Fire In His Eyes (26 page)

He kissed my lips, my chin,
and my throat.  I tilted my head back to give him access.  His hand began to undo the button on my jeans the same moment mine were on his.  We fumbled awkwardly but managed to get the job done.  I lifted my rear, and he yanked them down, my panties next.  Just in my shirt and bra, he positioned my legs to straddle him and then fiddled with his pants, and his cock sprang out unrestricted in the cramped quarters.  “I’m sorry, I have to be inside you now.”

“I know.  I need you to,” and then I slid onto him taking him in, all of him.  I felt wrong doing it, like we were the criminals and Julianna was the victim, but I needed this man like I needed the very air to breathe. 
We had denied this pleasure so long, we had urges and they were primal; they needed to be fulfilled. We begin to move together. One of Victor’s hands slid to my pussy, and he found my clit fast, and began to rub.  He sought out my breasts through my shirt, and needing the contact, the feel of his lips on my already swollen flesh, I grasped the bottom of my shit and lifted it to my neck.  He used his teeth to lower the cup of my bra, and he teased my nipple until it hardened even more and then suckled me there.  It was rushed, awkward and fast and it ended in an explosion that faded all too soon.  His face was in my hair, again.  I could hear him inhale, and then his anguish and despair returned.  “What are you going to do, Monica?”  His words were strangled.  “I can’t live without you, and I can’t picture you with anyone else.”

“I don’t know.”
And, I didn’t.  I felt all used up.  Really, what was there to say? He held all the cards.  I was his for the asking, for the taking, but he didn’t want us, this, and me more.  He couldn’t make up his mind.

From just outside the car window, we heard a very angry expletive.
“Fuck!  What are you going to do! You are going to fucking talk it out that’s what you’re going to do.  Discuss your God darned feelings with each other instead of me or Monica’s sister, and stop pawing at each other like a couple of sexually frustrated teenager’s.” It was Kat’s words that interrupted us.  She stood outside the car.

We hastily got dressed and got of the car feeling ashamed.

“I came to check on the both of you.  I was worried, and rightfully so, that Victor would be an ass and not just come clean with his feelings,” Kat spoke harshly.  “Vic, what the hell is the matter with you?  Look at this girl.  She’s smart, beautiful, and she loves you more than anything else.  So, instead of figuring it out, talking it out, you fuck her like some teenaged kid in the back of a car.  Don’t you respect her?”

“I respect her.  I do
.  I do love her,” he said, clearly shocked by Kat’s outburst. 

“I know you love her.  You moon around all the
fucking time saying life isn’t fair.  The only time you smile is when you talk to her on the phone, or when your daughter is over, and then it’s not even real.  It’s wistful and you are thinking about her and putting up all kinds of barriers, making it impossible to be with one another.  It is possible God damn it, you just have to make the right choice.” Kat began to get closer as her rant raged.  “You have this idea that you have to be like your parents.  The perfect marriage.  Hardly anyone has what your parents had.  They loved each other.  Loved EACH other. You’ve got this fairytale idealization of them.  It’s a fairytale, and you can’t have a fairytale with the wrong woman.”

“Why did
you come out here, Kat?” his voice rose in pitch.  “To analyze me? To tell me I don’t know what I’m doing? I thought you were my friend.” His hands clenched at his sides.

“I am your friend, and that is why I am
NOT telling you what you want to hear.”  Kat was hurt now.  “I came out here to check on you, make sure you didn’t do something stupid, hurt yourself, or hurt her.”  Kat was pointing at me.

“I wouldn’t hurt, Monica.  Ever
!” he swore.

Kat laughed sarcastically. 
“You already have, you big idiot.  You’re still hurting her AND yourself, maybe not physically but emotionally.  You never listen to your heart, Vic.  You’re all about pride, honor, family, country!  I love those things too, but don’t you get it?  If you don’t Vic, you’re no good to those other things.  You can do your duty, oh, you can fight a war, but for what, Vic? ” she questioned.  “You do it for the people you love back home, see!”  She was pointing at me, and he looked my way, and then down.  Kat stepped closer to Victor and using her index finger jabbed him in the chest punctuating each word.  “Do you, Victor? Do you?  Do you love her enough to make the tough choices?”  Tears were in her eyes, and when he didn’t respond, she turned on her heel, and walked back to the courtyard.

For the second time that night, Victor looked completely defeated as he leaned up against his car, shoulders slouched in resignation. 
“I totally fucked this all up.”

I stood not knowing what to say. 
Kat’s words were still sinking in.

His hand went to his face, and he rubbed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Kat’s way off base here.  Well about some of that stuff, anyway.”  He looked up to see me backing away towards my car.  “Hey, now.  What’s going through your mind?  Let’s do like Kat suggested and talk this out, baby.” 
Maybe because of the look on my face, he sensed my chaotic emotions running through me. He reached for me.

I held my hand up.  “Wait.  I need to think.”
  I couldn’t think when he was too close. He stopped mere inches from me.

“Think about what
? Us?” he said fearfully, “Even after . . .” he indicated his car behind him.

“
Us? After what? That?”  I indicated the car, too. His words stung me.  He came those few inches that separated us and hugged me close.  I couldn’t concentrate with his arms around me.  Maybe that had been my problem all along.  He held me tight, and I hugged back.  It just hurt so damned bad.  He pulled back and gazed into my eyes.

He saw the tears.  “I love you
, Monica.  You know I do.”

“I know you do,”
I said lamely.  I just didn’t know what to do.  I felt a panic attack coming on.  I hadn’t had one in years, since I had gone to counseling.  The fear, and the pressure in my chest brought back the pain of the rape, the terror, the guilt.  I began to perspire.  I couldn’t catch my breath.

“I feel like an ass asking this.  But right
now it is all I can think of, will you wait for me?  Will you give me just four more weeks, baby?  Four more weeks to figure this out?” he pleaded.

He couldn’t have said this to me at a worse time. I needed him disparately in that moment.  And he wanted time.
“Figure what out?”  I panted and pushed him back with all my might just so I could breathe.  “That you want your wife or me?” I began to pant as a tightness built inside my chest.

“I gotta finish this therapy.  It’s n
ot going well.  I told you that, Monica. There is hope.”  When I didn’t say anything, I was concentrating on breathing, he continued to approach me arms outstretched pleading with me to understand, “She still wants the divorce.  It probably will go that way, she’s so stubborn.  I know I am an ass for asking, but it’s only a month?”

“Probably
, Victor?  Probably!”  I was shaking my head breathing in through my nose and exhaling through my mouth trying to focus on my breathing. “I know I am an ass, you say.  Then why are you asking me?”  The tears streamed down my face.  I was hurt.  Hurt deeply.  This man was willing to wait a month, keep me hanging on the off chance, that his wife changed her mind and wanted to keep him! Even though she didn’t want him, didn’t love him!

I took a
nother calm steadying breath.  I took another step back.

“Monica, don’t back away from me.  From us. Please.  Friends for a month, and then the possibilities
,” he begged.

The possibilities?  I was done with chances, and done with friendship.  I blew.
“Victor, friends? Really!  You want to try that again.  We have been playing at friendship here.  This past month has been the sweetest kind of torture for both of us, and you know it.  We have just been fooling ourselves just so we could hear the sound of each other’s voices, be near each other again. Friends don’t do this to each other.  Hurt each other.  Torture each other. My sister was right.  We are like fire and ice.  We melt, and then we get burned.  You want to know how I feel?  How I truly feel? The truth is I didn’t want to be an excuse to end your marriage, so I kept quiet.  The truth is I have been hoping you would say you loved me more, and you choose me.  I have been dreaming that you would realize that being divorced doesn’t make you a bad parent.  My parents are fantastic, and they are divorced.  They are better parents apart than they ever were together because all they did was hurt each other, and we felt that.  I have been wishing that you would admit you made a mistake in your marriage, that she was not the one, and that I am.  When we first got together, and you said no promises, well I lied too, I wanted promises.  And when I knew and heard the circumstances, I felt bad, but still I hoped you would realize it is not a fault in your character that made your wife fall out of love with you, but that the two of you were not meant to be in the first place.  You made a mistake. Yes, you made a beautiful daughter together that you can share and love and raise, but you don’t have to be together to do that.  But, you are so fixated on being perfect.  Kat’s right about that.  You want to be the perfect husband, the perfect father, the perfect provider, the perfect soldier, the perfect lover, but no one is perfect.  There is no one right way.  Families come in all shapes and sizes Victor, and combinations.  I was hoping I could be part of yours.  Praying for it. Pleading to God on my knees for it! But you don’t see that.  You just see black and white, a wife you married at twenty two, who isn’t the same girl she was in high school, your daughter, and you.  And you, what are you hoping for?  You have been hoping I would wait in the wings if things don’t work out the way you planned with your wife.  You’ve been hoping I don’t meet anybody else if you can’t have me.  Well, where does that leave me, Victor? It leaves me alone. It leaves me all fucking alone.” I paused for breath.  He remained stock still, in shock trying to absorb my words.  I continued with the tears streaming down my face, “What if she does decide to stick it out for Stacey’s sake until she is eighteen, or forever?  Am I second best, waiting one month, seven years, forever, having no one to love me, to make love to me? To make me feel the way only you can when I am in your arms. To be alone, loving you for the rest of my life, maybe seeing you every other Thursday night or coming home to a call on my answering machine once a month.  Is that fair?  You say it is only a month, and that it probably won’t work out, and you imply you will probably come back to me and fool that I am, I’d take you back, but in that month, AND for the rest of my life, I am going to wonder who you loved more, the mother of your child and your image of the perfect family, or the girl you liked to fuck.  God damn you for making me say those words!”  I was crying hysterically by the time I finished my rave, and I was trying to hit him to make him feel the pain that I had been experiencing, but it was no use; he just grabbed my wrists and pulled them down, and then to the side.  He dragged me close enough to let go but grabbed me around the waist before I could get away and pulled me in to his chest.

“Oh, Monica.  I’m sorry
, baby.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  Mi Cara, I love you.  I love you, please stop crying.”  It took me twenty minutes to stop crying and struggling, I was a mess.

“Please
, Victor,” I whispered, “just let me go.”

He released me, but croaked oat, “I don’t want to.”

Not meeting his gaze, I told him, “I going to go, Victor.  I should go.”  I began to back away.  “It’s okay. You do your thinking, and you can call me if you choose me.  I’ll pick up the phone, but in a month it will be too late.”  The look of shock on his face would stay with me forever.  He let me walk out of his arms.