Chapter 6 #4
I’ve softened a good bit over the last few weeks.
And now that we’ve once again crossed the bridge of sleeping together, things feel…
different between us. But a good different.
A warm, melty feeling. I’m so attached to him now, I’ve no idea what I’ll do when he goes back.
I decide not to think about it and enjoy the ride.
There’s something so intimate about riding together in such a sexy car.
It reminds me of our bodies twisted around one another the evening before.
Two becoming one. My glow deepens. We pull up to the diner.
He parks. Gets out. Always the gentleman, he opens my door, taking my hand.
Our fingers interlock and a surge of electricity dances up my arms.
He leads me into the restaurant, and surprisingly, we are seated at the same booth as before. I slide in the red leather seat and say, “Funny. Same seat.”
His eyes lock on mine and he says, “I called ahead and requested it.”
“How romantic—” The words are out before I can stop them. Wanting to lighten my statement, I say, “I mean, not romantic… just thoughtful of you and—”
He interrupts my stuttering by placing his hands over mine on top of the table. “Tess. I’ve got to tell you something.”
His hazel eyes lock on mine.
And I know.
I can read in his gaze what he will say. Though I’ve known this time would come, the words still send a punch straight to my gut all the same. I’ve lost my breath. My heartbeat pauses in my chest as he says, “The time has come for me to go back to the Parish.”
Stupid, foolish tears prick my eyes. I pull my hands from him and he lets them go. A white-hot heat covers my face as I try to respond, my tongue thick in my mouth. “I… I thought we had more time.”
His hand goes to his forehead. He rubs it as he looks down at the table. There’s a pregnant pause between us as we both stare at the Formica tabletop. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick. Low. It sounds as if he’s on the brink of crying. I’ve never seen him cry.
And the sound makes the trapped tears escape my eyes and slide down my cheeks. He says, “Tess… I—I want you to know that these past few weeks. They’ve been—”
I hold my hand up to stop him. I can’t hear it. I can’t hear that he feels the same way as I do. Not if he’s leaving. I say, “Why did you bring me here to tell me? Why not tell me at the house?” Where I wouldn’t be humiliated, crying like a fool.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t trust myself. Not to touch you. If we were alone. I would have ended up making love to you.”
“Why… not?”
His soulful eyes find mine and they’re glistening with unshed tears. “Because it would make this goodbye even more painful than it already is. And the very last thing I want to do is cause you pain, Tessie.”
A knife is tearing through my heart. Sharp pains stab at my gut.
I want to double over in the booth. But I can’t.
I won’t. I’ll be strong. I’ll say goodbye.
And I’ll live my life. Which is why he came.
To help me get back on my feet. To bring me back to my people.
He’s done that and now he’s got to move on.
It’s how it was always supposed to be.
I brush away the tears. Swallow hard. Tear my gaze from him—it hurts too much to look at him. I don’t trust myself to meet his eye. So, I tell the table, “Thank you. For everything. You were here for me when I needed you.”
“I’d do anything for you, Tess.”
“What now?” I ask.
“My driver is waiting outside for me.” My head snaps over my shoulder and sure enough the sleek black car is waiting outside. The wait staff are busy, bustling about. As if the world hasn’t just ended. He must have told them to leave us alone when he called ahead.
“And the Mercedes?” I ask.
“It’s yours. I know how much you like it. And I thought… after this… you might need a drive to clear your head.”
He’s giving me his car. But all I want is him. I manage to mutter, “Thank you.”
He’s tugging at my hand. Trying to get me to look at him. “Tess. I’ve left you a note. In the glovebox. Promise me you’ll read it.”
The tears are threatening to come again. I’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want him to know how hard this is for me. I don’t want him to see me cry. I hold my hands out for the keys. I say, “I’ve got to go.”
He takes them from his pocket. He places them in my opened palm, closing both of his hands around mine. He gives them a gentle squeeze, saying, “Take care, Tess.”
I can’t look at him. I can’t hug him. I can’t do anything but leave as quickly as possible. I scoot from the booth, my hand so tight around the key fob it’s cutting into my skin. I breathe the words, “Goodbye, Rockland.” I rush to the door.
Behind me a waitress huffs, “Don’t they ever eat?”
A manic laugh rises in my chest at her annoyance.
Tears blind my vision. I shove the heavy glass door open.
Fly to the car. I click the unlock button.
Throw myself into the Mercedes. Roar the engine to life and pull from the curb, barely looking for oncoming traffic.
A few tears fall but I hold in the sobs I know will soon come.
I weave in and out of traffic, yanking on the clutch and pressing my foot into the gas pedal.
I go straight to the back of the Village. Through the gates and wind around to the meadow. I put the car in park. I take a deep breath as I open the glovebox. Inside is a smooth white envelope. My name is scrawled on the front in his handwriting.
Tess
His goodbye letter.
His penned-out farewell.
Bidding me adieu.
Ending whatever this magical thing is that has happened between us.
I toss it back in the glove compartment. Slam the door. Fold my arms over the steering wheel. Rest my head on them.
And cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my life.
One week later
All I do is think of him.
I’m functioning. I’m healthy. I don’t drink. I’m even jogging every morning. The runs are getting longer. I’m faster. Channeling all my pent-up frustration into the workout. I go to the office every day. I accept almost all social invitations I’m given.
I talk to people. I laugh politely at their jokes. Answer their questions with vigor. I’m doing great! Thanks for asking.
But inside, I’m empty.
Void of emotion.
I’m just going through the motions. Keeping it together. Because if I were to let myself feel, I’d collapse into myself like a dying star.
To say I miss him would be an understatement.
At night, I lie in bed and remember. Things we did together.
Things he did to me.
Remember how it was when he first arrived. How, at first, I fought him.
His discipline made me furious. His desire to control me set my temper aflame.
All the while my hatred growing.
The sting of his belt bit into my flesh as his chastising words burned into my mind.
Humiliating me.
I was never willing to admit how my body was responding to his harsh correction.
My voice crying, no. My mind crying, yes.
He did things I thought existed only in fantasy.
Owned places within me. Marking them as his. Places no one else had ever touched.
He milked every drop of ecstasy from me. Brought me back to life.
Through the pain, the pleasure he made me feel again.
Healing the wounds within me.
And in his dominance, he made me obey. Over time, drawing from me the gift of my submission.
Entwining my very soul to his.
Then he left.