I stuck my head out, and saw that Matthew’s door was mostly closed, though it remained unlatched. I slipped my body between the door and wall and padded my bare feet up the stairs, quietly letting myself out, into the foyer.
I nearly ran into Margaret, who was just leaving the kitchen with a cup of tea and piece of toast on a small wooden tray.
“Everything alright?” she asked.
I nodded, my throat a little dry. “Thanks,” I said.
Margaret looked me over, her gaze hovering not so discreetly on my bare feet. I was aware that, so far, I had never seen her sans grey sneakers, and I felt myself self-consciously curling my toes inward a little, as though trying to shrink the visible surface of my feet.
She said nothing else, but moved past me and up the stairs.
I went back to my bedroom, slipping back into my high heels, before returning downstairs to the library and sitting down at the desk, with a few folders of old sketches.
I made myself a cup of tea, and further procrastinated by doing a little reading. By late afternoon, the desk was so littered with books from Edith’s library, that my poor little sketches were nearly blotted out.
The sun was setting, and I saw Matthew’s car pull into the driveway. It was hard to imagine his school schedule allowed him to be back and forth like that, but I supposed he was staying nearby to make sure Edith was doing alright. If that was the case, this attention to his unofficial patient was admirable.
A gentle knock came at the door I hadn’t realized was closed. I ran a hand through my hair and pressed my feet back into the high heels under the desk, just in case it was Margaret.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and Vic stepped inside. He was wearing a faded red t-shirt and jeans. His hair was neatly brushed back, and his blue eyes burned with an unprecedented intensity.
I stood up automatically as Vic closed the door behind himself. He stood silently behind the door as I drew a little nearer.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, coming to stand in front of him.
Without speaking a word, he grabbed my elbows and pushed my back against the wall, pining my arms to my sides. He closed the distance between us, pressing the front of his body against mine, and breathing hard against my neck.
Though I felt an immediate wave of desire rush through me, I moved myself gently away from the wall. In response, Vic gripped my elbows even tighter, and pressed me back.
“I tried to stay away today,” he whispered. “I could hear you last night, every gentle moan, every touch of your fingertips to your own body. These walls are thin.”
Again, I tried to push myself away from the wall, only to be thrust back with an iron grip tightening around my elbows.
“I knew if I saw you today, that I wouldn’t be able to control myself,” he said, speaking the words against my shoulder, his lips brushing my collarbone.
“Vic, I—”
He shoved his body roughly against mine, forcing the cut off of my faint protest.
“The truth is that, since I heard that first moan, since I imagined your hands exploring the hidden places of your body, I’ve had trouble thinking of anything other than how I’d feel between your legs, and what you’d taste like on my tongue.”
He released my elbows just long enough to reach down, lift up my skirt, and spread my legs so that he could press himself between my thighs. He offered a strong, but languid thrust of his denim clad sex against me, bringing me to my tiptoes.
When I offered no further complaint, he released my arms completely. He roughly cupped my ass, lifted me up, and pressed himself even harder against me. My legs were wrapped around him, and my body was pinned to the wall by the force with which he pushed his body hungrily against mine.
He began to move, slowly, and the thin satin fabric of my panties was crushed against the front of his jeans. He kissed me, his lips pressed hard against mine, his tongue invading my mouth. I felt my entire core melting in response to his urgency.
He kept me pinned against the wall. My arms wrapped around his neck and his hands moved down to my breasts, roughly kneading as he moved his hips faster, seeming to enjoy the little sounds of pleasure his rough grinding drew from my lips.
He breathed hard against my cheek as his hands reached under my shirt and beneath my lace bra.
He pulled my sweater off over my head, and bunched my skirt higher up around my waist. He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of my panties, and all I could think of was how much more of him I wanted.
The door swung open, knocking against the wall only a few feet from where we stood. We froze, still pressed against each other as though the beating of our hearts depended on fusing our bodies together.
Margaret stood in the doorway. Her mouth fell open as she took in my half-dressed appearance, Vic’s hands in my underwear, and my body crushed against the wall by his strong, fully clothed, masculine form.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I thought I heard something.”
With that, she slammed the door behind her, and we could hear her run through the hallway.
Vic reluctantly stepped back from me. He was still breathing hard, and a slight flush had crept over his cheeks.
He stooped down and placed a gentle kiss to my neck.
“We should stop,” he whispered.
Margaret’s abrupt entrance had let a draft into the office, and the sweat began to cool against my skin.
I reached my palms out and rested them against his chest, trying to feel him again, afraid that if we walked away from this brief, heated encounter, that the opportunity for more might be lost entirely. My body craved him. I wanted nothing more than to feel him bearing down on me, filling me with himself completely.
The blue eyes that stared down at me were still dark with desire. I tried to speak, but found I could only murmur my agreement.
“Another time,” I said gently, finding the words which had momentarily eluded me.
Vic picked my sweater up from the floor and handed it to me. I pulled it back on over my head, and he guided the fabric down, his fingers brushing against my waist.
Suddenly, he took my wrist and brought my hand to the front of his jeans, guiding my fingers across the erection which strained against the confines of his clothing. I gasped as I took in this new closeness, different from the lust with which he had pressed himself to me only moments before. There was a strange thoughtfulness to the way he steered my exploration, as though saying not to worry, that he would claim me soon enough.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I’d tried to sit back down at the desk, to pick up where I left off, but found the soaking wet panties quickly cooling under my skirt proved a distraction from any meaningful work. I went to my bedroom and changed my clothes before taking a short stroll into town, trying to shake off the visceral lust Vic had inspired in me.