The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) (50 page)

We were one; ebbing and flowing like the sea and the riptide. Back and forth, the ebb and flow increased; our pace was in sync. He was the force, the gravity that I clung to that kept me from leaving Earth. He gave...I received. We were locked together, lovers without preamble.

I felt his body quake, pelting his seed inside of me and bankrupting him of what seemed like a thousand years of pent-up passion into me, the vessel for his sublime satisfaction.

I let out a huge breath, not realizing that I had been holding it in. Our eyes locked. His own expression was one of intense concentration. My body relaxed, sinking fast into the soft billowy fabrics of my bed.

Hold me
, I thought.
Just hold me.

He slid his arms gently around my torso, alleviating my small frame to a place beyond words. I knew him again and again and the passion built, released, receded and built again and again. An hour passed us by, maybe two, or perhaps it was a thousand years. There was no time and space between us. We
were
eternity, the beginning and the end, one of one.

The last cascade of thunder roared in the far distance as his last breath faded into the break of day, and he withdrew to wherever he had come from.

I floated on a different plane in the slumber that followed, which was sublime.

-56-

A message...

I awoke early just before the sun had come up. I could feel my heart lifting. A new sunlight rising. It felt like spring was in the air. A subtle breeze blew through the partially opened window and caught behind the sheers. My lashes fluttered against the rise of my cheeks. It felt as if I was a bit under anesthesia. It took moments to shake it off. I drifted in and out of a state of awareness, in a daze, a haze, the aftermath of a dream lover.

But, he was gone. I was alone, taken and satisfied, knowing he would return to me in the night. There were no traces of our lovemaking left on me, or in me, no dark hairs from his head on my pillow, no sweat. A chill drew down the length of my spine. He was not human. I swallowed thickly…aware of how easily I had allowed him to take possession of me.

I basked in my bed reminiscing about the lover I had taken in the night. It wasn’t a dream, it felt so real and his hands healed the brokenness in my heart.

Suddenly, a sense of guilt wrenched in my stomach for allowing myself to be loved by another, other than Rain. Dream or no dream, I felt as if somehow I had betrayed him. I knew this was perfectly normal.

Most women I knew had experienced the self-destructive guilt trips that accompany spontaneous acts of sex. Especially, if their heart belongs to another...except for maybe Nuilley. She was shameless, more like how one would expect some men would be. I wished I could be so free.

I recalled a good friend of mine, even after she had happily married, she dreamt about having forbidden sex with a fictional character. She confessed her shameful dreams to her husband, believing her confession would make the dreams go away. Oh, and they did, and so did her husband. It was as if she may as well cheated on him. I guess like the thin line between love and hate, it’s as equally thin between fiction and reality. Whoever said that fiction could not touch reality was wrong!

  I reasoned that Rain had his chance. I was willing to give myself to him freely, and he had clearly made his choice to let me go. There was no commitment between us, only hope dwelling in my heart that he and I would meet again. He promised; yet his words never came to fruition.

Now, I had been taken and loved by my dream lover. Maybe Rain had ditched me forever, cast me aside for some other woman who was willing to entertain his magic and games.

Where was Rain?
Why hadn’t he kept his promise to find me? It had been almost a year. I felt like a fool for believing he would magically appear on my doorstep. Why did I allow him to lead me—my body, heart and soul—down that long dark corridor to a chamber that was the stage to an elaborate magical encounter? Did I push him away because of my impatience? Was this my fault? Why do I push men away? If I hadn’t questioned him so intensely and reacted so angrily, perhaps, given him time to chase me—maybe, he would have returned to me. I guess I ruined the thrill of the chase.

Men like to be the hunter, not the hunted. I must have come across as forward and desperate. It must have been such a turn off to him, me throwing myself at him. I suppose it’s a fact, no matter how independent women have become, relationships still have double standards. When it comes to the chase and the need to have sex, men must lead.

It’s just a natural instinct—men want to dominate, especially in the bedroom and deep down, we want them to. Why else would all the BDSM novels have become so popular? Women have grown tired of the metro man. We want a man that can sit-up and take charge, not only in business, but also in the bedroom. History will reincarnate human desires.

I should have played hard to get. Damn it, I was hard to get, of course, Rain had no idea I was, because I had acted like an alley cat in heat,
and now he will never know.
He surely must think I am an easy catch; no man wants a harlot for keeps. And, I’m sure I behaved like one. Not to mention, I showed him my temper. What man wouldn’t go running for the hills? Crap, we didn’t even have sex and I practically shredded him
Fatal Attraction. Yikes,
I guess he saw the real me too soon, a foolish female that fell too fast. So much for him loving a falling comet. In my defense though, surely he knows it’s a woman prerogative to behave capaciously when she feels rejected.

There were a few times I had dialed the store then hung up before anyone had answered. This would’ve made things worse. Calling Rain would have definitely made me look like a stalker. Besides, the old fashion girl in me felt it was his job to hunt me down…he did say he’d find me, not the other way around.

So be it. I met the man of my dreams and blew it. Such is life.
How many times will I make an ass out of myself over one man? Zero!
That sounded convincing enough. My midnight lover would fulfill the space that Rain could not manage to. At least he had the guts to come after me.

I quickly dragged my thoughts back to the time that I had spent on the stairs when I named my night lover Mr. Sexy Voice; an entity I would now rename my Dark Knight because passion must have a name, an adjective of a related identity. He would take my thoughts from Rain. The Dark Knight would be my escape, my fantasy, and my relief from reality when all else failed. Who needs a real man anyway when you can invent the perfect man in your dreams?

Suddenly, my inner siren nudged me in the rib cage, hard, nearly kicking my ass out of bed. Apparently, she didn’t want me to live out my desires in a dream, or give up on the thoughts of Rain.
No, no!
My heart spoke to my head.
There is only Rain. He is the one for me!

I threw on some baggy jeans and a silk blouse, trying to shake off all thoughts of men. I knew it was time to concentrate my efforts on my novel, to write and escape the voices within and any spirits walking about.

My eyes fell upon the little red box on my dresser. A pang rose in my stomach. I knew the key that Rain had instructed me to wear—
which I refused to do
—was tucked away in a safe place, inside the inner pocket of the box. The box that ironically my secret admirer had given me.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice with familiar dark tones filled my ears, breaking all my concentration on the key. I jolted backwards, yielding to him. It was my Dark Knight’s voice, he had returned. How is this possible, was I sleepwalking?

“Brielle, you should wear the key that was given to you by Rain.”

“What?” I exhaled long as I spun around, scanning my bedroom.

“I don’t have much time. The sun is rising fast,” he said with strong conviction.

“It’s you. Ah, er—are you really here—am I awake?” I whispered, pawing myself and searching the room for a sign of him. Out of the corner of my eye there it was, something pale, something shapeless, I turned toward the light. Then, I saw him, a blurry line of a man’s silhouette developed right before my eyes. My heart stopped, stunned by the slap of reality.

I stared at him intently, afraid to blink, even one blink. He was as real as me. His shadowy figure manifested in the hazy particles of the sunlight that was now breaking through the shades.

It was my Dark Knight’s disembodied form and all of his male magnificence that I recalled from my dream.

In all honesty, I had previously thought he was just that...a dream, a mere part of my powerful imagination that I had unmasked in my sleep.

Yet I was certain, despite my doubts, his voice
was
that of the mystery man; it came flooding back with even more clarity than it had been in my dream.

In the beat of a second, I fought against the thought that he was real and standing in my room. Reasoning that this could not be my secret admirer. He was a real man, a human and an intruder in the brownstone who was more than likely long gone. The otherworldly lover—the ghost lover only existed in my subconscious. He wasn’t real. I created him in my mind—my dreams, and I thought I did a fantastic job in doing so.

The image before me was visibly a masterpiece of handsome as he hovered, ever so tall, just a few feet in front of me. My heart quickened, parting my lips to release my breath, which fell short. I felt as if I could collapse to my death when his dark eyes fell upon me, scorching any pure thoughts out of my mind.

I burned for him, to be touched by him once more. I wanted him to sweep me up into his arms and to strip me of my virtue. I flickered on the rumpled sheets of my unmade bed, desiring to fall between the folds without asking questions.

My eyes quickly did a once-over of his powerful statue. His coal-black hair hung slightly beyond his defined shoulders, framing his strong jawline and high cheekbones, making him look savagely enchanting.

I reasoned dreams do not exist in the light of day. But he did. Nonetheless, I certainly did not expect to wake up and have him standing in my bedroom. I pinched myself for the second time.
Ouch
! I was definitely awake and not dreaming.

My dream lover stood with a social grace that was rarely seen these days, unless one is truly cultured. He was sinfully gorgeous as the night before. However, different from my dream, he was now translucent, fading in and out in an eerie sort of way. His image was absent of color, like an old-fashioned photo negative, yet tangible and very real, I was certain of this.

“My beautiful girl, I love looking at you and could all day, but I am running out of time.” It’s him, he wrote something similar to this on the florist note.

In a flash it all culminated, making sense to me, he
was
definitely the man...correction, the otherworldly entity that hid in the shadows of the balcony. I knew the note that fell from the flowers was from him, and the presence I felt for almost a year in the brownstone, watching me, was him and the attention I felt was from him. The gifts were all from him. He was a real live ghost.
A ghost!
Okay, not alive, but real.

“You’re real—I thought you were a—” I blanched. My breath caught in my throat. I felt the blood drain from my face.

“I am real. I told you this, and I am always with you. ”

“Is this possible?” I whispered to myself.

“If you believe...then it is.” That sounded all too familiar, was he fraternizing with Dr. Piccart?

“Please, no riddles,” I replied in a raspy tone, hardly able to speak. “This can’t be. You can’t be real.” I paced the room back and forth and shut my eyes tightly, then flashed back toward him. He was still there.

“I don’t mean to frighten you beautiful girl, but I had to show myself in the light of day. It’s time.”

The tremor in my vocal cords would not ease up. “You don’t scare me—” My words didn’t match the tone of my voice. Despite this, the truth was he didn’t frighten me at all.

“I mean, I have always believed in the spirit world, I just didn’t think I would come face to face with a real live ghost.” I swallowed hard. A live ghost, I didn’t catch the irony at the time. “You’re a ghost,” I repeated, needing to feel the words on my tongue again, as they faded my thoughts became as translucent as he was. I forced my breath to meet with my mind and asked, “Am I dead?”

“No. Not hardly.” He half-laughed. “I don’t have much time. I had to tell you face to face that I am leaving you for a short time, but I will return when I figure out how—”

“Wait, just a minute. You mentioned the key.” My breath fell short. I felt an urgency to get my questions out before he disappeared. “How do you know about the key?” I asked, which was merely a rhetorical question. Of course, he knew about the key that Rain had given me; he had been watching me. However, what was his connection to the key and to Rain? That’s the question I needed to ask.

“Please, Brielle, you must wear the key as you were told to do. Please, it’s for you own good. Keep it near to you at all times. ”

“Why? What’s the key for?” I gulped, almost afraid to ask but did of course. “And why should I wear it...at all times? This sounds like a warning of some sort—”