All of Her: Chapter One (Final Edit?)

Chapter One: Heartbroken
I know I said this wasn't running away, but I find myself running. I need to find Noah. Not 'want,' need. My feet are tattooing his name into the pavement. My heart is racing my lungs; a hideous lump is forming in my esophagus. My chest is heaving and my mind is in overdrive. I just keep thinking that if I could just get to Noah everything will be okay. He'll wake me up from this nightmare. He'll be able to to comfort me. Not that I am capable of being comforted.

I think my heart is going to explode. I am in physical pain so intense I may double over before I get to him. At the beginning curve of his apartment complex's entrance, I have to stop. I've been running for an hour and I can't breathe anymore. My shirt is soaked with sweat and sticking to my back. My hair is plastered to my face and neck.

And then, because this seems like the appropriate moment, the tears come. I stand there, on the corner, bawling like a crazy person, unable to see straight or breathe between gulping sobs.

Beyond all reason, Noah is walking his dog toward the park, which is just up the block from where I am standing. I don't even have voice enough to call out to him. As if he heard my thoughts, he looks up and sees me. He doesn't even pause; he starts running, barely waiting for Bett, his doberman, to catch up. I can't even limp to close the distance. I don't have to, however, because within a moment I am completely wrapped in his arms.

"Abra, honey, what's wrong?" he looks at me and holds me tighter. He murmurs into my hair, "Honey, please, you're scaring me. What happened?"

I can't respond. I can't catch my breath between sobs. I'm trembling violently; at any moment my body may fly to pieces. That lump building in my throat floods my mouth. Feebly, I manage to push away from Noah just enough to lean over and throw up. Reflexively, he pulls my hair back and moves to prevent Bett from eating it.

I keep heaving, despite my stomach being empty. I fear that, at any moment, I'll see my broken heart land in the puddle of vitriol at my sneakered feet. Noah holds my hair, muttering in a soothing way. I can't hear him over the pounding of my heart in my head.

After what feels like an eternity, I stop heaving. Straightening up, I take the first deep breath I've had since I started running. I look at Noah, concern etched into his black eyebrows and filling up his blue eyes with shadows. Absently, I notice that his glasses are smudged from where he was holding me.

"He's in love with her." I say, after several deep breaths.

"Who is in love with whom?"

"David and Alice." I choke out, my stomach tightening in warning. He doesn't say anything, just gathers me up in his arms and holds me. We stand there for a little bit, my face streaked with tears and Bett looking at us quizzically. Without knowing how it happened, we are walking back to his apartment. Once inside, I sit, cross-legged, on his 1970's style, burgundy, shag carpet. Bett rests her head in my lap and I stroke her ears, distractedly.

In the kitchen I can hear Noah making tea. This is how he deals with a crisis. Whether its a break-up, a bad grade in a test; it doesn't matter. Tea holds all the answers. He comes out of the kitchen, two steaming mugs of, what smells like, Earl Grey and a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips hanging from his teeth.

He sets one mug on a black and white coaster in front of me before he takes the bag of chocolate chips out of his mouth.

"I'm out of any other chocolate," he says, apologetically. "I've got some left overs if you are hungry. Though I'm sure your stomach is still a mess."

He pushes my tea closer to me. I take a sip, but am not really enjoying it like I normally would. I feel so out of sorts.

"Do you want to talk?" he asks, his voice cautious.

Do I want to talk about this? Can I? Do words have any meaning in a situation like this?

"He says he is in love with her. I've been tossed to the side. What more is there to say?"

Noah says nothing, simply placing his hand on mine.

No Parade
When I was twelve I met a boy. This boy was the most gorgeous, most intelligent, most wonderful boy I had ever met. It was obvious that I would fall for him. I was an awkward girl, not what anyone would consider pretty, at least in my own opinion. He was the first boy to say I was pretty. And I loved him.

Ten years passed, finding me sitting in the rectory of the church. I was about to marry the man of my dreams. A boy I loved since I was twelve. A boy I longed for with everything I had for so long I had nothing left to give. That beautiful, intelligent, wonderful boy leaves me waiting in the rectory. He leaves me waiting before the priest and God. He leaves me in my white dress and tiny white veil, my cream-colored roses and sprigs of baby's breath wilting.

He left because he had fallen in love with Alice. My childhood best friend. And, behind my back as I planned my wedding and my beautiful life with him, he planned a beautiful life with her. The most terrible of terrible things is I should've known, I should've seen it coming. How did I not notice how often they whispered to each other. Or how they sometimes gazed at one another? But I loved two beautiful stars in orbit around my sun.

I didn't know that I was the star orbiting their sunlight.

I am a fool.

I was humiliated. The church took pity on me and gave back the money I spent to have the ceremony there. The caterer was not so generous. I did get to keep all sixteen pounds of chicken and five pounds of cake. Isn't that sad though?

All of my calls were forwarded to voicemail. I must've left a dozen messages. They ranged in tone from completely calm to barely coherent sobs. Finally he agreed to meet me on the beach. How funny is it that its the spot where he proposed three years ago?

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, his hair disheveled from the wind. He looks so perfect. I love him. I hate him.

"I want you to say you love me and you're going to marry me. I can forgive all this. I can." I tried to sound even-keeled. To sound like this is all a misunderstanding and he has never once faltered.

"I can't do that." he said.

"Why?" I don't cry. I want to.

"I told you once that I loved Alice." he said. Cut to the quick, I glared at him.

"Loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things, David. You never said you were in love with her."

"I was in love with her. I'm still in love with all of her."

That fateful sentence. Those jarring 25 letters.

As I ran to Noah's, I kept seeing his face; that face I have memorized longingly for the past ten years. I kept hearing him say those eight words, like some nightmarish lullaby.

He didn't even hesitate. Did he ever love me? Was I anything to him?

Nothing else matters
Noah clears his throat, jarring me out of my memories.

"What will you do now?" he asks. To be honest, I have no idea. Blow something up? Binge drink margaritas until I bust from alcohol poisoning? I should think a minute before I do something rash.

"Listen to a bunch of sad break-up songs and commiserate with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream? I really don't know what else to do. I feel like I lost a limb. Something is missing."

He squeezes my hand in sympathy. I know he would fix it if he could. But we both know he can't fix this one. Not even with his dry wit, Earl Grey tea and all the ice cream in the world.

"Do you want to stay the night here?" He is searching my face for any sign that I'll fly off the handle and kill someone. Or myself. He doesn't need to worry, yet.

"No, love. Thank you. I think I'm going to go home. I want a shower and some alone time. Do you care to drive me back to my car?"

The short ride back to my car is quiet. The only sounds are air rushing through the rolled down windows and Bett's happy panting as she sticks her head out. Noah gives me one last hug, kisses my cheek and drives off. I stare at the blurred line of the horizon for what feels like eternity. Its dark, barely a sliver of moon in the sky.

I'm going to be alone, I realize. Perhaps I should've stayed with Noah. Before I can think about it too much I find myself driving back to my apartment.

When I get there, David has already been there getting some of his things. A note taped to the fridge says he'll be back to finish packing up. It says he's sorry, but he can't love me with only half of his heart.

I sigh, heavily. I am too tired to cry now. Kicking off my shoes, I trudge into the bedroom. Some of the drawers are still open and the place looks like a tornado went through. In his hurry, he has left a few t-shirts, boxers and two pairs of tennis shoes. I pad around the room picking up miscellaneous items he has tossed to the floor.

While doing this I spy the shirt he was wearing earlier. I can't help myself. I pick it up, press it to my face and find tears rolling down my already puffy face.

How can I live without him? How can I even begin to start over? I have devoted the past ten years of my life to this man. I've given him everything. My heart, my life, my virginity. How could it have all gone so wrong? I sink to the floor, still clutching his shirt to my tear soaked face. I don't care that my mascara is running and that I have snot dripping from my bright, red, nose. I don't care that he may come in and see me falling completely apart. I don't have the strength to lie to him about it.

Somehow I muster the strength to stand and put his dirty clothes in the washing machine. I go into the living room and turn on the CD player. Unfortunately, every song depresses me further. I go back to my room and stare at the queen sized bed. It seems so much bigger now that I'll be sleeping alone.

Part of me wishes David would walk in and see the mess I am. I'd tell him that I'll never be over him. I could never possibly get over him, no matter how hard I tried. I refuse to be happy for him either. Not for him and most certainly not for Alice. Even if they are happy together.

I spend my night on the couch, trying to find some semblance of sanity to cling to. I try pulling myself together. And I fail at it; miserably. I don't really sleep. I drift, but I do not dream. I just sit with my knees pulled up to my chest, my cheek resting on one knee.

Things have to get better eventually. Right?

All of Her: Prologue (Final Edit)

Prologue: He doesn't Love You.

"I'm still in love with all of her."

I say nothing. What is there to say, really? I barely hear anything else he says. Not that it matters. He keeps talking; as if this conversation were about what to have for lunch. Or something just as bland. He doesn't even notice that my heart is breaking. I think I might be sick.

His words are echoing in my head. I am stuck on repeat. All I can hear is that awful sentence and my heart, drumming erratically against my rib-cage. I've gone mad. I'm standing here, on my own two hands, going crazy. I'm shaking.

I know he is telling the truth. I don't even have to look at them to know its the truth. Being a glutton for punishment, and already drunk with pain, I look anyway. Why not? She's smiling; lit up by the sunshine of his love.

"I'm still in love with all of her."

I'm not blind; anymore. Its like the gauze has been ripped from my eyes. How did I not see it before? How could I be so completely clueless? Looking at it now, I can easily imagine them. Entangled, wrapped in pink sheets, their pink flesh fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. How did I miss this?

Am I an idiot for wishing he was looking at me?

She's standing a short distance away, barely out of ear-shot, and he is staring off and into her distance. She's still smiling at him, practically basking in the assurances of his love. I recognize that smile. Its the same one I had plastered across my, idiotic, face. Once. I can still remember that feeling; being loved and believing his sunlight would always shine on me. That smile, the one she wears now, is the same smile I was wearing just a few weeks ago. How did I not recognize that look before now?

The whole beach feels like it is trying to swallow me whole. Everything is rolling beneath my feet and he is rocking away from me and into her arms. I just stand there. I feel so pathetic. I try to smile, as if everything is okay, but it wobbles with the weight of the truth. He doesn't notice. I will never smile, like her, again.

How can I when I am watching the love of my life fall even more in love with my best friend?

"I'm still in love with all of her."

"Stop saying that!" I say, practically shrieking. David looks back at me, startled.

"I didn't say anything."

I look at him, sheepishly. Having no explanation for my odd behaviour, I bite my lip and turn away.

I need to get drunk. Is it normal for my chest to hurt this badly? Its like I've been punched. My whole body aches, like I have the flu. Its all just so ridiculous. This isn't fair. None of this is fair! Of course it isn't, but I can see that it doesn't matter what is and is not fair.

"Abra," he touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

The gall. The absolute gall.

"Am I 'alright'?" I ask, turning back toward him and shrugging off his hand. "Yes, David. I'm absolutely fucking peachy. Its not like the love of my life stood me up, on our wedding day, and then has the audacity to tell me that he is in love with my best friend. No, I'm not 'alright!' I feel like I'm going crazy right now! I've never been better."

Dumbfounded, he just blinks at me.

"I... I am sorry." he stammers. I wave off his apology as if it smelled bad. The thought that I should be nice flits into my head. I mean, you can't help who you love, right? As quickly as it entered, it is chased out by my anger and pain. I think I might vomit. I'm going to scream, or laugh hysterically. It is, in a sick and twisted way, quite comical.

She is looking back at us again. Her face is slightly cloudy, concern warring with the sunshine of love. I want to slap the sunlight off her cheeks.

"Go." I say, turning away. "You're going to leave with her anyway. You might as well leave now."

I turn back in time to watch him walk away and I have to resist the urge to chase after him. I want to yell at him, grab him by the shoulders and shake him. I wish I could smack some sense into them both. Or perform a relationship saving lobotomy. Well, relationship saving for me, not so much for them. There they go; their shadows seeming to swim off into the sunset, like a couple of mer-people to Atlantis. Or maybe that's my broken-hearted imagination.

I turn to leave, again, but I can't seem to make my feet move. Instead, idiot that I am, I turn back and see them kissing. Alice and David, off in their own personal wonderland, in love and laughing. They're smiling; that sweet and innocent smile of a first, and only, love. Damn. Why did I look back?

I'm feeling like I've just been turned into a pillar of salt; frozen and more than a little raw. Its like my wounds just got a vigourous scrub.

The time has come, the walrus says, to talk of many things. He's right, of course. Even talking walruses can be right. I don't feel like talking. Not to a talking walrus or anyone else. God, I hate Alice so much right now. I never thought it was possible to hate someone so much, but looking at her with David, I could almost spit acid. I could almost go up to them and wring her pretty, swan-like, neck.

Why couldn't they just disappear as soon as I looked back? Would that be too much to ask for?

Despite my desire, nothing changes the fact that Alice and David are still canoodling and I'm just standing here. Caught up in my foolish daydreams. If only I had super powers or something, I could destroy Alice and live happily ever after. With David. Like I'm supposed to. If she were my ugly step-sister, she'd cut off her nose to spite her face and I'd win him back with perfectly fitted glass slippers and my obvious charm. He would realize he is the only Prince Charming there has ever been for me and all will be right with the world.

I'm rambling.

"I'm still in love with all of her."

Those words are still echoing in the air around me. I have to get out of here. I need distance. This isn't running away.

He didn't even hesitate when I told him to go. I guess that tells me all I need to know.

Twitter Prose (a piece posted originally on Twitter)

Living all year for the tax money,
suburban alcoholism,
climbing a hill of seashells that stab your feet.
This is an awful kind of reality.

Sisters

Taking a cue from Jeremy, I put on my best smile.

This is the most uncomfortable I think I've ever been. Its bad enough that I forgot my deodorant and my hair looks like a rat's residence. But seeing him like this; his arm around her waist and his lips precariously close to her glittering earlobe, could kill me.

I'm over-dramatic, but I can't help the lump growing in my throat. It tastes like regret and vomit.

"You look lovely, Annie." he says. He smiles, again. Did his hand tighten around her waist? Or is that my imagination?

"Thank you." I say, though I accuse him of lying. In the privacy of my head. "You look like you are doing well."

"Well, Pam and I just got married," he says, nonchalantly. As if I hadn't noticed the sterling silver band on his finger the moment he walked in. "We're getting ready to close on our first house, so we're pretty excited."

"Congratulations!" I say, congratulating myself for sounding halfway sincere.

We chit-chat for what feels like, an uncomfortably, long time. I leave them with a chipper good-night before heading to the roof to smoke.

I puff thoughtfully, gazing off and into the night sky. A shooting star streaks through the set patterns. Rearranging more than the cloud patterns.

"Those things will kill you, you know." says a voice. Startled, I jump to my feet and drop my cigarette.

"Sorry." he says, sheepishly. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"What the fuck did you think would happen?" I shout, both embarrassed and scared. Who is this guy?

"I'm Eli." he says, as if he heard my thought waves. He stretches out a hand to shake, looking sufficiently apologetic.

"Annie." I say, taking his hand in mine. "What are you doing on the roof?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I needed a break from the meet and greet session downstairs."

"Same. Can I bum one of those from you?" he gestures at the pack I dropped and I retrieve one for him.

We sit in semi-comfortable silence for a few minutes before we hear the gymnasium doors open below us. Jenny traipses through, tilting drunkenly onto the football field. Her red hair is plastered to her face and neck, a beer in her hand.

"What's Jenny doing?" I wonder, out loud.

"Don't know." Eli shrugs.

"I better go get her. The last thing she needs is to fall and hurt herself." I push myself to a standing position and dust myself off. Eli also stands and escorts me to the staircase. I give him my pack of cigarettes. He smiles and pretends to tip an invisible hat to me.

Jenny dances in lopsided circles across the dewy grass. She has her shoes off, like always.

"Sis, let's go home." I say, picking up her debris. "You've had enough."

"I've not." she replies. She doesn't even look at me, her eyes locked on something only she sees.

"C'mon, Jen. Its getting chilly."

Imperfection

I have never been what one would call a "heart-breaker."
I have been a heart-mender, a heart-lover, a heart-mother.
I have been afraid of my own heart's desires and wishes.

When I say I've never been a "heart-breaker" I mean to say:
I've never been pretty.
I've never been gorgeous.
I've never been drop-dead sexy.

I have body issues.
I have acne.
I have a mustache. I have chin hairs, so very unladylike.
I am overweight.
My smile is crooked and I show far too much gum for my taste.
My feet are flat and my chest is too voluminous.
I have a pancake ass and I don't shave my legs.
I could careless about wearing make-up, but feel the need to hide.

I am as imperfect as you can get, in my own opinions.

I am a worry-wart.
I am anxious.
I have all kinds of emotional problems;
I play the depression drums until I can't even move.
I dance myself through anxiety attacks and moments where I'm too scared.
I dream of days where I don't have to leave my house.
I berate myself for all my mistakes. I over-think. I over-drink and
over I go, over that edge, into something deeper than a sink.
I take all the cruel, off-handed, comments to heart and my wounds are raw.

But I'm an idealist. A word that seems so dirty in today's world.
I believe in the magic of just one kind sentence. One sweet gesture.
I believe in the power of a word, just one.
I believe that I could change the world, because all it takes is one voice.

I would rather be a heart-fixer, a heart-gatherer, a heart-whisperer
than a heart-breaker any day of the week.
Because who are we without our imperfections and our flaws?
Who are we without the things that made us into who we are?

Roulette

I
"It's a game." he said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" she asked, eager to be accepted by this new boyfriend. She knew he didn't mean Monopoly. She knew that she should be wary. He was different, dangerously so.

His slightly pointed teeth glimmered in the light of a naked bulb. They were slightly pointed like a vampire's. He always wore colored contacts, she had never seen his real eyes. Tonight he was wearing a gory shade of red. They glinted in an evil, almost demonic, way as he produced a gun. His dangerous beauty and the silver etched pistol both frightened and aroused her.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" he purred. Looking into his eyes it was easy to believe he was a demon, a modern Mephistopheles, come to seduce and murder her.

"Isn't that illegal?" she whispered, her voice quivering and her stomach turning to jelly.

"Of course. All the best things are." he said. "But for your first time we won't play with a real bullet."

He opened the chamber and slid the bullet into place. He spun it before snapping it closed. The snapping echoed in the heavy silence. She shivered, not sure if she should trust him. What if it was a real bullet? What if he had the chamber rigged? He smiled again, revealing his shiny white teeth, and she imagined him laughing over her still body.

He took a few steps back, his wicked grin never leaving his face. She smiled nervously as he put the muzzle to his temple. She braced for an impact that she wouldn't feel. His smile never wavered, turning manic as he positioned himself. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Just a click. He laughed at the terror on her face, cajoling her with his eyes.

"Not afraid, are you, love?"

She straightened, stiffly, telling herself it was just a game and she wasn't a coward. But her stomach twisted and her bowels cramped as he handed her the gun.

"Cock it back like this," he said, showing her what to do. "when you are ready, pull the trigger. You can close your eyes if that'll help."

It was a little heavier than she had expected and she could feel her muscles bunch and strain to keep her hand from shaking.

"Don't be afraid." he said, nibbling on her earlobe. She tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. She felt her heart beat triple in speed. It pounded in her ears so that she could barely hear. He guided the muzzle to her temple, caressing her as he positioned her. He kissed her, a slow kiss that made her frantic. He pulled away before she could get a full grip on his leather jacket and positioned himself across from her.

Under the dimming bulb, she imagined that the bullet was real, that this would be the end of her. The end of everything. She gulped for air, feeling like her heart would burst through her chest. This was the moment. She would prove she was brave. She just had to make it through this test. That was all it was, a test.

"Pull the trigger, darling." he cooed, gently. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact of some sort, and squeezed. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. Her legs felt like water suddenly released from a dam and she collapsed with a rush of adrenaline and relief.

He was beside her in a moment, lifting her back up.

"It's quite the rush isn't it?" he asked, prying the gun from her stiff fingers.

"Yes. A real... rush." she murmured weakly.

"Let's play a variation," he said, his smile eerily painted across his face. "instead of holding the gun to your own head, aim it at me."

"Variation?" she gulped.

"Of course." he said. "All games have variations. Even this one. When I tell you to, pull the trigger. And this round we'll have a real bullet."

He opened the chamber, slipped out the false bullet and replaced it with a real one. He spun it, as before, and snapped it into the chamber. He smiled as he handed it to her.

He positioned himself about three feet away and winked at her.

"Pull the trigger."

II
The rush of a bullet wasn't enough. The rush of sex and death were no longer drug enough. She played Russian Roulette alone in the darkness of her apartment in front of a mirror. She sat in the darkness, every click like a shot of heroin into her blood. Sometimes she would masturbate, watching her reflection achieve orgasm to the click of the hammer.

It hadn't taken long for that boyfriend to end up dead from their little "game" and the police didn't need much convincing. All it took was a pretty young woman in a blood spattered white dress. She cried, genuinely, for that dangerously handsome idiot. Not because she loved him, but because she would have to find a new partner to play with.

She hadn't even waited for his body to cool before she seduced one of the officers at the scene. She begged him to point his loaded Centerfire Compact at her head during and she climaxed remembering her previous boyfriend's final words.

It hadn't taken long to become addicted to the rush. The heady mix of life and death, intertwined with lust and sex, was enough to pull her in and keep her. It hadn't taken long to discover that she could no longer enjoy life without a click inside her head.

It hadn't taken long for the clicks to no longer be enough. She couldn't sit in her room alone forever, waiting to lose to herself. She needed the rush with someone else. Another body to hit the floor. Another blood spattered dress.

She found him outside of a club.

"Want to play a game?" she asked, looking up through her lashes, luridly.

"What kind of game?" he asked, already succumbing to the 'come fuck me' look in her eyes.

And she showed him. She taught him how to play. She taught him how to die. He didn't like the variation she had been taught, too vanilla for that. They played the traditional way and she didn't even blink an eye when the bullet zipped through his temple and out the other side of his skull.

She had been very lucky so far. Every night she would kiss the bullet, placing it in the gun that had originally belonged to that dead boyfriend.

For her luck she praised Bes. She would plead with Shai that this next day she would continue to breathe. She called out to the Norns that they continue to weave her fate with that of luck. She praised Gefion for continuing to shine on her. She laughed when she blessed the name of Fortuna and cried when she asked the Moirai not to cut her threads. Luck and fate became her religion, the click of the hammer representing favors from the gods and every sexual encounter an addictive gift.

The latest pawn in this game kissed her breathless before he taught her another variation. He filled the chamber with four bullets. She kissed each one before he placed them. She agreed to sleep with him if they both survived the game.

That first time, with that first game, they had practically torn each other's clothes off; the need to feel alive overwhelming any other sense. She had cried then, as he slid into her and kissed her into a frenzy. It was the best she had ever had and she had wondered, as he followed her lead, at what cost? Now she didn't even think.

The need to feel that chemical rush was an animal waiting to tear out of her body. There was no thought, no feeling except the adrenaline and the climax.

She survived that variation. Her teacher was kind enough to die quietly in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. She kissed his lips before taking the gun and disappearing into the darkness of the night. She always played with the same gun.

The next pawn was a young woman, about her age, so naive and innocent. She taught her everything and let her walk away. The game didn't always have to end immediately after beginning. Sometimes it continued through the loose connections made. That other woman was not as lucky, they found her dead a week or so later, another unlucky victim of the game.

It really all came down to that moment, she would tell herself. The moment when she stood before the mirror and watched her face; imagining it imploding on itself.

"Pull the trigger."

III
"It's a game." she said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" he asked, intrigued by the strangeness of her.

Her lips were dark red in the dim light of the alley. They reminded him of a mouthful of blood and they turned him on. It was cold outside, snow hanging on the edges of the clouds. Just glistening gray, waiting to fall. Her look was full of lust, when she produced a silver etched pistol. Her eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps. Her eerie smile and the pistol, both, frightened and aroused him.

Her smile widened, revealing shiny white teeth, slightly pointed like a vampire's. Just one bullet was no longer enough. There were so many variations to explore, so many rushes to be had. This would be the last variation. There would be no coming back from this one. No greater rush than this, knowing that her life stood precariously on a hidden ledge. This would be the last round, all the chambers filled but one. The very last rush with someone's life about to end in the darkness.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?"

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Two

I don't go back to the apartment. Not even to pack everything when I find someone to take over my lease. I move in with Clark for a short time, unable to face the sympathy in my mother's face or the overwhelming sadness when I'm alone.

"Until you get back on your feet." he says, as he helps Noah and Kevin carry my stuff into his spare room. I sit in the middle of a pile of boxes, my knees pulled up to my chest and staring out the window. I stay like this for several days before Clark drags me out of the apartment for dinner. I have taken up smoking French cigarettes since Annabelle's death. Before we eat, I insist on standing outside the restaurant for a little while swallowing lungfuls of poison. Clark doesn't try to stop me, though he clearly wants to. Maybe he believes I'll stop on my own. Maybe he doesn't think it is his place to tell me what I should and shouldn't do.

I eat sparingly, much to his chagrin. When he thinks I'm not looking he slips an extra spoonful of whatever onto my plate. I, in turn, pretend not to notice this growing mound of uneaten food and continue to push it around my plate. He tries to engage me in conversation, but I have nothing to say. Nothing that I want to say. Nothing that I could bear to say. He eventually gives up and takes me back to his apartment.

Once we are inside I kiss him. He resists at first, but I know he hasn't had a steady girlfriend since me. I need the contact. And, in the end, he doesn't refuse. He is as gentle as he has ever been, but it doesn't really matter. I am too numb to really feel the difference between gentle and violent. I don't even orgasm, though I fake it splendidly. I didn't want to, I just wanted to feel something, skin on skin. Feel someone inside of me, a part of me.

While Clark is at work, I visit her grave. I lie beside her, watching the clouds chase the sun across the sky. I talk to her as though she was alive. I smoke. I watch mourners and lollygaggers march like ants through the cemetery. Loud wails and badly sung hymns become normality to me. I don't eat or even cry anymore. I just sit and smoke. I strain my ears for anything that may come from the corpse lying beside me. I have lost all sense of reason.

It is on one such day that Jae finds me. I don't see him, puffing on my cigarette completely zoned out. It isn't until he is next to me that I realize someone is there. He sits down and rests his elbows on his knees.

"When did you take that up?" he asks, nodding toward my cigarette.

"Maybe I've always smoked." I reply, taking another drag.

"You have never smelled like smoke and you never take a break to smoke when you are at the bar."

"You are observant." I say, mockingly. I stub out my cigarette and lay back on the grass. He lays back as well, propping his head up with his hands. "But maybe I am just really good at hiding it."

He just shakes his head, then turns to look at me. His eyes search my face, for what I'm not sure.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"Because I have no where else to go." I say, simply. I have lost my job at the book store, though my boss said she would gladly take me back once my life gets "straightened out." I have lost Annabelle. I have lost my sanity. I have lost my self-respect. I have lost my hope.

"You could come with me." he says, sitting back up. His back has grass clinging to it and he runs a hand through his hair to dislodge the tiny pieces stuck there. He never seems to smile anymore, I wonder if I have destroyed him like I seem to be destroying everything else. He stands up, dusts off his backside and turns to me, one hand outstretched to help me up.

I don't take his hand, in fact I lie there and pretend to not see him. I stare into the endless sky, pretending I am on a cloud drifting away from everything here. This doesn't stop him. He continues to stand there, one hand outstretched. He looks like God reaching out to mankind, but I am too lazy to reach back. Isn't that the way of religion?

I don't know how long he stays there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I don't sit up until he has given up and walking away. I stand then thinking I might follow him, maybe try to take back everything. Maybe I could make the attempt. He stops, as if he senses my conundrum, turns and looks at me. He let's a small smile float upon his Cupid's bow lips.

I turn away, though. I know the smile has faded as quickly as it appeared and I can't stand to think that it is my fault. I run to my car, careening like a drunkard on roller-skates. I go to a tiny bar a couple miles from the cemetery. The owners are capitalists, profiting from grief. They have a small dance floor, flashing lights and eclectic taste in music. I drink a shot of tequila to quiet the storm inside me and then I dance until my heart threatens to burst. I feel as though I was buried alive, though I am too tired to fight for air.

I drive slowly back to Clark's apartment. I feel like I am a wound rubbed with salt until I am raw. I park the car in the lot of the complex and I sit there, my cheek resting against the steering wheel. I stare out the window and wonder why I even wanted Annabelle. I wonder why she has such a hold on me, even though she is gone. It doesn't matter, because I can't ever have her. She has been eternally lost to me. I couldn't save her. I can't even save myself, what made me think I should try?

I pull myself from the car, feeling like I'm crawling away from the wreck of my life. I don't go into the apartment. Instead I wander the streets, chain smoking my fancy cigarettes, looking for something, anything. I don't even know what I'm looking for. I catch a glimpse of myself in a window, it makes me stop. I hardly recognize this reflection of myself, she is so different from the girl I used to be. A cigarette hangs from her mouth, her shoulders are hunched as though she were curling into herself. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her jacket and her hair is a dull blonde  in a mess of a chignon. Her eyes hold so much sorrow that I can't look her full in the face. It is hard to believe that this woman is me. We are nothing alike.

She looks worn from all the self-imposed tragedies, all the self-inflicted wounds. They aren't visible on the surface, but we both know they are there. I shake my head at her, she does the same. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and watch as she does the same. I touch the glass, but immediately recoil from her and begin to run. For a moment it was Annabelle in the glass and Abra had disappeared completely.

I run until I am too out of breath to continue. When I stop, I collapse to the sidewalk and cry. No one notices, no one stops to ask what is wrong. Its like I've already disappeared. I've become an invisible speed bump on a sidewalk.

He grabs my hands from my face and pulls me up and into his arms. I don't even have to look up. I know who it is. I just cry, two invisible people adrift in a sea of endless faces. He takes me to a cafe and orders a white chocolate mocha for me. He looks terrified as he presses the cup into my shaking hands. Its like he has seen a ghost or maybe he has seen what I've really become.

"Why is it," I say, once I have stopped sobbing and have taken a sip of my drink. "that you always know where to find me? Always know when I need rescuing?"

He smiles, a watery one compared to when we first met. He takes a sip of his drink and reaches across the table to hold one of my hands. His eyes dart across my face, searching for something.

"I don't know where to find you." He says, simply. He shrugs slightly and takes another sip of his drink. "Have you ever heard Plato's explanation of soul mates?"

"That we were once multi-limbed and Zeus split us in half?"

"Yes. Maybe it is that you and I are soul mates. My ability to find you again and again is because you draw me to you. Because you are my other face, the other half that makes me whole."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I ask, looking at our entwined hands.

"You asked for an explanation."

"You could be stalking me." I say, maliciously. I don't believe he is, but I am beginning to feel like a rabid dog, attacking anything near me. He is quiet, not defending himself. I'm not sure if that should make me nervous or not. After a few moments I mumble an apology for being so rude. He still doesn't say anything, his hand still holding mine.

We are quiet for a while, him still holding my hand. I don't resist, I don't try to pull away.

"Sometimes," he says, quietly, not looking at me. "when I run into you, I think I have found my other face. I think I've been lead to you by the half of my soul that begs to be whole. You won't let me in, however and then I begin to think that I am just in a dream. Dreams can be so deceiving when you believe you are awake."

He pauses a moment and then looks up at me, his eyes sparkling and dancing to some music I do not hear.

"I so want you to be my other face, Abra. The little time that I have spent with you has only made me want to spend more with you. I don't want to just sleep with you and then let you go. I couldn't. I want you to be with me, I want us to be whole, be one, and not broken anymore. I want you. I want to help you. Help you save yourself from this spiral you are in."

"I'm not worth saving. You should save yourself the pain and get out now, while you still can."

"I'm too far in to escape now." he says, taking a sip of his drink. He looks at me then, staring into my eyes until I am forced to look away. He grabs my other hand and holds them, gently, on the table. "Let me decide whether the pain I may or may not experience is worth it. You are worth saving, stop saying you aren't. Let me in, Abra."

"You'll be sorry you even tried." I say, pulling my hands out of his grasp. I stand up, thank him for the coffee and walk out of the cafe. I light a cigarette and puff angrily, determined to make us both as miserable as possible.

I return to the apartment to find it empty. There is a note from Clark that I don't read. I dress up and even use make-up. I style my hair for the first time in a long time. I stare at the girl I've become with a grim determination, a grim appreciation. She tries to smile at me, but I turn before she can. If I see her smile, I will break down, because it will be a broken smile. I am determined. It is too late to turn back from what I've become. I'm in too deep now.

I sleep with the first man that flirts with me at the bar. I don't resist as he leads me to his car. We go twice before he leaves me, standing in front of the bar and waiting for the next one. I drink until I can't see straight. I have sex with two more men and a cute girl with small breasts. I go home with her.

When I wake up in the morning it feels as if I have melted, like the Wicked Witch in Oz. I look over and cannot, for the life of me, remember the girl's name. She is pretty, her hair in tiny spirals, in varying colors, all over her head. Her skin is the color of dark chocolate and I feel terribly pale comparatively. I strain, but my brain refuses to remember anything about her or the other three I slept with last night. I can't even remember what the men looked like.

She stirs and I pretend I am asleep. She snuggles closer to me and sighs, softly.

"I know you're awake." she mumbles into my breast. I open one eye and glance down at her. She nuzzles me and looks up.

"You can't remember my name can you?" she says. I shake my head slowly.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be," she says. "I wasn't expecting you to remember it anyway. You were quite wasted last night. So was I, now that I think about it. As it is, I barely remember your's."

"Abra." I say.

"Niya Bin." she says. "Short, and slightly distorted, for Vanilla Bean."

"Your parents named you Vanilla Bean?" I ask, stifling a giggle.

"Well, my mother loved the scent of vanilla and the way the word felt on her tongue. And my father thought it would be hilarious because of our last name being Bean. I have two sisters, so my father had a grand time naming us."

"What are their names?" I ask, my hand curling around one of her breasts.

"Coffee and Greene. Greene is the only one who can go by her first name in public. No one laughs until she says her full name. Coffee is like me and goes by a shortened, and slightly distorted, version." She laughs and mimics my hand movements, a hand curling around one of my breasts. She kisses me then, tasting like lavender and ginger.

We kiss for awhile, hands fluttering up and down each other's skin. Exploration begins in earnest and before we know it we are entangled. As we writhe, I think of Jae and having two faces. I look deep into Niya's amber eyes, searching her face as though I should recognize it as my own. Does Jae recognize me as part of him? Does he really believe that I could be his other face?

I thought David was my other half, the piece of a puzzle that made me whole. Without him, what was the point? He was my soul mate, my other face as Jae put it. At least, I thought so. But we can see where my thinking has gotten me, so far. I want to let Jae in, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of being hurt again, afraid of being used again. Afraid of being in love with someone who sees me as a want not a need.

This whole situation, everything with Annabelle and my subsequent decent into madness, has shown me something. What was the point of all this? A revenge taken against my body, though my body wasn't the one at fault. A revenge against myself for being deceived? I haven't hurt David at all. I may have hurt Alice, the once, with my sleeping with her husband. Otherwise I haven't hurt anyone but myself. I realize that isn't true either. I have hurt all those around me, that love me and have tried to help me. You can't hold a knife to your own skin without cutting everyone around you.

I want to stop now. I want to find Abra again. I want to find out who I am after all this mess.

I finish with Niya, but I don't stay long. I kiss her goodbye and thank her for everything, before hailing a cab and returning to Clark's.

When I get there Clark is pacing. When he looks up he let's out a small sigh of relief and hugs me.

"What's wrong?" I say, slightly muffled by his chest.

"I was worried." he says, simply. Gently, I push away so that I can look at him.

"I'll be fine, now." I smile, kiss his cheek and collapse on the couch to sleep.

Instead of sleeping, however, I begin to think. Jae is drawn to me, but how am I to find him when I don't know if I'm drawn to him or not? He seemed so sure that we were meant to be together, at least for a time, but will my insecurities make it harder to find him?

Can you fall in love with someone just because you want to? It seemed so effortless when I loved David or Annabelle. There was no thought, nothing. I was in love. Is wanting to be in love with someone enough? Is wanting Jae enough to erase all the feelings still left in me for others?

Looking back on it, I remember how David and I began to forget the little things in our relationship. We didn't talk like we used to. We stopped randomly smiling at one another. We stopped communicating. We talked, but it was all bubblegum pop, nothing substantial, nothing real. I wonder if he ever thinks about those times when we genuinely seemed to love each other. I wonder if he ever misses those times, if any of them were even real. Its terrifying, actually, to even begin to think of trusting someone that much again, of putting myself out there like that again.

Is it worth it?

All of Her: Chapter Nineteen

I am single for far longer than I should be. I just can't seem to get my head back into the game. I am a mess. I have finally come to the point where I can admit that. I am more of a mess than I thought I would be. I am falling apart at the seams. Especially after everything with Liam. I am too afraid to go to a bar where men might want me. And I can't seem to convince myself to seduce another woman.

I realize a terrifying truth, as I am sitting at my desk at work. At some point this spiral of self-destruction has stopped being about David and Alice. It has stopped being revenge against them for ruining my life. It has become all about the revenge I have taken on my body, on my soul. It has become nothing more than self-destruction for the sole purpose of destruction. I have grown so accustomed to the spiral I no longer hesitate. I have been using sex as a weapon against myself.

My own twisted version of cutting. Sex is the blade and with each slice, I make it sharper. There is no healing. No redemption. No coming back from this. In the end I deserve whatever happens.

Right?

Except there is a still small voice screaming at me. It screams out that I am wrong, that I've completely lost touch with who and what I am. I don't know how much longer I can ignore that inner voice. How much longer I can ignore the truth, is like a new test to me. A newer version of tearing myself down. I am discovering new ways of tearing myself apart. And this hatred for myself is becoming all consuming.

My boss comes up to my desk while I am deep in these thoughts. He clears his throat to gain my attention and motions me to his office. I follow, my stomach suddenly twisting into a vicious knot. He pulls out a chair for me and then seats himself behind his desk.

"Abra, you've been with us for quite some time, yes?" He asks, steepling his fingers.

"Yes, sir." I murmur.

"You were an intern for almost a year, right?" He asks. He waits for me to nod, before continuing.

"And you've been a paid employee for a few months now. In these few months, I've noticed you slowly slipping downward in your attendance, your performance, your attitude, et cetera. During your internship, you were the model employee. I had no complaints whatsoever. It was not a matter of 'if' you were hired, it was a matter of when."

"Sir," I begin, but he silences me with a gesture.

"I hate to do this, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to clear your desk. Perhaps, in the future, when you have regained your drive, we can speak further on your employment with this company. In the meantime, I'm afraid I'm going to have to terminate your employment with us."

During his speech, I feel the tears welling up and spilling over.

"Please," I begin, again. He stands up, as if to dismiss me. I don't say anything else and silently go to my desk. I don't have much here. A family photo, a vase of fake flowers. I ask one of my co-workers for a blank CD and I copy all of my files from the computer to the disc. I don't even have enough to put in a box.

I give the vase and flowers to another girl who started off as an intern. She smiles, graciously, though she looks mildly confused. I put the photo in my purse, along with the disc. I don't say goodbye or even make a scene. I simply walk out. Away from the only job I've ever truly wanted, away from everything I went to school for.

I pass my car in a daze. I don't even stop to put my purse inside. It is pouring and I am quickly soaked. I don't care. I just walk. I don't ponder my mistakes or berate myself for being so stupid. I don't have anything to say to myself at this point. I just walk. I've brought it all on myself. My foolish endeavour to destroy myself has finally come full circle, if you think about it.

I finally stop. I don't know where I am and I am soaked to the bone. I wave down a taxi. It is still pouring and I have absolutely no clue where the hell I'm going. I've just been walking aimlessly for what feels like years. The cabby pulls up to the curb and waits for me to get in. Once I'm in, he hands me something in pink wrapping paper. I look at him for a minute before he motions for me to open it.

Inside is a fluffy pink beach towel. It is huge and warm. I am shocked into utter silence by this simple act of kindness.

"Do you always carry pretty pink towels wrapped in pink wrapping paper?" I ask, after a moment of patting myself to a dryer status.

"Sometimes. And sometimes it is a blue towel in the pink wrapping paper." He smiles and begins to drive. He hasn't asked where I want to go and I notice the meter isn't running just yet.

"Why do you carry towels?" I lean over the front seat and see six identical packages lying neatly wrapped on the floor of the front passenger side.

"For days when it is pouring and someone has forgotten an umbrella. They come in handy sometimes."

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, lowering myself back into my seat.

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?" He pulls up to a stop sign and looks back at me. He smiles. I can't help but smile back.

"Anywhere but here."

Without a word he starts driving again. He heads toward down town and just keeps driving. The rain continues to come down in torrential spurts and I think of the world being washed away like a chalk drawing on a sidewalk. I suppose life is kind of like a chalk drawing. Could I start over? Change things? Or am I really as far gone as I believe?

"What's your name?" asks the cab driver.

"Abra." I say, simply, still staring outside the windows at the rain. "You?"

"Aidan." he says. "Nice to meet you."

We are quiet for a little bit, the edges of the world blurring with my tears and the incessant rain. I should be trying to seduce this guy. It would be very easy. He can tell I've been crying. He can tell that I am very vulnerable right now. I just really don't have the heart for it, or so I think.

It is then that my stubborn side takes over, and I find myself flirting, in spite of my myriad of feelings.

"Would you like to take me somewhere with food and alcohol?" I ask, batting my lashes at his rearview mirror.

"I suppose I am due for a lunch break." He says, smiling at my mirror self. There is a small crack in his mirror, right at the top of my head. I pretend that it isn't symbolic, because it isn't, and continue.

"I know a great spot." I say. I give him directions and before I know it, we are inside eating. We order some fried calamari dumplings and baked sweet potatoes. He doesn't order any alcohol, for obvious reasons, but I order a raspberry vodka on ice. At first, we don't say anything, just eat our food. I recall another awkward date, somewhat like this one.

"How long have you driven a taxi?" I ask, sipping my drink and thanking God for it.

"About a year or so, now." he says, smiling. "What do you do?"

"I'm an accountant." I say, though I am flooded with an overwhelming feeling of loss as I say the words. I am still an accountant. I am just no longer an accountant for that company.

"Really?" he says. "That sounds interesting. Do you help people with their taxes and what not?"

"Sometimes. It depends on the person."

"I have some things that could stand some taxing." He says. He winks at me and takes another bite of his sweet potato. I blush and take another sip of my drink, but I don't say no. The more liquid courage the better, I suppose.

After we are done eating, I am surprised that he picks up the bill. He then ushers me back to his taxi and takes me down the street to a motel. I have a moment of panic, recalling Liam. This man is not Liam. However, it takes me several moments to remind myself of that. He doesn't try to take me inside. Instead, he gets out and comes to sit with me in the backseat. I must look nervous, because he speaks very softly and reassuringly. He is gentle as he inches his hand up and underneath my skirt. I try not to resist and just let myself melt into the sensations.

It doesn't work, but I don't stop him. We never actually go into the motel. When we are done, he drives me back to my office. Well, what used to be my office. I thank him for everything, give him a tip and get in my car. I wait for him to leave before I lean against the steering wheel and burst into tears. Several months ago, if you had asked me where I would be today, I would've said happily married and working at my dream job. Instead, I am slumped against my steering wheel, in front of what used to be my job and completely alone.

I go home, after an hour or so of sitting in my car crying. I feel disgusting. I wonder, briefly, if I am the first woman he has had sex with in the back of his cab. To help counter this feeling I take a hot shower and change into some nice dry clothes. Just as I am settling in to a good book and a cup of cocoa on the couch, my phone rings.

"Abra, come out for coffee with me." says Noah. I sigh, but I don't refuse.

"Where do you want to meet up?" I ask. We decide on where to go and hang up. I kiss Snuggles goodbye and head over to the cafe.

Once I am there I confess everything to Noah, before we have even ordered. I am almost giddy as I tell him. Not because I think the situation is funny, but because I am so relieved to tell someone, anyone. It probably helps that I am so numbed to it that I have no more tears to cry. Instead I reach an eerie level of serene as I tell him about my plans and the lovers. I even tell him about what happened in the parking lot of the motel a few hours ago. He is stunned, but he doesn't say anything. We are silent for a few moments. I try to think of something to brighten the mood and find that I am beginning to feel genuinely better.

"Maybe I'll write a shitty romance novel about vampire watermelons, make a shit ton of money and leave the country on a boat made of gold and tears. Wouldn't that be nice?" I say, after a few moments of contemplation.

"Clearly you have lost your mind and I'm going to have to have you put in a haunted insane asylum for your own protection."

"Or, maybe, I could just give up and become a lesbian." I put my head in my hands and sigh.

"Or maybe you could stop this madness and use your brain for once." Noah crosses his arms and looks at me over those cute little John Lennon glasses he has an affinity for wearing.

"When have you ever known me to use my brain?" I mumble into my hands.

"Not at all since this madness began. You're starting to remind me of a Shakespeare character with all this insanity."

"Maybe," I say. "you could be a little more supportive of your BFF and her life choices."

"Well, if my BFF wasn't trying to ruin her life by being overly skanky and self-destructive over a boy who happens to be a huge douche, I might be. But seeing as how you are insistant on this stupidity, I can't. I'm still here for you, of course. Though, I am still judging."

"I would expect nothing less than your judgement. Ugh, this is ridiculous."

"I agree. Let's order some coffee and discuss how we can get you back on the right track."

"No, no. Not that," I say. "it's ridiculous that I'm not talking to that cutie over there." I point at a really cute Asian guy standing with a friend at the counter. His shoulder length black hair looks so soft and silky that I just want to run my fingers through it. And I just might, depending on how this goes.

The look on Noah's face is hilarious. He genuinely thought I'd stop my plans. Of course, I thought I would too for a moment, but I can't let Noah be right, even though I know he is. I am being self-destructive and attempting to ruin my life. To be contrary, to both myself and Noah, I go over toward the cute Asian. Upon closer inspection he has an inch thick section of his black hair dyed this gorgeous shade of red. Somehow that makes him hotter and more familiar.

"Hi," I say. I vainly wish I had put on a little more make-up, but I'll work with what I've got for now. "would you like to be my boyfriend for a few weeks, cheat on me and set me up for a sad break-up song?"

"Excuse me?" He looks incredulous and I am not surprised. Usually I wouldn't confess my entire plan in the first conversation, but I'm tired of pretending like the relationship is going to go anywhere when I know it isn't. And the only guy who actually cheated on me was Adam, beside the point of course. Why not just let him know what he is getting into now? We can play boyfriend and girlfriend for a short time, he can sleep with whoever and I can pretend to be outraged. It will end in a flaming plane crash of a break-up. With the possibility of sweet, angry, break-up sex. Even though I am beginning to think I may be too messed up to have any kind of "sweet" sex ever again.

"How about a pizza and a fuck." I say. I can hear Noah's jaw hitting the floor behind me.

The guy gets a kind of cocky smile and just looks at me. I look up in a flirty way, looking through my lashes like Scarlett O'Hara at her best.

"I'm not hungry." He says, coyly.

I put a hand on one lightly muscled arm, still smoldering in a Gone with the Wind way, and lean in close. He can see down my shirt right now and Noah is attempting to pick up his jaw. He is about to lose it again.

"We can skip the pizza." I say. I give a saucy wink and walk back over towards Noah, whose jaw never made it off the floor. I hear him follow behind me. He taps on my shoulder.

When I turn around he kisses me. That kiss is so familiar, so strange and warm. He kisses me as if we have been dating for weeks or have been secretly in love for years. He kisses me as if he knows all my secrets, knows every inch of my skin or knows all of my fears. He kisses me for so long that I am literally melting into his arms. After what must've been forever, or a few seconds of forever, he let's me go and walks away.

I slump into my chair, staring at his disappearing figure. Noah has given up on trying to pick up his jaw and he just looks at me.

"What just happened?" He finally asks.

"I don't know, but I wish it would happen again."

All of Her: Chapter Fourteen

I don't call Noah to go out with me. I don't call Clark. I don't call anyone. I am going to go out, by myself, and I'm going to get drunk as hell. I may go home with a stranger or I may go home alone. I don't know yet.

I dress in a soft pink top with small white and gray pearls stitched along the neckline. I put on my favorite pair of white jeans and a cute pair of gray knit ballet flats. I dab a drop of perfume behind my ears, on my wrists and then take another drop to run through my hair. After this I pull my honey blonde hair into a slightly off kilter half-up style. I accent my eyes with shimmer mascara and use a touch of sparkling pink lip gloss.

Once I have finished dressing, I make sure that Snuggles has food and water. I turn off all the lights except the one above the stove and I lock the doors. Because I was unable to drive myself home yesterday I am sans one mode of transportation. I wouldn't want to tempt myself with driving anyway. The last thing I need is a wreck while I am driving drunk. Taking a deep breath, I begin my trek to the bus stop down the street.

I take the bus downtown and it drops me off just down the block from "Alice's Wonderland." I walk calmly up the street until I am standing under the glittering lights of decadence realized. I try to take a deep breath, but it hitches in my ribs somewhere. The ache of betraying Jahan, of the bitterness David has given me, reverberate through my bones. Or maybe that is the thrumming of a bass line. I won't let any of this stop me. I am going inside and I am going to forget for a time.

When I open the door the music and the smell of alcohol hit me full in the face. I try not to stagger, but trip over my own feet. I am caught by cute guy with shoulder length, wavy, black hair with one strip of blood red. He smiles as he helps me right myself and then he holds the door open so that I can walk inside.

The lights are dazzling and the dance floor is packed. The gentleman who assisted me at the door, smiles again and points toward a couple stools at the bar. I just stare for a moment, completely out of my element. Gently, he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me to the stools.

"Set the lady up with whatever she wants, on me." He smiles and hands his card to the bartender. He turns and winks at me then saunters off to the speak with the DJ. Completely bewilder, I look at the bartender.

"What'll it be miss?" He smiles as he wipes out a glass.

"I don't know. What do you recommend?"

"Do you like apples? I have a sweet new drink with a kick. It has apple liqueur in it, though."

"Sounds interesting. What kind of drink is it?" I lean forward a little with my elbows resting on the bar.

"I call it 'George Washington's Apple'. Its got whiskey, sour apple vodka, apple liqueur and a spritz of soda."

"Will it get me drunk quickly?" I ask, leaning forward a little more.

"I suppose that depends on how fast you drink it." He winks and mixes up the drink in a tall glass. He pours it over ice and hands it to me. "Cheers, girly."

I take a sip and close my eyes. It is sweet and sour, with a vague alcohol taste. I don't wait for the ice to water it down and I down it as quickly as I can. The bartender's eyes widen as I try to catch the breath that just got knocked out by the alcohol rush. I smile a flirty smile and ask for another. This one without ice. I throw it back like I've been a drunk my whole life.

After two more of those and an appletini with a sugared rim, my drink total is up to five. I feel pleasantly tipsy and the room tips with me. I decide it is time to dance and flirt, so leaving the safety of my bar stool I float to the floor. At least, it feels like I float. For all I know I could be drooling and stumbling all the way there.

I happen to catch the eye of the cutie that helped me in the door and I motion him over. I ask him to dance with me and he obliges with a quirky grin. While we are dancing I have the opportunity to really look at him.

He looks like a Korean movie star. His eyes look like they were painted on a porcelain doll. I've never seen such beautiful eyes. They are the color of a lime's insides. Of course this could be the alcohol talking. I am pretty tipsy right now. Maybe a little more than that.

His lips are kind of feminine. Perfect Cupid's bow upper lip. A perfect bow in general. One corner lifts in the cutest way, giving him that quirky grin. He's a little feminine though, but not so much as to be unattractive. Not that he would be unattractive to me anyway. I like his look. I love his hair. Its so soft and for some reason he is letting me run my fingers through it. I twist the red strip around my fingers and giggle when I let it go.

"What's your name?" I ask, noting a slight slurring to my speech.

"Jae." He smiles and puts his hands on my hips. "And your name?"

"Abra. What's a cute, nice, guy like you doing in a place like this?"

"Trying to find a piece of Wonderland, I suppose. What is a beautiful, and naive, girl like you doing in a place like this?" Our hips move in rhythm with the music and I am feeling drunk, not just from the alcohol, but from his eyes and the way he talks. His dancing isn't so bad either.

"Why do you, why do you say I'm naive?"

"Because you had no idea what to expect when you walked in here. And the tripping at the door didn't help to prove it otherwise."

I lean my cheek against his chest as a slow song comes on. He smells good and he feels so right underneath my hands and face. When the song ends and the next begins I pull away and go back to the bar stool.

I order six Buttery Nipples, a Sex on the Beach and a Cotton Candy twister before Jae comes up and stops me. At this point I can't see straight, think straight or even speak straight. He helps me off of my stool and begins to lead me outside. At first I fight back, trying to go back for another shot of something or other. After a futile effort on my part, I give up and allow myself to be practically carried out. Once we are outside, I realize just how attracted I am to this man. I notice how tall he is and how he carries himself. I find that I am burning up, not just from the alcohol.

"You are so so so so beautiful, you know." I stammer. He smiles and I want to melt a little.

"You are beautiful too. Probably more so when you aren't wasted." He places his hands on my shoulders to steady me.

"I? I drunk? Never, sir. 'Tis only a trick of the flashy lights. Truly. I have never been more sober in all my life." I pull away and try to strike a pose. I almost fall on my face before he catches me.

"And a pitiful liar too. Do you have someone who could come and pick you up?" He has doubled in my vision. Now there are three hot Koreans holding me up.

"No pick ups, only let downs. No lovers, no friends. Do you want my lover to be?" I lean into him, my head and my heart dancing a tango on a sinking ship. I feel sick. "I think I need another drink. I'm not drunk enough."

"I think you are plenty drunk." He says, preventing me from walking, or falling, back to the club. "I think I'll call you a taxi."

"No taxes on dances." I grab his hand and try a tarantella. I fail miserably. Partially because I'm drunk. Or, maybe entirely because I'm drunk. Then, without warning, I kiss him. It isn't the most amazing kiss in the world, but it isn't the worst all things considered. To my drunken surprise, he kisses me back. His arms come around me and he kisses me like David should've kissed me when we were together. With passion and meaning, with a zest for love and life.

I lose track of how long we kiss, but he does break it off and calls for a taxi. He rides with me to my apartment, even having the taxi driver pull over for bagels, which I am suddenly dying for. He helps me up the stairs to my apartment and he carries me inside. He sets me on the couch while I contentedly munch on a bagel. Snuggles meows at this dastardly intruder and then proves that he is the worst watch-cat ever by purring and wrapping himself around said intruder's leg. Jae squats to pet him and then comes over to sit by me.

Suddenly, I feel very nauseous. I stand up and stumble to the bathroom. He follows me. I crumple in front of the toilet and begin throwing up. Shockingly, he comes up and holds my hair out of my face.

"I swear to dog, I'll never eat bagels again." I sputter, in-between bouts of retching.

"I'm sure you won't." He says, a little chuckle under his breath barely audible above my vomiting.

"Its not funny." I whimper.

"No, it isn't. But maybe next time you won't have four 'George Washington's Apples', an appletini, six Buttery nipples, a cotton candy twister and a Sex on the Beach. You should be happy that I'm not having to rush you to the hospital."

"I'll try to the remember that when my stomach falls out of my mouth and into the toilet."

Once I have completely emptied my innards, he washes my face and carries me to my bedroom. He slips off my shoes and pulls the covers over me. He kisses my cheek and gently rubs my temples, which are throbbing now.

"It was nice to meet you, sleep well." He kisses me again and is gone before I pass out.

The next morning I can't remember a damn thing. I vaguely remember a beautiful Asian man and dancing. I remember drinking interestingly titled drinks. I remember throwing up. But that is it. And I have the worst hang-over in the world. There has to be an easier way to forget the past. Clearly drinking it away isn't going to work. Except in the short term.

I stumble out of my room and into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. There is a bag of half eaten bagels lying on the counter. What the hell happened last night? Seeing as how I am still fully dressed I didn't sleep with anyone. But where did I get bagels and why? How did I get home?

Instead of trying to figure it out, I lie down on the couch and let Snuggles curl up with me. My head is pounding as the coffee brews. I swear I am never doing that again. At least not until the next time I fuck something up royally.

Maybe I should try again tonight. Except this time only have one or two drinks. And take someone with me so that I don't hook my way home. Not that there is any proof that I did that last night. Or maybe I should just give up the whole goddamn scheme and call it a day. I can't, of course, but it is nice to think about. I'm already too far gone to stop now.

I spend my day sleeping off my hang-over and watching bad soap operas on TV. I decide it would be better to go out again tomorrow or the next night. I should really give my liver and kidneys time to recover from the bender we went on last night. The cat seems happy with this decision.

I dream of the cute guy from the bar and wonder if we did anything last night that I can't remember. Did we even talk? I have no idea. I remember how nice the bartender was with each drink I ordered though. Of course that was probably just because I was spending money.

Wait. I didn't spend any money last night, did I? I don't remember. How else could I have gotten all that alcohol though? I must've spent something. However, when I check my purse I discover that I am only missing five dollars. And in its place is a receipt for a bag of bagels. Well that explains the bagels. I still have no idea why I got them. All I know is that when I look at them I get queasy. I think I should avoid them for a few days.

About ten o'clock my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I pick up anyway. My thinking isn't exactly clear right now.

"House of pain and inconsistent memories, how may we help you?"

"Abra, its Alice." My eyes snap open and I feel a righteous indignation building up underneath the blinding pain in my head.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I want to talk to you. Now. Where can I meet you?" She sounds like she actually believes I'll meet up with her.

"Why would I want to meet with you anywhere?"

"Because we need to settle a few things."

"Look, for you things may be unsettled, but for me I'm as settled as I'm going to be and I don't care to have anything more to do with you or your asshole husband."

"Pull your head out of your ass and meet me at the park in fifteen minutes."

"I'd really like to oblige, but I can't hear you because my ears are so full of shit from my head being plugged up my ass. Thanks for playing though. Buh-bye." I hang up. As I begin to walk away from the phone it rings again.

"What do you want with me, huh? Want to humiliate me some more?"

"No. I want to talk."

"You can kiss my ass, we're done talking."

"No, we're not! We're nowhere near done talking. I know you slept with David. I know what you are trying to do and I think its pathetic." She is spits each word out as if it is poisonous.

"What am I trying to do that you haven't already done?"

"That's low, even for you."

"Really? Low, you say? Hm, you know what's low? Low is, oh I don't know, stealing your best friend's fiance away from her on her wedding day. That's pretty low, don't you think? Or encouraging your best friend's boyfriend, fiance, significant asshole to sleep with her and propose to her even though he isn't in love with her. That's pretty low too. You know what's really low though? The fact that you have the gall to be upset with me for sleeping with your husband when you've been sleeping with my boyfriend for Lucifer's dark angels only know how long. So suck it the fuck up and get over yourself." With that I hang up, again. This time she doesn't call back.

To be honest, I can't help but want her to call again so I can rant some more. It feels nice to finally say all the things I've kept bottled up since this whole mess started. When you think about it, it is truly unfair that she hasn't let me do this sooner. I wish she would call back. Of course, I have caller ID so I could technically call her, but its so much more satisfying to have her crawling back for another heaping helping of bitch.

I am so riled up that I can't sleep now. I pace around the floor wondering if she'll get up the nerve to call me again. I practice what I'd like to say to her, the sniveling coward. It is one thing for her to steal my man out from under me and claim to be my friend, but heaven forbid I utilize turnabout to do the same. How could I have been so completely blind to all of this?

Out of the blue I decide to bake a pie. I don't really care what kind of pie. I just want to make one. Something to keep my mind off Alice, off of Jahan, off of everything. At least for a little while. I scour my cupboards for pudding mixes and discover I have a pistachio pudding and a chocolate cherry. I opt for the pistachio and busily set about making a crust for it. It is so much fun that I completely forget that my ex-lover and my ex-best friend are probably having sex right now and I'm just making a pie so that I can get fat. Or not.

After my crust is done baking I fill it with pistachio pudding and put it in the fridge. I pop in a Cary Grant DVD and get a bowl of Vanilla Latte ice cream while I wait for my pie to firm up. Why can't all men be suave and sophisticated like Cary Grant? Why can't I find a sweet, funny, intelligent and handsome man who will completely sweep me off my feet?

After that movie is over I pop in "Gone with the Wind" and decide that it is already one in the morning, may as well watch a long movie. I end up falling asleep just as Miss Melanie has her baby and Rhett swoops in to save the day.

I dream of Clark Gable and Cary Grant whisking me away in a horse drawn carriage through a burning city with a Godzilla sized bitch-o-saurus named Alice chasing after us. At the last minute we are saved by a talking pistachio pie that leads us to a night club in the middle of a desert. The desert, of course, is located inside a giant beating heart and there is a handsome Asian man across the ventricles beckoning me to dance with him. He kisses me and the heart explodes into a thousand beautiful pieces and I wake up alone, and utterly bewildered, in my apartment.

That is the last time I eat Vanilla Latte ice cream and watch "Gone with the Wind" before bed.

All of Her: Chapter Eleven

It has been two weeks since the "I love you" incident. Our relationship hasn't grown cold, per say, but it certainly hasn't retained its heat. He hasn't said it again, either. Which can't be a very good sign. Not that I could say it now anymore than I could've then.

We seem to be successfully avoiding our feelings about the situation. Mostly by flying glow stick kites and watching old movies. We even go dancing at "Alice's Wonderland" once or twice. Avoiding the feelings has to end eventually. We have no choice.

Clark is older than I am. He wants to settle down. I know that he wants to get married and have kids, move into a beautiful one story house in the suburbs. He dreams about it often. I can't give that dream to him. My own failed fairy tale ending has made me bitter and skeptical of any dreams. I can't be Mrs. Samson with a baby on my hip in a three bedroom house in Suburbia Heaven. That isn't who I am. It isn't who I want to be anymore.

"Let's go out to dinner, Abra." He says. He smiles, but it seems fake somehow. This whole week has been us faking. We've been playing pretend and its time to come back to reality. I know what he is planning, but I play ignorance. By the end of this self-destructive spiral I should become an actress in Hollywood. I could win an Oscar for these kinds of performances.

"Sure." I say, faking a cheery tone. "Where shall we go?"

"Let's go to the Hob-Knob, its close and we haven't eaten there in a while."

We walk arm-in-arm and I tease him into skipping with me while we whistle "We're off to see the Wizard." We arrive at the Hob-Knob Cafe out of breath from laughing and skipping. Its the first time we've really laughed in two weeks.

Once inside we order a pot of White Cherry tea and some cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches. We order a few other things before handing off the menus and smiling, somewhat nervously, at one another.

I take a sip of my tea and glance around. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that Clark looks nervous. I, in turn, am now nervous, though I am sure I know what is about to happen. I try to appear nonchalant and clueless.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking another sip of tea. The waiter comes up with our food and for a moment we are distracted with rearranging the table. I repeat the question once the waiter has disappeared and wait, resigned to what I know is coming.

"I want to ask you something. I am just unsure of how you will react." He takes a sip of his tea. My stomach is in knots, bracing for the question.

"The best way to find out," I say. "is just to ask."

He takes a deep breath, as if he was getting ready to plunge into an icy pool. I mimic his deep breath and hold it.

"I am wanting a more serious commitment. I want us to be more than sex partners. I want to get married, eventually. Have children. I really care about you, Abra, but I have to know if this is something you want too. I am wanting something more out of this relationship. Do you want that too?"

Slowly, I let out the breath I was holding and set my cup back on its saucer. He wants an answer I am not willing to give. I can't force myself to love him. Even though I'd like to. He looks reservedly expectant. I have paused too long, he knows my answer. He sighs and takes another sip of tea.

"I care about you too, Clark," he holds up a hand, silencing me.

"But not enough to continue on the path I suggested. I knew that you didn't want more. It was apparent when I told you I loved you. I meant it then. I mean it now. I can't force you to have feelings for me that you don't want to have, but I can't continue trying when I know we're not going to go any further than this."

I tear up a little. This isn't quite how I saw "us" ending, though I knew it would end. I do care about him. I have enjoyed our time together and, in my mind, I carefully begin to place all of my lovely memories in a box labeled "Clark."

"Can we still be friends?" I ask, quietly. My tea looks cloudy with a chance of loneliness.

"Of course, darling." He takes my hand and looks at me with those beautiful eyes. "This is why I was nervous. I was afraid you would be upset and not want to talk to my anymore. I would hate to lose a friend on top of losing a lover."

I manage a water smile. We finish our tea and our dinner. He drives me home and we kiss goodnight, our last kiss as a couple. He then kisses my cheek and I watch him leave. I sigh heavily as I unlock my door and kick off my shoes. I pick up Snuggles and nuzzle him for a little while.

I am not sure how to go about being friends with an ex. That didn't happen with David. I suppose it couldn't, though. We'd been together too long and the betrayal had cut too deep. This break-up with Clark was sweeter, more gentle. No betrayal, no deep wounds. Just a gentle parting of ways, just like I wanted.

I listen to music for a little while and finish editing my final paper before graduation. It is due tomorrow and the practices for commencement are next week. While I am not graduating valedictorian, I am still graduating with honors and my speech is also due tomorrow.

I am nervous for graduation, sad for my break-up with Clark and eager for the next chapter in my life to unfold. Maybe, once I've graduated, I'll go to "Alice's Wonderland" and dance with somebody who will want to come home with me. Maybe I'll try to date a woman this time around. Or maybe I'll just skip dating altogether and just sleep around. Isn't that more self-destructive in the long run?

I wonder if Clark will still go glow stick kite flying with me. Is it acceptable for friends to do things they did as a couple?

"What do you think, Snuggles?" I lift him up and look in his eyes. He meows at me to put him down. I smile and set him down. I guess I'll just have to find out on my own.

I do cry a little. I think that is to be expected with any relationship ending. Of course, I don't know for sure since this is only the second relationship I've ever had, let alone end. I wish I hadn't wasted so much time on David. He took so much from me. I let him take so much from me. I practically shoved it into his greedy hands.

I call Noah and invite him over to watch movies with me. I don't want to be alone tonight. I am not completely broken up over Clark, but there is an uncomfortable ache in-between my ribs.

He brings ice cream and we watch a Cary Grant movie, Snuggles curled up in my lap.

"Want to talk about it?" He asks after a little while.

I shake my head and eat another spoonful of ice cream. If I talk about it I may actually cry. I keep thinking that I could've been happy with Clark. I could've fallen in love with him, but I am too stubborn. I hurt him. Not intentionally, but he loved me and wanted to build something with me. I am an idiot for acting like this, but I'm too stubborn and stupid to give it up.

So we don't say a word, just eat ice cream and watch movies. Eventually, Noah leaves and I go to bed. I miss Clark already. It was nice, not sleeping alone. It was nice having someone to wake up to. Its over now, though. No point in dwelling on it.

The next day I go to class feeling hung-over. I have dark circles under my eyes that I don't try to hide. My hair is in a messy bun. I am practically wearing my pajamas. I am a mess. I didn't think I would take this so hard. After all, I was the one who was planning it all along.

Jahan's eyes widen when she sees me. I slump in my seat next to her.

"What happened?" she asks. She sounds alarmed.

"My boyfriend and I broke up last night. I guess I'm not taking it as well as I thought."

She hesitantly pats my arm and we don't speak again until class is over. We walk out of class together and she links her arm with mine. We go to the outdoor commons and sit on the grass under a shady tree.

"You can't let one man ruin your whole outlook on life." she says. Again she pats my arm reassuringly. I find that I am not thinking about Clark now. Instead I am thinking about Jahan and her hand on my arm. I am thinking some very interesting thoughts about her. I blush a little, from my audacity.

"I won't let it ruin my outlook." I say, trying to hide my blush. "I just don't know what to do with myself for a little while."

"Would you like to get a drink?" she asks. I am stunned. From our few conversations regarding religion she has made it clear that alcohol is forbidden.

"You mean, like alcohol? Isn't that against your religion?"

"We don't have to drink in public. We could just go back to your apartment. Then no one but us will know." She seems very eager and to be honest, I'm not disinterested myself. I wonder what it would be like to have Jahan at my place, drinking. However, is it wrong of me to feed her rebellious feelings? She has mentioned, once or twice, that she wants to break away from tradition, break away from Islam.

"Why not?" I say. We stand up, brush ourselves off and go to my car. It is only two in the afternoon and I am going home to drink.

We stop by a liquor store and I buy some Bailey's. The clerk shakes his head as he checks me out. I must really look like I'm in dire straits. When I get back to the car, Jahan asks me to stop by the grocery store.

"I'm a little hungry," she says. We go in and I am stunned into silence when she puts ham salad and lobster spread in the cart. She does it so quickly it looks as if the items flew off the shelf and into the basket of their own free will. I grab some oatmeal cookies and a loaf of wheat bread before heading toward the check out counter. She goes out to the car before me. I can only guess that it is so she isn't seen with me when I purchase the pork and shellfish products.

When we get to my apartment she asks me where the toaster is. She toasts a few slice of bread before slathering lobster spread on one and ham salad on another. While she does this I get two glasses and some ice cubes. We sit on the purple plaid couch and I sit in shock as she pours the Bailey's into the glasses.

"Now, why did you and your boyfriend break-up?" she asks. She lifts her veil slightly to take a drink. I have to shake myself to answer her.

"He wants to get married eventually and I don't. I recently had a very bad break-up with my fiance of ten years. I just can't imagine marrying anyone but him. I just couldn't give him what he needs so we decided to end it." I take a gulp of my drink and try to suppress a sigh of relief as it warms me.

"Typical man, not understanding your wants and needs." she says, haughtily. "I am engaged to a man my parents have picked out. I can't stand him. He doesn't care about my needs or wants at all. He keeps asking me to leave school so that we can marry and begin having children."

"Clark is a nice guy, but I can't fall in love with him." I say, lamely. I don't really know what else to say to her. She takes another drink and then takes a bite of the ham salad on toast. I follow her lead and take a bite out of the lobster spread.

"I don't want to get married." she confides.

"No? Marriage is a beautiful thing. Or so I'm told." I take another sip of my drink.

"You mean eternal slavery to a man who will fuck you and treat you like a servant? No thanks. I'd rather die, to be honest. I would hate to be stifled. That's what would happen you know. I'd be chained and continually stifled. Intellectually, physically, et cetera."

I hold my tongue. Jahan takes another sip of her drink under her veil. I've never seen her face or even the hint of her face. She is so angry at the thought of being stifled, but she continues to wear her veil. She astounds me sometimes.

"I love alcohol." she says. "Why is it forbidden? Pork and shellfish are delicious as well. You know, a friend of mine has been buying these things for me on the sly and I really don't understand why they are wrong. Of course, my father and brothers would kill me if they found out I was drinking and eating these things."

"Why?" I ask.

"Why would they kill me? I thought that was obvious enough."

"Why are you doing this? Why break all the rules? Why be here with me?"

"To say I did it, I suppose. I am an atheist, I think. I don't believe in God or Allah. The Prophet was a man. Jesus was a man. How is he different from any other mythological half-mortal?"

"But you still pray towards Mecca. You still cover yourself in a burqa and niqab. You still celebrate holy days with your family."

"I know. I am the worst kind of atheist. A hypocritical one. I wish I could give it up. Truth be told I am afraid. My family would disown me. I would lose everyone I love. Quietly, I disobey and I do what I want. But I would never do something they could find out about and disown me for."

Again, I hold my tongue. I think Jahan senses my uneasiness. She scoots closer to me.

"Do you know the real reason I am with you right now? Why I suggested, out of the blue, that we should come here and drink?"

"Why?" I look into her gray eyes.

"Because I want you. I have been daydreaming about this moment for quite some time now. I don't want to get married to the man my parents want me to because I'm a lesbian. I spend so much time with you because you are a beautiful woman. I've known for a time, but had not found someone I was comfortable with until you."

I don't know what to say. Without a word she begins to undo her niqab. At first, I look away. This is really fast. Clark and I just broke up yesterday and now I'm in my apartment with a rebellious young woman who is attracted to me. Who I'm attracted to as well. If I am going to sleep around, I might as well do it one after another right?

I feel a little like a postulate whose Goddess is about to be revealed. Is that weird? I feel like I shouldn't be the first person to see her unveiled, like I'm unworthy of it. I sense her stop more than I see it.

"Do you not want this? Should I leave?" She sounds like she may cry at whatever my answer may be. Is it the alcohol talking? Or is this what she truly wants? There is no going back from this.

I look at her. Afraid for her, slightly aroused by her impulsiveness and intrigued by the woman underneath all the cloth.

"Are you ready for the consequences?" I ask. I sound a little like Noah just now.

Her answer is a meek nod. She unwinds and detaches the niqab. Just as I suspected she is beautiful. Her hair is black and curly. A raven cascade of curls reaching to the middle of her back. Her skin is creamy in complexion and she has a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She has a pierced nose and a tiny beauty mark on her left cheek. She smiles at me nervously.

"You're beautiful." I whisper. I don't know why, but I feel a little awed.

"Do you want me too?" she whispers, following my vocal lead.

"Yes and no." I restrain myself from reaching out to touch her face.

"Let's make it only yes." She touches my lips and then kisses me. I kiss her back, finding myself more aroused than I thought I was. All thoughts of Clark or David or how fast everything is moving evaporate. My fingers tangle in her curls. She explores not only my mouth, but my body as well. She is tender though she is slightly frenzied. I find I am in a bit of a frenzy too.

A thought bubbles up. This is probably her first sexual experience with anyone but herself. I will be her first, like David was my first. I find that I don't want to pause for this thought. Instead I kiss her down and along her jawline to her throat. We practically tear off her burqa in our haste. Underneath she is wearing a long sleeve black shirt and long black yoga pants. those are quickly removed to reveal a lacy pink thong with snowflakes on it and a white lace bra.

She stops a moment, breathless. I moan in frustration. Not just because of the sexual heat building up between us, but because my mind returns to the thought of me being her first. She smiles, a sweet dimpled smile, and kisses me lightly on the mouth.

"Are you okay?" I ask. As miserable as I would be I don't want her to do something she doesn't want to. And the longer she hesitates the more I think that I don't want to be her first and then leave her. Because I will leave her. At some point it will end. Just like with Clark, I can't fall in love with her. The sexual feelings come up again, entangled with my thoughts. Can a woman experience blue balls? If so, I am feeling it right now.

"Yes," she breathes. We stand up together and I begin to unhook her bra. The guilt that has been warring with my libido begins to get the best of me. Before I reveal her complete nakedness, I stop.

"What's the matter?" she asks. She looks concerned.

"I can't do this right now. Not like this." I pick up her clothes off of the floor.

"What do you mean you can't? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No! There is nothing wrong with you! Nothing at all. I just... I don't know. I want you. I've been attracted to you for a while now. I don't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me? Hurt me how?" We sit down again and I look at her beautiful face.

"I only just broke up with my boyfriend. Give me a few days, okay? We'll try all of this again in a few days."

She looks frustrated, confused and a little hurt. It is so beautiful to be able to see the emotions, if only they were happier emotions.

"I promise." I say, kissing her. "It will be worth the wait."