Mad Love

by Colet Abedi

  “Definitely not innocence.”

  His words make my heart ache for him.

  “I see a handsome, complicated man.” I know my words affect him because he actually closes his eyes.

  “Open your eyes.” I throw his words back at him.

  He does, and for a second I see the sadness there before he leans down to consume me. My legs part for him, allowing him to fit between them, his hardness pressing against me is both exciting and terrifying. His hands move into my hair and he kisses me completely, devouring me. My mouth gladly welcomes the assault and I think I’ve died and gone to heaven from the feeling of pure pleasure I get just by kissing this man. My hands move over his bare shoulders down his back, exploring the perfection that is his body. I feel like I’m touching gold.

  Clayton responds to my touch by tearing his mouth away from mine and tracing kisses down my neck, toward my breasts. In a second, my bikini top is pulled down and I have no time to think of embarrassment because his mouth covers my breast and licks and pulls.

  “Oh my God.” I can feel a pressure start to build and I want to scream in satisfaction.

  “You’re so innocent,” he whispers as he continues to make love to my breasts with his hands and mouth. “So lovely.” My hands move into his hair and I grasp his head, never wanting him to stop. His breath is warm against my skin as he continues the sweet torture. He stops for a moment and looks up at me.

  “I want you.”

  I can’t breathe. I’m so unnerved by the intensity I hear in his voice that I have to close my eyes against it.

  “Sophie. Look at me.”

  I do.

  “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

  I believe him.

  Something inside tells me to trust him. I know all the signs lead to playing it slow, getting to know him, but I don’t care. I know we’re both on vacation and we live in two different countries and this could quite possibly become the greatest heartache for me, but there’s a part of me that also thinks it could be the greatest joy. I feel like it’s right. And if I’m honest, I have from the moment I first laid eyes on him.

  My hand moves of its own accord to caress his cheek, then my finger moves over to brush his lips. I watch his eyes close again.

  “I don’t know why, but I trust you,” I say, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as he rolls off my body and pulls me into his arms. He buries his head in my neck and hair and just breathes in deeply. I’m enveloped by him, held so tightly in his arms that I can barely move, but I love it. I couldn’t imagine being in a better place.

  I hold him just as fiercely.

  And I never want to let go.

  Clayton and I are now lying side by side, facing one another. A long while has passed.

  “Your accent is funny.”

  He looks offended by my comment and I hurry to smooth over my faux pas.

  “I don’t mean it like that. I mean it doesn’t quite sound English.” A brow goes up.

  “It is English. My father is from England; my mother is American. I grew up splitting my time between two worlds and trying to assimilate by blending in. This accent is the result.”

  “Well, it’s really hot,” I say, hoping to appease him. From his quick smile, I know that I have.

  “Thank you.”

  Since he brought his parents up, I latch on and ask away. “So your parents are divorced?” As quickly as the words are out, Clayton’s demeanor changes. He’s on guard again.

  “No. They live separate lives. It is a marriage of convenience.” He says this indifferently.

  I wonder whose convenience, but I wisely choose to keep my mouth shut and just utter, “Oh.”

  This makes me sad for him. It must have been hard growing up like that. Tossed between two countries. Parents who didn’t love each other but were still married. I experienced the exact opposite. I am suddenly so grateful for the overbearing, loving home environment my parents made me suffer through. What if I had grown up like Clayton? I shiver at the thought.

  “You don’t approve?” Clayton asks softly.

  The way he enunciates his words ruffles my feathers. I can hear the snooty tone in his voice. The kind of tone I heard his friends use the night before when they were talking about something that they clearly didn’t like. It’s obvious that it’s an upper-class English way of speaking.

  I shrug my shoulders. “No. But to each his own.”

  “You definitely disapprove.” He seems amused by this. He probably thinks I’m so naïve. But, seriously? I voice my opinion.

  “I can’t help the way I feel. That has to be hard on a child. There are ramifications. Scars that don’t easily heal.”

  “Are you going to quote Sigmund Freud now?” He says teasingly.

  I rise to the challenge. “Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.”

  Clayton smiles. “Didn’t he also say that words have magical power? They can either bring the greatest happiness, or deepest despair.”

  “He did,” I say.

  “Then choose your words wisely.”

  The sting I feel from his comment is diminished when he reaches out and brushes my hair away from my cheek. Yes, that’s how easy I am around him.

  “You’re beautiful, Sophie. Tell me about you.”

  I have a feeling that I’m not quite as interesting.

  “But we’re not done with you.”

  “There’s plenty of time to get back to me and psychoanalyze my childhood. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I’m an open book,” I say nonchalantly.

  “I doubt that.”

  “I really am. It’s almost a problem. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I don’t know how to hide what I feel. If I do try to pretend, the truth eventually ends up erupting out of me like a volcano. I can’t seem to help myself,” I confess softly. If Erik were here he could give him a million examples.

  “I wish I could be more diplomatic. But I can’t control my emotions,” I finish.

  “I like that. It’s so different from what I’m used to,” he responds.

  Right.

  The women he’s been around are all like Jane and Elizabeth. Refined, posh, and perfect. Contained. I’m just the opposite. Well, I like to think of myself as somewhat refined. Posh? Not so much. Contained? My dad, Erik, Orie, the list is endless, would laugh in my face if I tried to get away with that adjective to describe myself.

  “I can see every thought on your face. It’s fascinating,” Clayton says as he studies my reactions.

  “I don’t know how to hide who I am or what I feel.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  I feel myself flushing. He looks like he wants to kiss me again.

  “You’re dangerous,” I blurt out.

  Clayton’s eyes widen at my words but he doesn’t deny them. “I am. I’m glad you know it.”

  He’s admitting it. He’s actually warning me. Oh crap. Does this mean you’re going to break my heart? I’m suddenly overcome with fear. This is a man who could destroy me. Break me into a million pieces, irrevocably ruin me for a long time.

  I sit up quickly and am mortified to find my bikini top still down, my breasts out in plain view. I see the desire flash in his eyes. I blush and stand up, turning away from him so he can’t see any more than my bikini-clad bottom.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to meet Erik and Orie. They’ll be worried,” I lie quickly. I need to get away from him. He’s like a drug. And I’m afraid the more time I spend around him, the more addicted I’ll become, and then when it’s done I won’t know how to survive.

  “Sophie—“ He gets up as well but I practically run out of his room toward the front door of the villa. But when I put my hand on the doorknob and think I’m home free, Clayton places his hand above mine, holding the door shut. Shit, he’s fast.

  “Sophie. Turn around.” Why I turn around is beyond me. Being in such close proximity to Clayton is a hazard to my health. I lo
ok up at him and try to act brave.

  “I’m not letting you run away.”

  I’m about to tell him that I’m not running but I can’t even bring myself to say the lie. Instead I choose truth.

  “I’m scared.” Then I’m more blunt. “You scare me.”

  His hand is still above me, resting on the door, his body leaning in toward mine. I know my words hurt him because I can see it on face.

  “I don’t want to scare you.”

  “But you do. How you make me feel. It’s disturbing and overwhelming. And it’s exciting. All these emotions, all at once, vacillating back and forth. One minute I’m okay and the next I’m scared of how I feel all this so fast. And now I feel like you’re warning me. And I don’t understand it.” I let everything come out. “I’m not like you. I’ve never felt like this before. It might be my immaturity or inexperience, I don’t know. But I don’t know how to handle it. And I just need to breathe again. Without you distracting me.”

  How in holy hell this has become so heavy so suddenly, I have no idea. I just met Clayton and there’s so much between us already.

  He stares at me hard and I stop breathing again. If he kisses me, I’m done. I know it. He knows it. But he doesn’t try. Instead, he turns the doorknob and opens the door for me.

  “The last thing I want to do is frighten you.” He’s back to being aloof again. It’s crazy to think that two minutes ago he was being so loving and considerate toward me. I can’t let him think that he frightens me in a scary serial-killer way, so I reach out and gently touch his face.

  “Don’t. You don’t frighten me.”

  “Didn’t you just say I do?” he asks in a dangerously soft voice. “You told me that I scare you.”

  “I didn’t say it like that.”

  “Then what exactly do you mean?”

  “This is new to me. All of it. I’m experiencing something that I don’t fully understand. It’s the unknown that scares me. I just … I’m trying to rationalize it all in my head and I keep talking myself in circles and—“

  He stops me from finishing my sentence by grabbing me and pulling me close to him.

  “Stop talking.”

  I nod okay.

  “I’m going to let you go and think about all this. You can analyze it as much as your pretty mind would like. But I already know what the outcome will be. And if you’re honest, so do you.” His voice is commanding. I know he’s not happy with me, or with how I’m running away, so I wisely choose not to speak.

  “You can have this afternoon to yourself or with your friends. Whatever you choose. But it’s your last without me.”

  Fuck.

  He kisses me hard on the lips then pulls away. I’m disoriented from his kiss and I know that gives him immense satisfaction. I shakily walk away from him and head to my villa, which is painfully close to his. I don’t dare turn and look at him because I know he’s standing there waiting for me to walk inside.

  Seconds later, I’m in my room. I start to breathe again as I fall on my bed. Except I don’t feel as free as I thought I would. Clayton is all around me. He’s in my mind, and if I close my eyes I can even imagine his touch on my body. There’s no escaping him.

  7

  “Jesus. Fucking. Tits,” Erik says dramatically.

  After I sat in my room for about five minutes and thought over the events that had transpired, I rushed over to Erik and Orie’s villa to tell them the whole story. The two stare at me from the couch in utter shock.

  Orie is the first to move and he immediately makes a beeline to the bar and pulls out a bottle of Rosé. I know he’s too stunned to even comment.

  “I know,” is all I can manage to say back.

  Orie pours wine and thankfully brings it to us.

  “I’m speechless,” he says as he hands me a glass. “But I’ve got to say, I’m happy you took the plunge and jumped in the ocean. That was so brave of you, Sophie.”

  Erik holds up his hand, demanding silence. “I can’t even talk about that part of the story now. It’s so fucked, I can’t even address it.”

  I laugh. “I know.” We clink glasses from habit.

  “Do you think this is Noom’s fault?” I dare to ask as I look at the two of them.

  “Noom?” Erik looks like he wants to spit up his wine. “Really? Is that the best you can do, Sophie?”

  Orie plops down on the lounge chair. “This relationship already feels so heavy.”

  “I know!” I nod in agreement. “Is this normal?”

  “Since when do you do anything normal?” Erik gets up and walks over the lounge chair and scoots in with Orie. I watch them cuddle up to one another. I can’t stop my smile.

  “But I’m so normal.”

  Orie laughs in my face. “Girl, sometimes you say the funniest shit.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Where should I begin? First, out of left field, you drop out of law school. You break up with a guy you’ve known all your life, which I don’t disagree with, by the way. You convince Erik and me to come all the way across the world with you because you need to ‘find yourself’ and get away from your family. You insist you need to do it in the Maldives. After twenty-three years of being the biggest prude around, you fall for a guy who literally screams hard-core S-E-X, and you’re asking if we think any of this is normal?”

  When he sums it up that way, I totally see his point. But I still feel the need to defend myself.

  “I’m just free-spirited.”

  Erik and Orie find this vastly amusing.

  “Sophie, we love you so much we’re not even going to make fun of that ridiculous statement.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Let’s just get back to the problem at hand,” Erik says. “What are you going to do?”

  “More importantly, what is she going to wear tonight?” Orie interrupts.

  Without even hesitating Erik answers, “White. She’s a sacrificial virgin taking her last steps. Innocent. Pure. Spectacular.”

  “I love it. Long, wavy hair flowing behind her. Totally ethereal.”

  Are they crazy? They’re planning my outfit? The sad part is I can totally picture it in my head as well.

  “I saw a gorgeous white dress in the gift shop,” Erik says.

  They are full-on having a conversation without including me.

  “I know which one you’re talking about. It was amazing. It would look so good on her, especially if she gets more sun. The golden tan on white, you can never go wrong with that.”

  “Did it have a gorgeous price tag as well?” I cut in, wanting to be included.

  “It’s our losing-your-virginity, end-of-days gift to you.” Erik answers, almost brushing me off as he and Orie start to plan my outfit.

  “No way!” I stand up. “Did you guys hear anything I said to you before?”

  They look at each other before turning to face me. Erik speaks.

  “Sophie, babe, yes, we did. What do you want us to say? You’re half in love with him already. I think it’s rad. It’s incredible. It’s fucking awesome. Stop running. From all you’ve told us, he’s fucked up, no doubt. But you picked him. He’s your destiny. Your whole life has built up to this moment, tonight. Twenty-three years of virginity has led to this. And God willing it will be one giant orgasm.”

  “Amen.” Orie clinks glasses with Erik. “Hopefully he lives up to all the hype.”

  I lay back on the lounge chair.

  “But he’s so rich. And he’s so handsome. And he’s English.”

  “Those are three favorable marks in my book,” Erik says as he stands up and walks over to the iPod. He puts on some cool dance mix he heard while he was in Ibiza.

  “And what about what happens after? I mean, is it just a wham bam thank you ma’am type of experience I’m going to have? Is that all I should expect?” I have to ask.

  “Did you really just say wham bam thank you ma’am?” Erik looks horrified.

  I try anothe
r cliché. “How about love ‘em and leave ‘em?”

  “Why does it even matter? Aren’t you the new spontaneous Sophie who’s living for the moment? Why do you want to torture yourself and think about what happens after?”

  He has a point.

  “You’re right. I’ll try—“ I say.

  “You won’t try. You’ll do. Stop worrying. Just be. It will be way easier and less stressful and a million times more enjoyable if you live in the moment,” Erik tells me. “Nothing else matters.”

  I nod in agreement, but I’m not really so sure.

  He puts his hands on his hips and faces me. “Since according to Mr. Perfect, this is the last afternoon we have you to ourselves, what should we do?”

  “We have to go buy her that dress.” Orie says.

  “I don’t need the dress—“

  “Are you kidding me? I know what you packed for yourself. I told you to bring something sexy, but you didn’t listen.”

  “You knew I’d meet a guy?” I roll my eyes.

  “Yes. Anyway, you always have to be prepared, Sophie. That’s travel packing rule 101. Haven’t you learned anything from me all these years?” Erik sounds like he’s explaining this to a child.

  “We’ve got it handled,” Orie says. “Let’s get the dress. Sophie, go to your bungalow and we’ll meet you there after and plan the look and the outfit.”

  “How do you even know it’s going to fit me?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” Erik says.

  I nod, trying my hardest not to laugh at how annoyed he looks.

  “Is the pope Catholic?” Erik continues, getting all dramatic on me.

  “Yes!” I laugh.

  “Am I not the most amazing stylist in the twenty-first century?”

  “You are.”

  “And the hottest.” Orie stands up and pulls him close. “Sweetest. Most good-looking man I know.”

  “I second that,” I say loyally, smiling at the way the two of them stare into each other’s eyes. Even though they’ve only been together for a little under two years, I can’t remember a time when they weren’t a couple. It’s like they were made for one another.

  Erik met Orie at a party in Los Angeles. At the time, he was in a long-term relationship but had found himself instantly drawn to Orie. He called me on his way home.