Fire In His Eyes

by Nightingale, MJ

  I hate to admit it now, but we did make love that night. Knowing he was married, knowing he wanted to keep that marriage, knowing he had a daughter whom he loved above everything else, I didn’t try to stop him when he swept me into his arms and carried me to my room. I was broken, and only this, being with him could mend the pieces. I told myself, it was just one last time. Our swan song. Our goodbye.

  He lay me down on the bed, and climbed in beside me. It started out as comfort only, me crying and him trying to soothe me. Then, it was one kiss, and another. Then it was a touch. A caress. Then our clothes started to come off; the need to touch each other, feel each other just one more time consumed both of us. We needed to be one. It was slow, and sad, and painful. He sat up and scooped me onto his lap when we were both naked, and we kissed and he held me like a child. I straddled him, and slid slowly down. We clung to one another and caressed, and stroked and touched, and loved, and I rocked on top of him, and he helped me with the motion. We made love just like that, in that position, and we rode the crest together, and neither one of us cried out our release, we just kept hanging on to each other never wanting to let go.

  I don’t know when and how I fell asleep, but I did and when I woke he was gone. I was alone with my heart break, and he presumably with his.

  He did leave a note though. It read;

  I wish I had met you, all those years ago. I’ll love you forever, Victor

  And that was it. I didn’t hear from him for a very, very long time.

  Summer, flew by, and I licked my wounds, wounds that wouldn’t heal. I threw myself into my workouts, spending hours running, and biking, just so I didn’t have to think about Victor. My sister helped, tried to give me hope. Maybe he will realize one day, and surely he will come to see that you are what is best for him, she would say. Or, damn those Italian’s and their pride.

  I had dreams and fantasies about him every night. Sometimes I would dream that I hadn’t been on the pill all these months and had gotten pregnant and had a child, to have at least a part of him always. I dreamed he would come for me telling me it had been a joke, or that he would divorce his wife for me. Other times it was that we had met up years later, and we would rekindle our love, or he would see me somewhere we both had gone, a chance meeting, and he would run to me, and tell me everything I wanted to hear. It was hard. The dreams made me happy when I had them, but sad in the light of day because I knew they would never come true. It was hard.

  When, summer was over it got a little easier because I had work to occupy my mind for a great part of the day. But the nights were still torture. I forgot to eat. I lost weight. Too much. My sister was starting to worry. My birthday came and went and October arrived with cooler nights. It started to get dark earlier and that made me sad too, and lonely. But the change in the seasons also snapped me out of my depression. I spent more time outside trying to be active and keep my thoughts off of Victor. I puttered in my garden; I painted the trim on my house. I kept myself occupied. I had wasted so many years being afraid, and I didn’t want to spend years being sad. So, I started going out with my friends to a movie here and there. I played cards with my mom and Tom when they were in town. I had coffee with my sister and I even went to a theme park her and Teddy for Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios in Orlando sometime in mid-October.

  That was a fun night. We had fun with zombies jumping out of the bush, and chasing us. We laughed like crazy when one zombie jumped out of a garbage can and Teddy screamed like a girl. It was so fucking hilarious I almost peed myself. The haunted houses were terrifying. We stayed out pretty late that night. Before leaving the park at two o’clock, we all decided to have a cup of coffee at Cinnabon’s before the two-hour drive home to keep us awake and alert. We chatted like old times in the car. She and Teddy teased one another mercilessly. She complained about his driving and he complained about her choice in music. She liked him a lot, it was obvious. She more than liked him. He had a good heart. He was honest. I could tell. What you saw was what you got with him, and she too, who had been lied to, humiliated and hurt would find that very that refreshing.

  The song by Alicia Keys called “If I Ain’t Got You” came on the radio. I liked her songs a lot. I sang the words to her song softly in the back seat of the car. Even though the lyrics of the song epitomized my feelings for Victor, I didn’t cry, even though I wanted to. Alicia sang of a life not worth living without her man, and even though Victor was lost to me I did not feel that way. I was happy with the memories we had made. I was happy that I didn’t cry. It was a step, I thought. Maybe two.

  When, I got home at four thirty in the morning, ready to crash and sleep until noon I was met by the flashing light of my answering machine.

  I lay down, closed my eyes, and hit play, just in case it was from my mom or dad. My eyes popped open when I heard his voice. It was Victor. I sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake my heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t heard his voice in three months.

  “Hi, Monica. I just saw you. Actually, I am at Universal, and I am watching you right now. You lost a lot of weight, babe- . . . a lot of weight. You look happy, though. You and your sister and her boyfriend are talking and having coffee and it looks like you are having a good time. I just wanted to let you know I’m happy that you’re okay. I was worried about you. I’m better too, so don’t worry about me. Okay, well bye. I don’t want . . . just . . . be happy, okay?”

  He had seen me, watched me at Universal Studios. He didn’t come to say hello. Two steps forward, I thought, one step back. And, I was crying again. Until I slept.

  I called my sister as soon as I woke up. I woke her up.

  “Please, come over as soon as you can,” I begged. “I got a message from Victor. I want you to hear it, and tell me what you think.”

  “Arggh, really.” I heard her grumble something to Teddy. “Okay, give me an hour, sweetie. I’ll be there soon as I can.” And then, she hung up.

  She listened to the message twice before she would say anything; it was my tenth time hearing it.

  “Well,” she said, “he definitely sounds sad, but happy to see you are doing better. He did love you, Mon. It probably killed him to leave you like that and wonder how you were doing, if you were coping. Maybe it’s closure for him. He knows you’re okay, so now he can move on, but . . .” she trailed off looking away from my eyes.

  “But, what?” I was grasping at straws, trying to read between the lines, looking for clues, anything that would tell me he was happy, he had moved on, or he still wanted me and was willing to give up trying to hang on to a woman who didn’t want him and probably didn’t love him anymore.

  “He was watching us when he called. He called when he knew you wouldn’t answer,” she stated. What could that have meant, I thought.

  “Why? Why do you think that is important, Ana tell me?” I begged wringing my hands together.

  “He has probably wanted to call you a thousand times, Mon, but was afraid to hurt you when he made contact or be rejected. Calling you when you are not home is safe. He can’t be rejected, yet he can still reach out,” she stated. Sure, I thought, that made sense. He felt bad, and wanted me to know he has worried, that his feelings were real. Ana interrupted my thoughts, and continued in a rush. “I think you should call him, Mon. Find out what he means by ‘he is in a better place.’ You need closure, too. But, do like he did and leave a message. Call when you know he wouldn’t usually answer. It’s worth a shot, baby girl.”

  Was it worth the shot? Or was I just setting myself up for more heartbreak. I mulled over it for days. Then one lonely Thursday night, after midnight when I knew he would have his phone turned off for the night I called.

  This is what I said;

  “Hi Victor. It’s me, Monica. Thanks for checking up on me. I am . . . better. I am glad you are too. . . .” And, then I hung up. Chicken shit! It hadn’t been what I had planned to say it all. I wanted to wish him happiness, and to let him know that I hoped he would get wh
at he wanted, his family back, and to not worry about me and that I would move on. I wanted to wish him well. I just hadn’t been able to form the words.

  When I got home from work I ran to my bedroom. The machine was flashing, there was another message waiting for me. I hit play. It was him.

  “Hi Monica. I am really glad you’re better, not sick, I hope. You have lost a lot of weight. That worried me. I wanted you to know that I am back in the military, I went back early, and they took me back. I hated that job in construction, you knew that. Well, it was nice to hear your voice. Be happy, and healthy, too,” he laughed a little at the end but it came out hollow sounding.

  It was Friday night and I was alone, and I listened to my messages from Victor over and over again, and got rip roaring drunk all by myself on stale Pinot Grigio I had in the refrigerator. I waited until after midnight, and called him.

  “Hey, it’s Monica . . . hiccup . . . healthy as a horse over here no fricking worries buddy. Run eight miles every day now, more ‘n you do. Haha. Glad to hear you are back where you belong, great friends in the military and you need that. Gotta go. Bye.” The message sounded better in my head.

  I didn’t get any messages on Saturday or Sunday from Victor probably because he expected me to be home and was afraid I would answer. I went for a hike with some friends from work on Saturday along the Withalacoochee Trail, graded some papers on Sunday to kill the time, and tried not to remember my drunken message. It really did sound better in my head.

  On Monday, there was a message from Victor. He said;

  “Hey, Monica. You must have been out with the girls or your sister. Sounds like you were lit pretty good.” He laughed while saying that. “I am glad you are getting out, really. You must be training something fierce, but you have lost too much weight. You need to eat more carbs if you are doing that kind of running. You’re a pole. It will eat away at your muscle mass. Are you training for a marathon or something? You always said you wanted to do that. And, yes, the guys are glad I am back to work and they are the best. It is nice to be around guys you respect, and respect you. How is work this year? Hope you have good students? Okay gotta go. Bye.”

  At midnight I called and left him this message;

  “Hi, work is good. Good kids this year. I have three honors classes and an AP class which means a lot of papers to grade at night. It’s all good, though, it keeps me busy. No marathon, though. I have not seen anything close enough to do around here. But, it is something to think about. I will eat more carbs, too. Good idea. I am glad you like working back at the base. Stay safe, though, okay.”

  On Tuesday, he left this message;

  “Hey, Monica. It sounds like you have great classes even if it is extra work. There is a marathon at the end of next month, every year in St. Pete. I think it’s a half marathon or a 5K just for women. I am doing PT again, so really just training the young guys, new recruits, and keeping the old timers in peak performance. I don’t think they would send me back to Iraq, though, unless it was an emergency. You never know, but don’t worry about that, okay. Bye.”

  Tuesday night at midnight I called him. This is what I said;

  “Hi Victor. The marathon sounds interesting. I will check into it. About Iraq, I can’t help but worry. I worry about all the guys there. Some of my students have been sent. So, I would worry about them and you. Bye.”

  Wednesday the message waiting for me was;

  “Monica, tomorrow is Thursday, I have some time. Can I see you?”

  My stomach lurched. I could not go down this road with a married man, could I? What had I been doing all week, I asked myself. Had I been flirting with a married man, or just checking on an old friend, and lover? I felt sick to my stomach. My mind had told me the latter, but my heart knew it was the former. He had a daughter who wanted a mommy and a daddy. Her mommy and daddy. If I took that from her, ruined the relationship she had with her father, she would hate us both, he would hate himself, and he would come to hate me. I could not do this to a child, an innocent young girl who had no clue who I was.

  At midnight, I called. I left this message;

  “I don’t think so, Victor. Goodbye.”

  He didn’t call for a week.

  It was a Wednesday, when I got the next message from Victor.

  “Hi Monica. I should have not just said it like that. I think you took it wrong. I wasn’t trying to pick up where we left off. I wouldn’t do that to you again. I care about you still you know, like a really good friend. I want you to be happy. I want . . . to see for myself you are really okay, okay? I just need to know. I want you to see I’m okay, too. Let’s talk. Have a cup of coffee together. It can be in public. Outside. In the daytime. Wherever you choose. I’m free this weekend. Think about it, okay. Call me any day, before midnight. No more games.”

  No more games? What was that supposed to mean? He wanted me to call and really talk to him. I couldn’t do it. But yet, I wanted to see him. I was desperate to see him. Could I see him and not want to wrap my arms around him, not want to rip his clothes off? Could I sit across the table from him and not want to crawl across it and sit in his lap and cry like a baby? Or would I hold on to him, and never let him go?

  I thought about it for two days. Two torturous days. Two sleepless nights. I was going back and forth. Maybe, I needed to see him one more time for closure. It had been nearly four months. I could do this, couldn’t I? When I got home on Friday, I would do it. I would call him. I chickened out, but after playing with my food at dinner, hardly touching it, I broke down and called him.

  “Hello,” Victor said tentatively.

  “Hi Victor. It’s me, Monica,” I said. I was nervous. I hadn’t even made up my mind if I would meet him, but the temptation just to hear him had been so strong.

  “I know, silly. I saw your name on the caller ID. I didn’t think you would call, but I am glad you did.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah. Me too,” I lied as my heart thundered in my chest. I was scared to death. I still wasn’t sure I could see him again.

  “So, things are good, right?” he asked curiously. His voice was so casual.

  “Yes, things are good this year at work. You?” I asked.

  “Better than good, at work. It’s like I never left.” There was an awkward silence. Neither of us knew what to say. “So, can you do coffee? Tomorrow? I am free all weekend, so . . .,” his voice trailed off.

  “Umm, yeah, I guess I can,” I stammered. My head was spinning.

  “You sure?” he said. He must have heard the hesitation in my voice.

  “Yeah . . . umm, I’m okay,” I stalled, then added, “How about the Barnes and Noble over there on Del Mabry. I need to get some AP study guides for my students and we don’t have one over here. So I can kill two birds with one stone,” I offered. Phew, made that one sound good on the fly. I did need some new study guides for that class anyway, even though they sold them at Books a Million nearby, but Victor wouldn’t know that.

  “Yeah, that’s close for me. No problems. I think they open at nine,” he suggested.

  “Umm, let’s make it for eleven, okay? I want to get my run in, and stuff.” I knew it would only prolong the inevitable, but I wanted to set the terms, the time.

  “All right then. I can do that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Monica,” he murmured. Had his voice gotten huskier? Or, was that my imagination playing tricks on me? My mind swam, cloudy with confusion and emotional turmoil.

  “See you tomorrow, then,” I echoed Victor’s words and quickly hung up.

  I sat on the edge of my chair, the phone still clenched in my hand. Crap, crap, and double crap. What the hell was I doing? How could I put myself through this? What the hell was wrong with me? I tried to tell myself it was just to be sure he was okay, too. But, I knew that wasn’t it. It wasn’t it at all. I must be a sadist, I thought, because I sure as hell liked inflicting pain. On myself.

  I woke up feeling nauseous, and I had hardly slept at all. I crawled out of bed, and
went to the bathroom and puked my guts out. I was a fucking idiot. Who was I kidding? Not me. Maybe him. I rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, and sipped a little water, foregoing coffee on my sour stomach. I went back to my room, and put on some shorts, and a t-shirt and went for my run. My daily runs consisted of the streets within my neighborhood. I had used the car to plot my route, increasing it as my stamina increased. My new eight mile route took me out of my neighborhood, and included some nice hills for the strengthening of my calves, butt, and hamstrings. It was a great workout and always made me feel better when I was done.

  When I got home it was a little after eight. Instead of a shower, and to kill some time, I took a bath instead, soaked a bit, and shaved my legs. By nine, I was dressed and ready to go. I didn’t want to look fabulous, draw attention to myself or anything, but didn’t want to look like a pathetic loser. So, I selected a pair of faded jeans. A little loose, since I had lost maybe fifteen pounds, I didn’t know, but something like that, since Victor and I broke up. I matched it with a loose peasant top that I thought looked kind of Soho. Well, it was a style anyway I told myself in the mirror and shrugged. I did not straighten my hair. I left it wavy, the humidity was pretty much gone in November, but I did blow it out just and used a little mousse in case it got hotter and started to frizz.

  I forced myself to have a piece of toast, and glass of apple juice. The toast would settle my stomach. Having nothing in it made the nausea worse so I ate the dry toast and sipped the juice slowly to help it go down. At nine-thirty I was twiddling my thumbs, so I got my keys, and went. I would drive slowly, have time to buy my books before he got there, and be seated with a pile of manuals between us for protection in the coffee shop. Good, I had a plan and felt a little safer.