by Jan Graham
“Thinking about Kathy, how life’s changed. You know, the regular shit.”
“Why start thinking again now? Is it because you’ve been going out and meeting women again?”
“I’ve been going out to get laid, Angel, not to find love. Besides I tend to find myself frequenting Mercedes Club more than going out to a bar to pick up. Paying to spend time with a bratty submissive is less hassle than finding one in the wild of the city’s nightclubs.” He sent a cheeky grin her way and waited for her reply.
For Steve, The Gentleman’s Club or Miss M’s as it was referred to by regular clientele, was like kinky sex on tap. The club catered to the BDSM community, and Mercedes had a lovely selection of submissive females that helped Steve out when needed. There were Dommes for the more submissive gentlemen but that wasn’t Steve. He was a Dom. He particularly enjoyed bratty little subs, so he could administer a punishment or two before screwing their voluptuous, bound bodies senseless. After all, he needed to keep up his skills with the crop and flogger. Steve had no problem meeting women to fuck, but straight, or “vanilla” sex, as it was referred to in the kink community, wasn’t exactly what he desired.
“That’s a shame. I thought you were finally taking steps to find someone new, maybe fall in love again.”
“We’ve had this discussion. It’s not possible to fall in love again. Kathy was my soul mate. I won’t get a second chance.” Damn it. Angel had those sparkly eyes like she was going to cry all over him. He hated when she looked at him like that. “Anyway, I was wondering if things might be different for me now, if Kathy and I had had children. Sometimes I look at your two and feel a twinge of regret. Having a child would have meant a piece of Kathy was still in my life. You know, a tangible reminder of our combined love and hope for the future.”
Angel didn’t cry, which surprised Steve a little. Instead she slapped him on the arm and chastised him. “Of course new love is possible for you. I keep telling you that, but you never listen. You need to accept the truth when I tell you what it is…and stop sulking. A woman understands grief, but she doesn’t want a man who sulks.”
“Oh, I love hearing the truth according to Angel. Tell me what it is again and I’ll let you know if it makes sense.” Steve chuckled quietly at the exasperated sigh that came from his sister.
“The truth is that once the time is right, your dragon’s heart will reawaken, and you’ll find someone who will make you whole again.”
“I love you, sis.” Steve placed his arm around Angel’s shoulder and pulled her close to him. Angel referred to him as a dragon all the time, which he kind of liked. Steve had a fascination for the mythical beasts, and Angel often joked he’d been a dragon in a past life. Well at least he thought she was joking. She believed he embodied every good quality that mythology attributed to the creatures. According to her, he was a man who could see the truth in people, he read people and their motives well, he was protective of those he loved and valued in life, he defended those he cared for with force, and he spoke with the fire of his convictions. Steve couldn’t see those qualities in himself, but he loved that his sister saw him that way.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve found a tenant for the place across the road from you.”
“I hope you got Christian to run police checks on whomever you’re renting it to. I don’t want just anyone living near me.”
Steve lived not far from Angel. He’d sold his Sydney home near the beach after Kathy died because he didn’t want to be reminded of their life together…it was just too painful. He’d been spending so much time with the Shores during that period that he decided a change was the only logical option for him. So he’d bought a house in the semi-rural township where they lived.
His sister acquired a large house and a fair amount of cash after her ex died. Not wanting to keep the house, she’d sold it and combined the cash to invest in the property market. Apart from purchasing Steve’s beachside home, supposedly just in case he ever wanted it back, Angel owned four other properties in the local area, which she rented out to a variety of tenants. The house she owned across the road from Steve’s new home was a nice two-bedroom Californian bungalow. Steve helped Angel and the brothers renovate it, so he knew whoever she decided to rent to would be more than happy with the refurbished interior.
“So how much did you decide to rent it for?” Steve assumed it would bring in about two hundred and fifty a week, maybe more.
“Twenty dollars a week.”
“Angel, are you out of your mind? You’re not a charity. What do the guys think of that?” Steve thought she must be joking, either that or she meant to say two hundred and twenty.
“They agree it’s a good price for the lady who’s moving in. You know, nuns take a vow of poverty. I can’t understand why someone would choose to live in poverty. Anyway, she doesn’t have any money at the moment, but she understands that we will renegotiate when she is able to pay more.”
“A nun.” Steve said incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. She used to be a nun, but she recently resigned. Its Meg’s sister. Do nuns resign or do they divorce the church? Aren’t they married to God?” Angel stared at Steve as if she expected him to know the answer.
“I deal with cops and criminals all day, Angel, how would I know anything about nuns?” Steve stared at Angel in disbelief. “Christ, I don’t want a fucking nun for a neighbor.”
“Firstly, I think you need to just get over it. And secondly, I don’t think you should use the terms fucking and nun in the same sentence. It seems wrong somehow. Anyway nuns don’t have sex, so it’s basically an oxymoron.”
“You’re a moron.” Steve sulked into his coffee.
He had a bad feeling about this. Not that he had a problem with anyone who enjoyed participating in organized religion. It was totally up to them, but a nun! His main issue with the prospect of having a nun for a neighbor was how she would cope with the Harley-riding, tattoo-wearing, and heavy-metal-music-listening cop in the street…aka him. He might scare the poor old woman to death or worse she could go on the offensive and make his life a nightmare. He shuddered as images of frumpy little penguin women sprouting messages of repent or die sprang to mind.
The nun’s sister, Meg, was a good friend. She was the owner of the local café, and Steve assumed she was around forty-three years old. If she had a sister who was a nun, then the woman would have to be older than that. After all, Steve had never seen a young nun. All the nuns he met were wrinkly old ladies. He sighed and looked at Angel before shaking his head. Talk about his sister cramping whatever style he had managed to develop since becoming newly single. Now every time he walked out onto his front veranda, he ran the risk of being glared at by some dowdy old woman, dressed in gray and carrying a bible.
Steve looked at the dragon tattoo on his arm. Of all the tats he had, the one on his forearm was his favorite. It had been the first one he got, at the tender age of eighteen. The ferocious-looking red dragon curled up and around his forearm. In between its legs was a woman with long dark hair, large pert breasts, and succulently erect dark pink nipples. The dragon was fucking her doggy style.
Steve shook his head again and laughed out loud, before taking a sip of his coffee. He was going to scare a nun to death. He glanced toward Angel who was staring at him with a cheeky smile on her face.
“Don’t worry, Steve,” Angel said sincerely as she eyed his tattoo. “Nuns take a vow of celibacy. They’re all virgins. I bet she doesn’t even know what doggy style is.”
Chapter Two
The plane winged its way across the sky like a huge metal bullet filled with a variety of passengers traveling across the world for an assortment of reasons. Rhia McCabe looked out the tiny window at the vast expanse before her. There was no scenery to break the boredom of the flight. Well, nothing except a never-ending blanket of clouds.
At least it’s better than the black sky from five hours ago.
The long-haul flight from London meant tr
aveling ten-thousand-five-hundred miles in twenty-two hours, plus waiting time at the airport in England. Statistically speaking, that made it a quick trip. In reality the long hours of boring inactivity were slowly driving Rhia mad. It also meant that, so far, eighteen hours of her new life had been wasted. The magazine she’d purchased at the airport looked so crumpled from being re-read it could have been mistaken for trash. Appropriate, considering the content. She now knew more than she wanted to about the celebs of the world. Ten hours into the flight Rhia had decided she didn’t care what they were wearing, who they were sleeping with, and how they kept their stick-insect figures intact. There were more important things going on.
She checked the window again to see if the scenery had changed. No, nothing different just…more clouds.
Eighteen hours was a long time in a plane, but the remaining five were going to be torture. She eyed her fellow passengers. They all looked as drained as she did. She knew she looked drained, thanks to the nighttime sky they’d traversed. Staring into the tiny window to see her reflection had been a shock. Not because she could see the reflection, but because of what was reflected back. Tired eyes, messed-up hair, and pale skin. The image before her looked gray. The woman before her appeared drab, with no color to tantalize the eyes and nothing to attract interest…just dull, insipid nothing. She fixed the problem though…she’d closed the blind.
“Hot towel?”
Rhia looked at the smiling steward and wanted to scream. It appeared not everyone on the flight looked haggard. Miss Perky-face, with the bowl of steaming towels and shiny tongs, seemed to be maintaining her aura of perfection.
“Thank you. That would be lovely.” Rhia thought about smiling as she answered but was scared the smile might appear like a sneer. At least she could cover her face with the hot towel and imagine she was somewhere else.
“Would you like me to bring you cold water, or perhaps a warm tea when I’m finished with the towels? You look a little tired. It might refresh you.” Oh dear, now Miss Perky was being kind.
“No, I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”
Rhia placed the towel over her face and relaxed back in the chair. She had two seats to herself on the second half of the journey. The man she’d been seated with from London had disembarked at Bangkok. Mercifully no one had taken his place. His aftershave still lingered. Whatever the potent concoction was, it had given Rhia a headache. The headache turned out to be a blessing, inducing her to close her eyes and sleep. Rhia concentrated on the warmth of the towel. The muscles in her face began to relax, and she slowed her breathing to aid the process. Now, if she could just get a bucket of the warm cloths to drape over the rest of her aching muscles, her spirits might lift. Miss Perky-face returned to collect the little piece of heaven still resting on Rhia’s face and handed her a chilled bottle of water.
“We need to keep our passengers hydrated during the flight. We’d hate you to arrive at your destination not feeling your best.”
As the stewardess moved down the aisle, Rhia couldn’t help making a mocking face. We’d hate you to look as bad as you do now, when you get off the plane. She knew that was what the woman meant to say. Rhia looked like death.
She glanced out the window again… still nothing but clouds.
Turning her back on the window and stretching out her legs, she picked up the mangled magazine and pretended to read. In actuality, she watched the remaining passengers. They were her unsuspecting guides, hinting at the life to which she was returning. Some of them slept…lucky things. Others listened to music or watched the in-flight movie. A man tapped away on some kind of tablet computer thing. Rhia contemplated the technology. When she thought about the high-tech society people lived in, she shuddered. At the moment, she had an email address and knew the basics of how to use a computer. As for Androids, iPods, iPhones, iPads, and whatever other i-things inhabited the planet, she would have to learn. There was a vast difference between knowing something existed and actually using it.
Rhia’s attention moved to a woman walking down the aisle dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair cut short with ribbons of color blended through the darker base shade. She wore makeup, nothing heavy, just enough to give her cheeks a glow and definition to the cheekbones. Even though she appeared tired, the woman still colored the world.
Rhia glanced down at her outstretched legs. Maybe I should have bought jeans to wear. She assessed her own outfit. She wore a baggy, gray and white, long-sleeve button-up shirt. Her black skirt had more material in it than a tent, its length stretching down to rest at the top of a pair of black lace-up ankle boots. She pressed her head against the thick gray woolen cardigan that went with the outfit. Rolled up, it turned out to be a perfect pillow. At one point throughout the flight, it had acted as a blanket. She ran her hand over her long, straight, black hair…just black, no ribbons of color. It was the same length all over, no layering, just straight and long. She remembered her reflection from the window. It hadn’t been the reflection in a night sky that had stolen color from the image.
It’s me, I’m gray...I’m colorless and dull.
She reexamined the outfit, purchased from the local church thrift store she’d visited before leaving London. Maybe she should have bought something else. Rhiannon knew, after seventeen years of being told what to wear, and covering herself from head to toe, she needed to learn how to dress all over again. As she fingered the excess material in her skirt, she acknowledged her first attempt at styling hadn’t gone terribly well.
She flicked through the magazine to the fashion section. The clothes the models wore made her cringe. All that could be seen were legs, arms, and cleavage. Their bodies on display, each curve highlighted with clinging fabric. Even if the outfits had long sleeves and hemlines past the knee, the woman’s body was still accentuated. A knot tightened in her stomach.
I can’t do this. I want to go back.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the fluffy cardigan behind her.
Back to what? There isn’t anything to go back to.
Rhia let the events of her life to this point float through her mind. The last few months had been horrendous. After seventeen years working for the church, she still found it hard to believe they’d been so brutal to her. She’d dedicated her life to their work and beliefs. Now it counted for nothing. She’d been labeled a heretic and stripped of her habit. The added threat of excommunication hadn’t meant much to Rhia by the end of her time overseas. She no longer wanted to be part of the church she’d once loved so much. Nor did she agree with the beliefs and teachings she’d once held dear. How could she have been so misguided? Excommunication would have been a relief. Her life as she knew it was now over. She couldn’t go back. She had nothing to go back to. By the time she’d boarded the plane, Rhia had nothing but her dignity to call her own. At least she’d left the church with her self-respect intact. She had done the right thing to speak out about the misogynistic bull she’d witnessed.
“Breakfast, this should give you a bit of a lift.” Oh god, Miss Perky-face was back, this time with food.
Rhia wasn’t sure why the flight attendant’s demeanor annoyed her. She assumed it had something to do with the boring flight and how she currently felt about herself. She wasn’t normally so snarky about people she met, especially if they were just doing their job and trying to be helpful. In fact the pessimism currently engulfing her was a foreign thing. Rhia always tried to maintain a positive point of view, which was hard to sustain on a flight this long. She hoped getting back onto solid ground would restore her positivity and her tolerance levels for those around her.
Rhia lowered the little table and accepted her breakfast. The thought of food actually made her feel a bit nauseous. It seemed all she had done in the last nineteen hours was eat and think. At least breakfast gave her an idea of what time it was and how much longer she had to sit in this metal tube with wings.
“Enjoy.”
Rhia wanted to say probably not
with the same upbeat tone as Miss Perky-face but chose a simple thank you instead.
She inspected the tray’s contents. Orange juice, yogurt, fruit salad, fruit bun, and the jewel in the crown…what on earth was that? She stabbed the solid yellow thing with her finger. It was either scrambled egg that had coagulated into a solid mass over the last nineteen hours, or it was a frittata. She picked up her fork and poked the strange yellow chunk. Yep, it was a frittata, with bits of bacon in it. Oh, and it was cheesy. Rhia tried to ignore the wilted red blobs on the side of the plate. She imagined they’d once been tomatoes, but now they were just unappetizing goo.
At least eating gives me something to do. Make it last Rhia…you still have three hours of agony left.
Eating didn’t take her mind away from thoughts of her old life, her life as a nun. Rhia had never wanted to be anything else. When other girls had spoken about being ballerinas and princesses, Rhia wanted to be a nun. So at the age of eighteen, she’d moved to England to join a convent. Rhia had chosen relocation to a London convent because of its closer proximity to Rome, and the Holy Father, as she’d once reverently referred to the head of the church. She now referred to the pope by many different names, none of them reverent at all.
Her sister’s words of encouragement drifted into her head. Life sometimes throw’s you a curve ball but everything happens for a reason. Come home and embrace a new life…whatever that turns out to be.
At least she no longer saw a cold and lonely park bench in her future, which is where she would have ended up if her sister hadn’t purchased the airline ticket she was now utilizing.
“Oh good girl, you must have been hungry. I bet you’re feeling better now you’ve eaten something. The other girls and I were worried you were sick. I guess eating all that proves us wrong.” Way to go, Miss Perky-face, nothing like announcing to the whole cabin that someone looks so tired, they actually look ill.
“Well it was very nice of you to worry, but I’m fine.”
