I Can’t Let You Go 29

::TWENTY NINE::

My head hurts.

That’s putting it lightly. It’s cool in the motel room, the smell of rain making everything feel that much cooler, the air almost crisp. I usually leave the curtains open at home. Lets face it, I haven’t cared to close them, or even pay that much attention to them. Jeanette and Adriana put them up for me, when I was putting my house in some sort of order, and I haven’t touched them since. Jeanette’s house. Jeanette would do that for me, the small things I would never even think to do for myself. So I’m more used to seeing her wake under the pale sunlight of dawn.

I lay still beside her, braced on an elbow. Watching her as she sleeps is nothing new for me, and yet, I’m still struck every morning by some small thing about her that I haven’t noticed before. Today I notice it in a new light, the room dim and the colours darker.

The rain is a steady sound outside the closed curtains. There is a time I would have found it depressing but my feelings have changed. Jeanette loves the rain and I think it loves her back. I close my eyes and listen; the sound like tiny pebbles as raindrops fall on the metal porch roof outside; a steady stream like tapwater as rain runs from the gutter into a pool of rocks below. Who knew it could sound so different? Maybe I just never listened before.

She smiles softly beside me on the bed, asleep on her back with her arm flung out, our bodies touching in a series of points, elbow, hip, and knee. Her toes resting on my shin. Even in the shadows of the motel room her skin glows, a pale inner light within, translucent. This morning it’s her eyelashes that fascinate me. Dark black fans curled against her cheek, the upturned curve of them following the tiny lines at the corner of her eye. They flutter softly as she dreams; dreaming of what? Of me? Would she dream of me? Whatever she dreams of, it makes her happy, an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile, content. I want her to dream of me and smile like that.

She moves slowly, moaning softly, as she wakes. Her head hurts too. I know I have no real reason to feel guilty but I do anyway. I don’t know why I feel I can only let go with her when I’m drunk, but that’s going to have to change, she deserves more from me. She’s brave, in her own way, even if she’s shy. I think it’s time I was with her in that way too.

I slip off the bed quietly, partly not to wake her, and partly because my own head hurts so much. Walking quietly to get a cold cloth for her, and a glass of water before she wakes.

“Shh, be still…” I don’t touch her until the cold cloth is on her forehead, making her moan out loud, a sound of pleasure out of place with how I know her head feels at the moment. That the sound of it turns me on is apparent, but ignored for the moment.

“…ow….” I help her sit up, her skin going a shade paler when she moves, holding her gently when she’s finally sitting on the edge of the bed leaning against my shoulder.

“Sorry, ‘Nette….” Guilty. I definitely feel guilty. It isn’t just her head that hurts. She let out a tiny wince when she finally sat up, I think I was too rough last night.

“Don’t be sorry, it was fun.” My hand strokes over her back, slowly, as I watch her. “It’s not much fun right NOW, but last night, yes, it was fun.” She’s laughing very softly, and if my head didn’t hurt so much, if hers didn’t hurt so much, I’d squeeze her hard. It hurts even to smile.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you anywhere else, ‘Nette.” She lets out a tiny moan as she turns in my arms, her cool hands cupping my face.

“You don’t get to apologize to me for that, Sean. You just don’t.” I pass her the cup of water I had gotten up to get her, waiting until she’s drank about half of it, the color coming back into her face.

“Did it hurt?” My finger traces over a freckle on her thigh, all of my attention there. If I’ve hurt her it’s going to kill me.

Her hand, ice cold from the glass of water she was holding, cups my chin, making me look up at her. “It didn’t hurt, Sean. You didn’t hurt me. I’ve never had anyone do that before, and it was a little uncomfortable.” That soft laugh again, the blush creeping across her cheeks. “But it didn’t hurt. I seem to remember liking it, and I KNOW you did.”

Even laughing quietly hurts but I can’t help it. “Yeah, I did. I would have warned you, but I didn’t really know myself until last night.”

It’s a strange conversation. I’ve never really talked about what I liked before. “You and Stacy?….” She doesn’t finish, asking half of a question in a tentative way, nervous about asking, and nervous about asking about me and Stacy.

“Not really. I think I tried once, I don’t know how many years ago, when we were fooling around one night, but it didn’t go any farther than that. Didn’t go as far as we did last night.” Another first, something else I’ve only shared with her. Stacy definitely didn’t like it, and called me a pervert for the rest of the week. I seem to remember it being the first time she ever made me sleep on the couch. The freckle on her thigh has my attention again. “What do you like, ‘Nette?”

Her face flushes red, her grin ear to ear, as she struggles to answer. Struggles with whether she wants to answer or not. Her hand slips over mine, as I play with her freckle. “Outside.” Her voice is tiny, muffled by a hand she’s put over her mouth, as if to stop what she’s saying. “…somewhere public…” This last is a squeak, before she breaks into a small fit of giggles. “I think I’m a little too loud to really pull that one off though.”

I stifle a moan, laughing at what she’s said. It would be a hell of an image, even if we only got to do it once. “I think you had even more to drink than me, Sean. Are you going to live?”

“Coffee and something to eat, and I should be fine.” The first thing I think of is Alvarez, who always has coffee and a bottomless bag of danishes.

“I know what will make you forget about your hangover…” Mischief, that little laugh said mischief. If I had felt better I probably could have caught her before she slithered off the bed and nestled between my knees. I want her to stop and I don’t want her to stop at the same time. Our conversation had left me hard, but for the sake of her head and mine I was more than willing to ignore it. For the moment at least.

She takes the last sip of cold water before taking me into her mouth, the icy water a shock, instantly alert. The water warms only a little as she takes me as deep as she can, her hand taking the rest. Back a little, before she sinks to the base slowly, swallowing once, my hands stroking through her hair. The feel of her throat working, the not so cold water washing past me as she swallows, is nearly enough in itself to make me come. Her slow pace increases, lips and tongue, the feel of the back of her throat before it’s gone again, fleeting, leaving me nearly pleading with her as my balls tighten in her hand. The slippery feel of her throat, the constriction as she swallows, her hands stroking over the base just right and cupping my balls, was it that? Or was it the hum that started at the back of her throat as she took me deep? The vibration like an electric pulse as I come down her throat, taking me fully for that very last second.

She licks me clean before I help her up. Neither one of us is in any sort of shape for this right now. “Thank you, ‘Nette….” I nuzzle her neck, just needing to be closer to her.

“Feel better?” Her mischievous laugh is nearly silent, as she lets me kiss her throat.

I DO feel better. It’s not quite a hangover cure, but it’s close. “Wonderful, ‘Nette. Come on, I need to go get you some coffee and breakfast.”
—-

It’s quiet when we leave. Jeanette gets dressed quickly, wearing one of my sweatshirts. The rain stopped, but there’s no conviction in it. A bank of fog lies low, and seems to pour across the ground when we drive by forested areas, hiding fences, and skating across the road only to scatter like something alive before cars. I’m not used to this weather, to the rain, to the trees, and the almost constant mist. It makes Jeanette happy though, her face brightening when we pass under overhanging mist shrouded trees.

Our hands trace patterns, caressing over each other, holding hands as I drove. I haven’t been this completely comfortable in a long time. It’s a Wednesday morning, with all the feel of a sleepy Sunday drive, the both of us still rumpled from last night, and not caring. Comfortable. We’re at our worst right now, and we’re still comfortable with each other.

She gives me directions as we drive, until we pull up in front of a group of low lying warehouses by the water. I don’t question, she knows where she’s going. The buildings become nicer as we continue. Pike Place Market. It’s quiet here too, even the sound of delivery trucks unloading vegetables and other stuff is muffled in the fog.

“Coffee first, Sean.” She steps around crates of whole fish and dodges workmen with hand carts with ease, making her way towards a window cut into the side of one of the building. Coffee. The smell is wonderful right now. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m hung over, or if it’s something in the air here that makes it smell that way.

We don’t go inside but sit on crates against the side of the building, with a couple of other workmen on the other side of us doing the same thing. Her crate is pulled in front of mine, so we can sit the way we like, with her back pressed to my chest and snuggled together. It’s silent for a moment, no sound but the slap of waves as a small tugboat ghosts through the water nearby, it’s wake hitting the pier posts below before dying out. I’ve never met another woman that would be so comfortable in such a setting.

Somewhere between the cold air, the coffee, and Jeanette, my hangover fades away, not completely, but enough that I won’t die anytime soon. Her head rests against my shoulder, that same quiet smile on her face. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

“Something you said to me before you fell asleep, before I fell asleep.” I was pretty smashed last night, I don’t remember what I said. I remember wanting so badly for her to be my wife, I hope I didn’t say something stupid. She’s smiling though, her body still nestled into mine.

“And it was something that made you happy?” Happy with me? No more drinking, not for the rest of this week. She leans back a little more, catching my eye before kissing the underside of my chin, still smiling. “Yes, it made me happy.”

Laughing a little, I mutter into the side of her neck. “As soon as I remember what it was, I’ll gladly say it again, if it makes you happy.”

Fortified with coffee, we braved the inside of the market, the sights and smells of food making us ravenous. We didn’t stop anywhere to eat but rather wandered through the stalls, eating things as we went until we were both stuffed. Our walk here was even more comfortable than the drive. All I wanted to do was touch her, and I was never more than a step from her. My hand on her back as we ate some samples of bread. Kissing her neck when we bought a chunk a ham to eat while we walked around. I hate shopping, but I liked this. This was different.

The tiny store was tucked between a bookstore and a coffeeshop. Candles, all kinds of candles. The lady behind the counter just smiled at us and went back to reading her book, looking up every once in a while to see if we needed anything. For a moment it hurt to touch them. Stacy made candles, and the house was always full of them. Jeanette looked up at the lady behind the counter, about to ask her a question, but I answered for her, a quiet voice against her ear. I didn’t forget. It was Stacy’s hobby, but I didn’t forget. Jeanette never asked, about why I had gone quiet. She would never need to ask. She just nestled closer to me, when I held her a little tighter, and listened quietly to me while I talked about candles, and picked out what I knew she’d like.

The massage oil was another matter, Jeanette grinning at me from behind a wave of her hair. “Chocolate, ‘Nette.” I could feel myself flush as I held her, when she asked what I’d like. They had stuff that smelled beautiful but the only thing that I wanted, the moment I saw it, was the chocolate massage oil. It didn’t smell sweet, it smelled dark and sexy. Like Jeanette herself.

Time is funny, when you’re hungover, and it’s around noon when we’re done, sitting in the coffeeshop next door. Eating again. Another funny thing about being hungover. I hug her hard, kissing her neck, whispering that I love her, right before I stuff a piece of cinnamon bun in her mouth. We had just gone shopping, not for milk or coffee, but for things that we would share together, not just here, but that we would share later. When she moved in. Things for what would be our house together.

“What do you want to do, ‘Nette?” I feel stuffed, satisfied and lazy, the coffee making me feel more sleepy than anything else.

She pulls my sweatshirt closer around her, letting out a deep sigh into her coffee cup. “Nette?” Distant and sad for a moment, before she smiles weakly at me, a laugh that isn’t much of a laugh.

Her face grows determined. “I should drop in on my family.”

“Drop in?” My coffee forgotten for a moment, I pull her a little closer to me. I don’t like that this has made her upset. She had made a joke about not planning it before we left, that it might be difficult.

“It’s easier if I don’t have to deal with all of them at once, if it’s just Mom and Dad.” She finishes her coffee, looking at me as she starts to get up.

“We don’t have to go at all, I don’t like anyone making you upset, Jeanette, even if it’s your parents.” I’d really like to meet them, feeling it’s the only right thing to do, considering I’m going to ask her to marry me. They’ll be my family too, then. But not if it upsets her. We’re nearly at the car when I whisper in her ear, “We could make it quick, we’ve made plans already for dinner, right?”

She looks puzzled for a moment, neither one of us is in any sort of shape for plans of any kind, beyond curling up with each other. “That WOULD be a quick way out.”

“If it looks like things are going to be strained, we’ve made plans, Jeanette. It’ll be okay. I’d like to meet your parents anyway.” She’s still laughing softly when I close her car door and get in. She has me pull over at a small neighbourhood store, while she runs in and buys some flowers for her mom. We pull in front of a small white house surrounded by other identical small white houses. Jeanette and I sat out on the back porch one night talking about growing up, so I know, without needing to ask, that this is the house she grew up in.

“What’s wrong, ‘Nette?” She’s so quiet, almost subdued, that spark within her clouded over. I’m tempted to pull the car away from the side of the street and say the hell with it, it’s not worth one second of her hurt. But it’s her parents, and the problem isn’t going to go away that easily.

The curtains in the window beside the door twitch open and closed, they’re home. “This might be easier if I do this myself, Sean. I don’t want to put you through this…..”

I interrupt her, lifting her chin with my knuckle so that she’ll look up at me. The hurt in her face is plain, and painful for me to see. Now I’m determined to meet these people, to see face to face who it is that’s hurt her. “Anything you face, I’ll face with you, Jeanette.” I lean in, cupping the back of her head to kiss the spot between her eyebrows. “Why are they so hard on you?” The curtain twitches again. Let them wait.

She drops her head as she speaks, her hands fiddling with the hem of the sweatshirt. “I wasn’t the best kid.”

I force her to look up at me again, holding her chin this time so she can’t look down. My mom always manages to make me feel like I’m about eight, so I understand where she’s coming from, it just hurts me to see her upset. “You weren’t the worst either.”

“I was supposed to marry a ‘nice boy’. My family hated John, and they never once let me forget it. Afterwards, after…after..” She can’t finish. They held onto their grudge, even after John had died. After Emily had died. That’s why she never moved back here, even though she clearly loves the area.

“We don’t have to do this, Jeanette.” I repeat, still holding her chin. She doesn’t need to say anything, just looking at her, I know that in her heart she does need to do this, or she wouldn’t be here at all. The curtains twitch out front again, and I kiss her hard, hard enough to make her smile. “If they say anything mean to you, we’re leaving.”

A woman that looks like an angrier, meaner version of Jeanette opens the door. If Jeanette bleached her hair and had a single bitter bone in her body that is. My hand stays protectively on Jeanette’s back, as I’m introduced, and invited in. Barbara and John. The Thompson’s. There was a small wooden plaque outside by the bell. Jeanette never went back to her maiden name either. I’m starting to see why.

We didn’t stay long, there’s no way that we could. There’s no way I would let her. The digs were subtle, every one directed where it would hurt the most. Jeanette never got mad, never once let on that they had hurt her. She kissed her mother kindly and gave her the flowers, which were left on the kitchen counter. I have the feeling they would still be there the next day, if they weren’t thrown out by then.

“How long have you known Jeanette?”
“And you’re vacationing together already?”
“You’re not in the military too, are you? You look like you’re in the military. You know, Jeanette’s HUSBAND, he was in the military…”
“Oh, I see, you’re married too then?”
“Everyone’s been asking about what you’ve done with yourself, I mean, that no-account man left you with nothing dear…”
And worse, it just kept getting worse. They must have held onto that bitterness a long time.

The digs at John hurt her the most. They couldn’t touch her with anything else, nothing else would rattle her. I’m jealous of John, I can admit that now, that she loved someone else, that she belonged to someone else. But I remember every one of those pictures in Jeanette’s house and she smiled in every one of them.

Jeanette started to fidget, looking like she would bolt for the door at any moment. Her mother never let up once. “We…”

It’s all I let her get out, I didn’t want her to have to say it, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry Mr and Mrs Thompson, but we had made plans for dinner and we should go.”

“Are you sure? Because we could call and you could meet the rest of her family….” Which is the very last thing I want to do right now. Jeanette tensed at the question, but otherwise showed no sign outwardly that the offer had bothered her. Living here must have been like living in a war zone, especially given Jeanette’s spirit. She’s too playful for this house. She probably wasn’t a ‘bad’ kid, hell, she was probably just a happy kid. No wonder they thought she was a little odd.

Her father moves forward to shake my hand at the door, still talking about Jeanette’s husband John, still slamming him. I probably gripped his hand a little harder than I should have, but he stopped talking anyway. “If Jeanette loved him, he must have been a very good man.” It was a strange thing to say about the man that loved her before I did, it was a strange thing to feel, to feel protective of him, of his memory. Her father had enough decency to look ashamed of himself, if only briefly.

I didn’t let go of her, as I walked her back to the car. She was shaking and pale, when I got into the car and pulled her close. “I’m sorry, Sean, that was awful. I’m so sor….”

“You don’t get to apologize for that one, ‘Nette.” I held her until she stopped trembling, her ‘family’ watching through the curtains the whole time. I hold her, stroking her back, until she lets go of the breath she was holding. “We won’t be inviting them over for dinner with us anytime soon?” I know she’s going to be all right when the sound of her soft laughter fills the car. It’s quiet, but a beautiful sound. My thumb traces over the corner of her eye, the lashes tickling. “I love you, ‘Nette, you’re perfect to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“Can I take you somewhere?” She’s calm again when she asks, her soft smile back. We picked up coffee, before she gave directions leading us back towards the water, to an older, more run down part of the waterfront. The rain is back, a light drizzle that coats everything, like mist but wetter. We park the car under a bridge, after driving down a short dirt road. The area looks like it’s been abandoned for years. “I used to come down here all the time as a kid.” She gets out of the car, a small tilt of her head for me to follow. I watch as she weaves her way around patches of weeds, and through a cut place in the fence. She went to it immediately so I’m guessing it’s been here for a while.

There’s a small pier below, with a bench looking out over the water. It’s nothing official, it looks like something someone had made, and left here, probably for just this reason. A layer of stubborn fog clings to the surface of the water, making it hard to tell where the water ends and the fog begins, and where the fog ends and the mist begins. The sea stretches out for what seems like forever, ghost ships loom out of the water, and are swallowed by the fog again.

It just feels right to sit back a little and give her space to sit in front of me, pulling her to my chest. This one thing doesn’t change, no matter where we are. I love to hold her like this, my hand across her belly and nuzzling over her ear. No matter where we are, we are home when I hold her like this.

I put my coffee cup down so that I can hold her in my arms, slipping my hand under the sweatshirt to rest against her warm skin. “What did I say that made you smile earlier, ‘Nette?”

“You really don’t remember?” She turns a little to look up at me, a little puzzled, a little shy.

“I’m sorry, I had too much to drink. Tell me.” My nose runs along the outer shell of her ear, my lips following, kissing her softly.

She pulls her lip in to nibble it, looking out across the water for a moment. A deep breath. “You called me Mrs Vetter before I fell asleep.”

“Does that scare you?” The air is charged between us, we’re not tense so much as…expectant. Like what’s said could change everything, and neither one of us is sure we want to say it. I know the thought of asking her makes me nervous. I have no idea how she feels about it, except that something about it made her happy.

“No.” Her voice is quiet and her pulse races against my lips.

“Good.”

copyright © 2006 xxxevilgrinxxx

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