Every Touch (42 page)

Trish returned as soon as she finished work and later Kelly also visited, so between them several hours passed when Laila and Denny had company.  Laila didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse.

   She and Denny chatted for a while on their own, but it was light, mostly small talk.  The kind of discourse you had on a first date over coffee with someone you’d just met.  It felt awkward and so far away from any conversation they’d ever had that Laila was relieved when it was over.

   But what else could she expect?  For him to fall madly in love with her after only having known her for a few hours?  She tried to think positively, telling herself that it would take time for him to get to know her again, but she couldn’t help thinking that he may never again feel the way he had about her before.

   Mostly, they watched TV or Denny worked on his laptop while Laila read the same paragraph over and over on her Kindle and cast furtive glances at him out of the corner of her eye. By the time she went to bed, she had a planet sized headache.

   She offered Denny the bed saying she was happy to sleep on the sofa, but he refused.  So she took three aspirins, cocooned herself in the sheets, and thought about Denny sleeping on the other side of the wall, wondering if they would ever regain what they’d had and if the man she loved was lost to her forever.

Laila went back to work the next day. 

   She’d already taken a week off out of her holiday allowance and she would have needed to book in advance for more.  She considered calling in sick, but that would have been a lie and she didn’t want to do that. 

   She was worried about leaving Denny alone while she was at the library, although she didn’t know why.  He was a grown man, he could look after himself.  He had promised he would call her if anything happened or if he felt unwell at all.  But she still spent all day in a constant state of distraction, wanting to call him every second to check on him. 

   At lunch she finally sent a text asking if he wanted her to get anything for him. 

   The words she used were [How are you?  Do you need anything?]. 

   What she really meant was,
Are you okay?  Do you feel okay?  Do you need me to come home right now for any reason AT ALL?
 

   His reply came back that he was fine and didn’t need anything and he hoped her day was going well.  It made her smile and she felt better.  For all of ten minutes.

   When she got home after what felt like the longest day she had ever lived through, she found Denny sitting on the sofa with his laptop open on his lap eating one of Edna Johnson’s lemon swirl cupcakes from the box of twelve Laila had ordered for him the previous day and picked up this morning.  She thought, having not eaten for five years, Edna’s cupcakes would be the perfect thing for Denny to start with.

   He smiled and waved, his mouth being occupied with lemon-infused sponge and a mound of tangy icing. 

   The relief she felt at seeing him made her feel like all her bones had simultaneously turned to rubber.  She made it to the kitchen island and gripped it for a few seconds.

   “Are there any of those left?” she said, trying not to sound like she’d been worried to the point of insanity the whole day.  She put her bag down on the counter.

   “In the cupboard.”  His words were muffled by the mouthful of cupcake as he nodded at the kitchen.

   She found the box, opening it and counting seven left. 

   “I have never been able to keep away from those,” he said, looking sheepish.

   Laila smiled and took one from the box, replacing it in the cupboard and going to sit on the sofa next to him.

   There were crumbs on his lips.  She wanted more than anything to lick them off.  She tried not to stare. 

   “I know,” she said.  “She gave me a box when I first moved in and they were all gone within three days.” 

   She took a bite, closing her eyes as the intense, sugary sensation of the icing hit her taste buds and melted onto her tongue.  When her eyelids opened again, Denny was watching her.  His eyes widened slightly, as if he’d been caught in the act, and he rapidly switched his attention back to the laptop.

   Laila fought the urge to smile.

   “Did you know about these?” he said, angling the laptop towards her.

   On the screen was his side of one of the many conversations they’d had with him typing.

   “I didn’t know you saved those,” she said, surprised.  “How many of them are there?”

   “Loads, I don’t know exactly how many, all dated and organised.  I’ve been reading for ages and I’ve barely made a dent.  I’m guessing there must be every conversation you ever had.  I mean, we ever had.  Wasn’t it kind of slow, having to wait for me to type everything out?”

   She smiled, remembering their first conversations.  “It took a while at first, but you got faster.  You practised while I was at work.  You got better really quickly.” 

  He sighed and stared at the screen without seeming to focus on it.  “It kind of feels like all this happened to someone else.  Reading my own words as if they aren’t mine.” 

   She had held out a small hope that something on the computer would ignite his memory, even if it was only a tiny spark of familiarity. 

   “You don’t remember anything at all?”

   He shook his head.  “I’m sorry.”

   Her heart sank. 

   She thought of the many times they’d talked late into the night, sitting on the sofa or in bed, pressed close, her head on his shoulder, feeling the gentle movement in his arm as he typed.  As they learned everything there was to know about each other, every conversation ending with the words scrolling onto the screen, [I love you].

   If all those words he’d said to her hadn’t shone through the fog of his amnesia, could anything?  Maybe his memories were simply gone, not making the transition into the new physical body he had now. 

   Maybe everything they’d had was gone, alive now only in her own memories and the words on a laptop hard drive.

***

Two days passed, days when Laila would go to work, think about Denny all day, then go home to him and almost wish she wasn’t there.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be with him.  She wanted to be with him every second.  But when she was, it felt so difficult. 

   It wasn’t getting any easier between them.  Every conversation was awkward and stilted in a way it had never been when they had originally met.  Laila wondered if the ease with which they had become so close was due to Denny already knowing her.  And being in love with her.  She had fallen for him very quickly, but she had a habit of doing that with men.  Denny was the first man she hadn’t regretted it with later. 

   She didn’t even know if he was attracted to her.  She knew it stood to reason that he should be.  He had, after all, been drawn to her before.  And sometimes she noticed him looking at her with an expression that she thought was interest.  But other times he appeared almost afraid when he looked at her.  She didn’t understand it at all and she was tired of trying to guess at what he was thinking. 

   So she slept and woke and went to work and came home and tried and failed to reconnect with the man she had no idea how to live with, but couldn’t live without.

   And each night, as she lay in bed waiting for sleep, a little bit of hope died.

The fourth day after Denny woke up was yet another long, hot day at the library. 

   The air conditioning was working, but it was still uncomfortably warm in the old building with the temperatures still soaring outside.  Laila trudged home feeling sweaty and lethargic, not even sure she wanted to go home.

   On the one hand, she wanted to be with Denny, but on the other, it was so difficult.  Their time together was peppered with awkward conversations and even more awkward silences.  She could sense he didn’t know how to behave around her and she couldn’t help feeling the same.  She felt like she didn’t know him anymore.  The person she was closest to in the world, who she had known more intimately than anyone else in her life, was suddenly a stranger.  Being around him was so painful that going to work, just getting out of the flat, had become a relief. 

   She hated that. 

   When she got in, Denny wasn’t in the living room as he usually was.  She called his name, but there was no answer.  Could he have gone out?  He hadn’t left the flat since that one time the first morning he woke up and panicked.  He seemed almost afraid to. 

   She walked through to the bedroom.  He wasn’t in there either, but the bathroom door was closed.  She knocked on it, but again there was no answer.

   She opened the door slowly.

   Steam and heat puffed through the opening.  Denny was in the shower, facing away from her.  The water was pouring over his head, plastering his hair down flat, running into his ears and muffling his hearing.

   Laila knew she should close the door again and wait until he had finished.  She tried to turn away, but her eyes were drawn to his naked body.  His biceps flexed as he ran his hands over his hair.  Her gaze raked over his broad shoulders, muscular back and narrow waist.  She bit her lower lip as she watched his buttocks move as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  Her eyes followed the path of the hot water as it caressed his long, lithe legs. 

   A pulse began to throb low in her belly.  She licked her lips. 

   His movements suddenly ceased and she looked up to see his face turned in her direction, eyes fixed on her. 

   Gasping in horror, she stepped back and pulled the door shut so quickly the bang echoed around the flat.

   She retreated to the middle of the bedroom, panicked, her cheeks burning.  How on earth was she going to explain that away?  One accidental look wouldn’t have been too bad, but she had been ogling, staring at his wet, naked, gorgeous body.  She was sure her desire must have been written all over her face.

   The door to the bathroom opened and Denny stepped through, a towel wrapped around his waist, his dishevelled hair dripping water over his shoulders.

   Her heart leaped into her mouth.

   “I’m sorry,” she muttered, not meeting his gaze, “I didn’t realise you were in there.  I didn’t mean to...”

   In three strides he was across the room, grasping hold of her face with both hands and crushing his lips onto hers.  She squeaked in surprise, her eyes widening, before her body took over, responding to his passionate kiss.  However unaccustomed they were to each other now, his kiss was as familiar to her as breathing.    

   Eyes fluttering closed, she tilted her head back and pressed up against him.  His hands released her face, one moving down to the small of her back, pulling her against his damp chest, the other pushing into her hair and cradling the back of her head.  She wound her arms around his waist and pushed up onto her toes to get closer.

   He licked teasingly across her lips and she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to sweep in.  She moaned into him and felt his responding deep groan rumble through his chest.  A hardness pressed against her abdomen.

   At that moment she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her. 

   He pulled his lips from hers, but didn’t let her go, his face remaining inches from hers as his gaze alternated between her eyes and her lips. 

   “I can’t...” he began, his voice breathy and low, his chest surging against her as he drew in deep breaths.

   “Don’t say it,” she said, interrupting before he could change his mind.

   The fingers still tangled in her hair at the back of her head were rubbing tiny circles into her scalp as he gazed at her.  Little waves of sensation thrummed through her head, making it impossible to concentrate on anything other than wherever he was touching her.   

   His eyes fixed on her mouth and he licked his lips.  “If you say yes, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back.”

   Was this a good idea, she wondered vaguely.  Wouldn’t it just muddy the waters even more?

   She knew she didn’t care.

   “Yes,” she whispered.

   She felt the breath hitch in his chest.  He tilted his face towards her.

   “But,” she added, and he paused, “I’m sweaty and stinky.”

   He chuckled softly and lowered his face until their noses were touching.

   “One, you smell great to me,” he said, his voice low and husky, “and two, I don’t care.”

   His lips came down on hers before she could respond and moments after his tongue plunged into her mouth she didn’t care what she smelled like either.

  Caught up in a hot, desperate, furious whirlwind of passion, the process by which Laila’s clothing ended up on the floor became a hazy mystery.  All she knew was there was kissing and tugging and frenzied movement and somehow Denny had removed her blouse, skirt and bra.  Her hands found the edge of his towel and pulled it away, dropping it as he picked her up.  She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed her fingers into his hair, kissing him as he carried her to the bed and lowered her onto her back on the covers.