by Cole, Tillie
“I directed it, yes, but the kids were fabulous, so I can't take all the credit. It's nice to see a brother who doesn't find sitting through a two-and-a-half-hour show a chore.”
He shrugged, "Well, it's not exactly my thing, but I came here to support her, and I knew her Musical Director was hot so my intentions were not entirely honourable," he teased, looking a little cheeky.
I stepped back, surprised. "Well, I'm flattered, and," I leaned in closer, "you're not too hard on the eyes yourself!"
He blushed slightly and ran his hand through his long blonde hair. I shook his outstretched hand and, laughing, went to make my excuses when Tink came barrelling over, oblivious to Gage’s presence.
“Wilbur, Wilbur! Guess wh–," he whipped his head to Gage, hand on his chest, stumbling back, “… be still my beating heart. Who is this Californian beauty in a pea-coat?”
I observed Gage, who was looking down at his jacket and smirking.
I elbowed Tink in his ribs. “This is one of my students’ brothers, Gage.”
Tink shook his outstretched hand, squeaked out a “Hi, I’m Tink,” and then looked at me in shock. “Not another brother of a student? Since when did schools become more successful at hook-ups than dodgy street corners?”
I took in a calming breath, how embarrassing! Gage simply looked confused.
I turned to my mortifying bestie. “What did you want, Tink? I’m working right now.” I knew he would get the ‘bugger off’ tone in my voice.
“You certainly are working it, aren’t you, girlfriend? Anyway, I came to tell you that my Pookie is taking me away tomorrow to Vancouver, a little gay-day-getaway! Apparently the scene is booming there. I’ll be gone for five days, how great is that?” He shimmied his shoulders on the spot and whooped, popping his bum.
I love Tink, theatrics included, but there really is a time and a place!
“That’s great. Will I see you at home tonight, or in the morning before you go?”
“Yep, probably the morning. I need to get my beauty sleep! I’m going now to pack. Great show, ham roll. I’ll catch you later, alligator!” he air-kissed both sides of my face and body-rolled away.
As Tink ran off, or more like split-leapt away with perfect dance fingers on his extended arms, I faced Gage again. “Sorry about that, he’s my best friend and a bit… different.” Hell different? Let's say it how it is – he's off his fucking tits!
Gage burst out laughing, and I couldn't help but join in. It was nice to laugh after days of fluctuating between episodes of depression and spontaneous crying.
“Listen, sorry to keep you, I understand that you’re busy. Erm… look, I'll get to it. I know this may sound a bit forward seeing as though we’ve only just officially met, but how would you feel about getting a coffee sometime? Maybe this weekend if you're free?”
Wow, I wasn’t expecting that!
At that moment, Tudor’s face popped into my head. I shut my eyes tightly to erase the image. We are nothing.
“Ms. Munro, are you okay?” Gage was holding my elbow seeming concerned at my sudden change in behaviour.
I immediately opened them again. I was starting to get a headache. “Yeah, sorry, and call me Tash or Natasha. Erm…Where was I...? Yeah, what the hell, coffee would be nice.”
He released a nervous breath. He seemed nice, completely different to Tudor: easy-going, happy, cheerful, slim but athletic, not ridiculously muscly and he seemed free of any visible tattoos. Not a bad boy! Coffee with Gage may be exactly what the doctor ordered; a nice and friendly, normal, everyday guy.
“Can I have your number?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I took his mobile, entered my digits and almost dropped it when I heard a huge crash coming from somewhere nearby, but looking around I couldn’t tell where. Probably just some of the props falling off their hooks.
I held out my hand. “Until the weekend, Gage.”
He shook my hand, and held on for a second too long. “Until the weekend.”
He turned to walk away and I picked my glass back up, readying myself for another parent mingling marathon.
“Natasha?”
“Mmm?” I swung around to Gage.
“By the way, love the accent! I have a thing for Brits. Too much watching Julie Andrews movies when I was younger!” he winked.
I laughed and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He disappeared through the crowd, and I couldn’t help watching him go. Maybe my luck was improving after all.
I was about to step back into the fray when movement from the left of me caught my attention. The side door at the back of the hall opened wide, an arm grabbed the top of mine and I was pulled into the dark unused corridor, the door shutting tightly behind me, blocking off the guests in the hall.
What the…???
I was pushed against the hard cement wall, and looked up to find Tudor braced in front of me, encasing me in the cage of his arms and breathing heavily against my skin.
My palms and back were flat against the wall, my face mere inches from his. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them a second later, intense emerald-green irises boring into mine.
He lowered his right arm and I felt a ghost of a touch on my hip. I gasped at the sensation. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even think to form a sentence.
What the hell was happening?
Without breaking eye contact, he trailed his fingers up the side of my dress, past my stomach which tightened in response, over my ribs and finally past the edge of my breast, both of us holding in our breath. He continued up to my throat. I tried to speak, to ask what was happening. I opened my mouth and his finger lay across my lips, silencing me in advance.
His hands reached down, taking hold of mine, our fingers clasping and he raised my arms over my head, restraining me from moving. His lips brushed over my forehead, my cheeks and then moved down to my neck.
I let out a moan, it felt too good. “Tudor, God… what… uhh…!” I whispered.
His lips moved back north, hot breath gliding over my skin, causing me to shiver, until his lips were feathering over mine, never once kissing but so deliciously close.
I moved forward, yearning for the connection, but he moved back and exhaled a painful moan.
“I can’t keep doing this, Tash. What you said to me when we went skating, I can't stop thinking about it. You like me. 'Just me for me'. 'Your Tudor'. God, it's all I think about,” he confessed in a soft tone.
He placed both of my hands in one of his, his free hand grabbing a fist full of my hair, tipping back my head, his forefinger stretching out to run continuously up and down my cheek in a hypnotising motion, up and down, up and down.
“Doing what…?” I was lost to the touch.
“I-I can’t keep wanting you like this and not having you… not tasting you... not being with you.”
“Mmm…” was my only response, his fingers leaving my hair and moving to caress my lips, round and round, tracing the edge of my cupid’s bow.
Unable to take the teasing sensation, I licked my bottom lip, brushing my tongue past his finger.
He let out a strangled hiss. “I want you. I want you now, so badly I can’t breathe.”
"You said you didn't like me, said I wasn’t your type," I reminded him huskily.
He looked right into my eyes. "I lied."
He lied!
I couldn't control myself, my emotional dam broke. “Then take me… I don't care anymore.”
“Tash…”
He reached down, seizing my thigh and pulled it up to cradle over his hip.
He pushed forward, pinning me hard against the cold brick, his mouth grazing across my ear, lapping at the lobe with his tongue. “I want to take you here against the wall, make you all mine, do you want that, Tash? Tell me you want that too.”
“Oh my God, yes! Now, Tudor, please…” I practically screamed.
He hoisted my leg higher, letting me feel how much he did want it. He nuzzled my hair and ground his
hips into mine. “I’m going to hell… I’m not supposed to let this happen, this shouldn’t happen, they warned me, but I can’t stop, this isn’t a good idea, us being together is not a good idea.”
He reared his head back and met my gaze. “Tell me to stop, Tash, you need to tell me to stop…” he pleaded.
He dropped his restraint on my hands and cupped my head with his other arm. His attention fell to my lips, and he rubbed his together with a lick, causing them to shine and moisten, ready for my touch.
He broke his trance, and his heavy eyes made their way back to mine. “I can’t want you this much; you’re not good for me. You’re not meant for me, hell, I’m a fucking nightmare for you. But I have to do this, I can’t stop now…”
He closed in, lips achingly close to mine, but I pulled away at the last second swaying my head to the side. My first kiss with this man would not be like this. He shouldn’t regret it.
Tudor stepped back and dropped my leg. His hands lifted, and he slammed his fists against the wall above, breathing heavily.
“Tash–” he sounded like he was in pain.
“No. Stop,” I commanded, my palm thrust against his chest.
“Tash, listen–"
“No, you listen,” I bit out viciously.
I couldn’t look at him so instead I focused on the floor. “I can’t do this with you… I like you Tudor, probably too damn much and obviously more than you do me, but what the hell? ‘You can’t want me? I’m no good for you? Tell you to stop?’ Why are you here doing this? Did you think speaking to me like that would be okay? From the moment I met you, you have toyed with me so badly and I give in every time. I like you but… but, God, I have to like myself more than this, and I can’t be with someone who fights so hard against wanting me.”
His eyes squinted shut, his jaw muscle clenching over and over. “Tash, it’s complicated. You make this complicated for me. You don’t understand!” he shook his head losing his temper.
I swallowed hard, trying not to show my hurt. “Then help me understand! It’s not complicated Tudor, or at least it shouldn’t be. If you want someone and they want you back its simple. It’s the simplest thing in the whole friggin’ world. I’ve had enough of complicated. I want simple, I want normal. You’re anything but.”
He expelled a venomous laugh. “You mean like him?”
“What? Who?” I answered confused.
“That hippy, pansy-looking guy out there? The one who was practically drooling all over you!”
“Gage?” I questioned, my headache now thumping to an almost unbearable rate. I really wasn’t feeling right.
“Oh, Gage is it?” he said sarcastically. “Did you agree to go out with him? I heard him ask you?”
What the–? Has he been watching me all this time?
I tilted my chin up in defiance. “So what if I did?”
He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wild, hitting a clenched fist against the wall repeatedly a few feet above my head.
“You can’t!” he stated evenly through gritted teeth, shaking his head as he loomed over my smaller frame.
How dare he?!
“Too bloody right I can and I am. What’s it to you anyway? You don’t want me, remember? ‘We are nothing!’ I’m not going to shag you now, against this wall, just to have you regret it because I'm not good enough for you.” I prodded my finger against his chest. It didn’t even make him flinch.
He let out a humourless snort. “‘What’s it to me?’ she says. I won’t allow it, that’s what! I fucking forbid it! Tash, you can’t do this to me. I can’t stomach the thought of you with him!”
That hit a nerve. “Do this to you? You won’t allow it? You forbid it! What the hell are you going on about Tudor? You are an absolute mind-fuck. You can’t have me, you don’t want me, but nor can any other man? Do you see how royally screwed-up that is? You’re sounding insane!”
He moved closer, an inch from my lips. He licked and rubbed his, hypnotising with the movement of his tongue. “I can’t watch you be like that with other men.”
“Be like what?” I asked, in total shock at his admission.
“All flirty… wanting them… you only do that for me, you’re only meant to do that for me.”
I physically crumpled against the wall, my head in my hands. “Tudor, I can’t take this! What do you want from me? First, you’re all over me like a rash, even though it’s against what you want, then you reject me and now you forbid me from going for coffee with a guy who doesn’t bloody hide his interest towards me. Who can be seen with me in public. Who seems genuinely interested in me. Who doesn’t seduce me while all the time telling me he doesn’t want to be with me. Who is fucking normal! Have I missed anything? Please, let me know? Make me understand all this shit you’re putting me through!” I cried.
He just stood there, panting harshly and not moving, for what seemed like an eternity. He dipped his forehead to mine, allowing us to touch and sending an electric current shooting through my body straight to my heart.
“You’re right,” he whispered, resigned.
He backed away and leaned against the opposite wall. I felt exposed and empty by the loss of his physical proximity.
“I have absolutely no say in what or who you do. Forget I said anything. Forget tonight, it was a mistake, a fucking huge mistake.” He crossed his bulging arms over his chest and looked down at the floor.
For a moment, my heart fell; the look on his face was utterly heart-breaking. Like a child who had just been told that Santa wasn’t real – completely shattered.
I went to move towards him, but he stood and shook his head and began backing up towards the emergency exit, hands out in surrender.
I clenched my fists and shrieked, hurt lacing my voice. “Tudor! What are you doing to me? Why? Tell me why you’re doing this? Did you mean what you said? Was all this tonight a big mistake?”
He stood completely still and lifted his head to the side, not quite looking back. “Go on your date, Tash, enjoy yourself. Forget about me. Go get married, have kids, have a good life with a normal guy… God knows you wouldn’t get that with me.”
He walked away from me once more and this time, I was sure, completely out of my life.
My head pounded, pulsing with a dull pain and I felt weak. I went to grab my coat from my office and snuck away from the party. I couldn’t face anyone else.
* * *
The next morning Tink left at the crack of dawn after creeping into my room and leaving a goodbye kiss on my head.
I woke a few hours later to go to the bathroom, and then it hit me. The feeling I hadn’t felt for several months: the pain, the nausea, the helplessness, the bloody evil condition that brings me to my knees.
As I lost consciousness, I just remembered thinking Why now? Tink… help…
And then it all went dark.
Chapter 16
Knock, Knock... are you there?
I could hear the phone ringing… again. As I lay on the floor of my bedroom, a perfect view of underneath the bed, watching a cluster of lint float by my face, Lady Gaga’s ‘Bad Romance’ ringtone taunting me and my current predicament.
I was present in terms of being able to see and hear, but I could not muster an ounce of energy to move. I tried to send a message to my limbs to pick themselves up and move towards the sound of my salvation; the message failed.
If I were to hazard a guess, I reckoned I had been in that spot for roughly twelve hours or so. The sun had set and cast the room in a blanket of darkness.
I drifted in and out of sleep and had managed to manoeuvre myself into various foetal positions to ease the discomfort, but I never quite managed to hoist my unresponsive carcass off the floor. I was thirsty, feverish and basically felt worse than a sheikh with a broken dick being thrown into a harem of eager women.
I’d been so blind. I should have seen the signs. When I’m stressed or not looking after myself well, my condition kicks in. I have problems with my horm
ones, it’s something called Cushing's Syndrome, and when they are put under pressure, they can affect my already-weak immune system. It’s not unpredictable; it shouldn't catch me by surprise. It was actually like bloody clockwork, a simple formula: lack of care leads to days of hell. Accidentally forgetting to take my medication may also have hindered things for me too, and then when I’m stressed everything is knocked off-kilter and I end up in that situation – face down on my bedroom floor, and that time without my favourite fairy to fly me to safety.
The real bugger of it all was that I had medication in my bathroom cabinet, but the fact that the extreme fatigue had kicked in meant I quite literally could not move. My muscles had gone on vacation. The traitorous things had probably joined Tink in friggin’ Vancouver, because it was abundantly clear they were not here with me!
I could feel the dryness of my mouth through dehydration, fever ravishing my body, and my salty sweat was running into my eyes, causing them to sting and blur. I knew I was in trouble. I could imagine my parents blaming themselves for 'allowing' me to come to Canada. So much for fending for myself!
I was fading fast, that much was obvious; I was just waiting to see an obligatory oasis with a refreshing spring to tease me in my hour of need – that's what you see when you're popping your clogs, right?
What I didn’t expect to see was a full embodiment of Tudor North running towards me in slow motion, white as a ghost, muscles rippling against a tight white tee and a look of concerned panic all across his face, with the theme tune from Baywatch accompanying his every step.
What is it with him? I am addicted. I, Natasha Munro, am a Tudaholic. I constantly think of him, being with him, him wanting me. No matter what he does to me, I cave like a junkie to a drug. Against Tudor I have no will power, and even now, at my weakest, it’s the image of him coming to my damsel-in-distress call to the theme of a nineties TV show that I envision. I am royally fucked up. A glutton for punishment. Then again, if I’m going to pass through the transcendental plane, his face and fine physique are a comforting sight with which to send me on my way.
Mentally kicking my own arse, you know, as my leg wouldn’t move in reality, I groaned and shut my eyes. When I opened them again, my mirage was before me, so real that I wanted to stretch out my hand to touch it, to eradicate the teasing vision.
