Constant Craving

by Tamara Lush

  My voice drips with fury. “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought I asked you to decline invitations from other men during our month together.” Red tinges the tops of Rafael’s sharp cheekbones.

  “I’ve had no invit—” I stop. “Oh. Shit. Mark from the café? Is that what this is about?” I sigh and roll my eyes. He can’t be serious. “Oh, Rafa. Come on. Mark?”

  He snorts. “Oh. Are there others? Are you lining up dates for when I leave?”

  “Dammit, Rafael, no. I stopped for tea while you were in Miami, and Mark asked me to dinner.”

  “And? What did you say? He’s definitely counting the days until he can see you. That’s what he told me. And I didn’t realize you were so eager to go out with him. Please, don’t let me stop you.”

  Through gritted teeth, I respond in a clipped tone. “I told him I was busy. I didn’t say yes or set a date. I’m not interested, I told you that. Don’t be jealous. It’s not attractive.”

  Rafa’s eyes narrow into slits, and he squirms away from me, setting his glass on a nearby end table. His indifferent demeanor makes my nostrils flare. I notice that his eyes keep drifting back to my exposed nipples, which are tight and hard.

  “Don’t you think I would have already gone out with him if I was interested? I’ve known him for two years.”

  Rafa meets my gaze with a vengeful glare. “I don’t know what to think about you. Or whether I can trust you. But I’m sure Mark would love to see you in that expensive lingerie. It’s gorgeous on you. Don’t tell him what you had to do to get it.”

  Without thinking, I raise my hand to crack him across the face with an open palm. He catches my wrist easily, my thin bones disappearing beneath his wide hand.

  “I wish you never came back into my life,” I spit. Anger surges through me. How could I have considered having a future with this brutal, nasty man? After days of feeling so close to him, I suddenly don’t know the person sitting under me. I wriggle my arm, struggling to extricate myself from his grip.

  “You brought all of this on yourself,” he says in a low tone.

  Furious, I roll my eyes. “Stop with the damned theatrics. You don’t give a shit what I do after this month. You don’t have any feelings for me at all. When you were in Miami, I could hear a woman in the background when you called. I’m sure you had a great time that night with her.”

  Now grasping both my wrists, Rafa pulls me roughly toward him and I fall into his lap against his chest.

  “You think I don’t care?” he says, his voice breaking with emotion. “After everything I’ve told you these past weeks? What are you? Deaf?”

  I try to squirm away, but he wraps his strong arms around me, pinning my legs in between his and trapping me in his lap. He speaks in a low tone into my ear. “The thought of you with any other man drives me insane. I still think of you as mine.”

  I shut my eyes. “I told you. I told you we would destroy each other this month.”

  “And I told you that I was already destroyed.”

  I struggle more against his strong arms, and my voice explodes.

  “I know you came here from Cuba on a boat and you were practically an orphan, but you don’t corner the market on tragedy. I’ve had a pretty shitty life, too. But you don’t see me complaining, do you? You don’t see me trying to hurt you because of my anger.”

  I writhe more. He continues to hold me tight, and I struggle against his arms.

  “I don’t want Mark. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. When are you going to understand that?” I know I sound pathetic, but Rafa knows exactly how to extract the things he wants to hear, while saying none of the words I desire. I stop moving but not talking.

  “You’ve treated me like a whore. I don’t even know why I agreed to this. I was so desperate to be comforted, to be loved, while I was trying to save my paper, and you’re the only one who could ever…”

  I start to cry and crumple into his chest. His heart is beating so fast I can feel it through his tuxedo shirt. His hands go into my hair.

  “Justi, I wasn’t with anyone in Miami. I went home alone. I couldn’t stop thinking of you when I was gone.” He presses his lips to the top of my head.

  Chest heaving, I think about my jealousy when I heard the woman in the background of the phone call. How brokenhearted I’d been when I saw him on the Miami street all those years ago with the actress. How the tabloid photos of him with models destroyed me a little more each year.

  I know he still feels something deep and intense for me. But he’s not capable of telling me what’s in his heart, and I need that. Deserve that. He doesn’t seem to have the emotional capacity to put our past behind us.

  It’s too late for us.

  I melt into him, and I feel boneless, soft. Fighting with him is painful, like ripping my heart out of my chest.

  “I want to go home,” I whisper in between sobs.

  He cradles my jaw with his hands and pulls my face toward his.

  As the rap music that I so despise plays in the background, he kisses me deep and angry. I’m used to his urgent kisses, but this one has a different edge to it. At first I try to resist, but he grips me harder, his fingers digging into my ass. I straighten and straddle him in the chair, grabbing his shoulder muscles with my hands. He grinds me on his erection, and now this is all I want. Him, feral and raw. I shut my eyes, consumed with anger and passion, acutely aware the ache between my legs is growing. His hands tangle in my hair, and I dig my nails into the back of his neck while he groans and lets out a low roar. We kiss and claw at each other until we’re both breathless and I realize tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes. I’m a complete mess, but I don’t care.

  “I need you so fucking bad,” I whisper, fumbling for the button and zipper on his tuxedo pants.

  “Wait.” His voice is soft and he lets go of my hair. His hands scrub at his face.

  I stop groping at his crotch and stare at him. “What?”

  He wipes his cheeks with his hands and shakes his head. Takes a deep breath, as if he’s steeling himself to do something difficult.

  “Justine, no. Not tonight.”

  I look at him, incredulous. A sheen of perspiration forms on my forehead. “What has gotten into you?”

  He strokes my hair, and now he’s acting like I’m breakable, when he was practically bruising me with his grip moments before. “It hit me all of a sudden. If we want to try to make a go of this together, we need to stop relying on sex to solve our problems. We need to talk more. Because we’re older now. There’s more to my feelings now. We can’t just fight and fuck.”

  We sit, motionless, staring at each other, for a few moments. He’s right, of course. I respect him more for stopping us from having sex, even if I am edgy and nearly blind with need.

  I’m feeling everything at once: elated, confused, scared. With his thumbs, he gently wipes away the streaks of tears and mascara on my cheeks.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be angry with each other,” he whispers.

  “Do you mean that?” I shudder in a breath.

  He nods and tucks my hair behind my ears.

  “I do.” He pauses. “Can we go in the bedroom?”

  I smile a little. “I thought you didn’t want to—”

  He interrupts. “I don’t. I’m just really spent and want to lie down and talk.”

  Nodding, I stand. I feel exhausted, too, like I’ve been run over by a truck. I toe-heel my shoes off, and the carpet feels similar to a hug for my feet. I strip off my bodysuit and flop into bed. The mattress is a cloud of comfort. I groan and cover myself with the white duvet.

  “God, everything feels so good all of a sudden. This was the best idea.”

  Rafael undresses and lies on his side next to me under the covers. His hand rests on my stomach. “I’m sorry about the whole Mark thing. I was overcome with anger. I shouldn’t be so jealous. I shouldn’t be an asshole. I’m sorry I pulled your hair. I need to get a grip and stop feeling
so out of control when I’m around you. It’s not appropriate and not fair, and I never want to make you afraid of me.”

  I turn to face him and trace a finger up and down his arm, impressed that he’s being so introspective. “I wasn’t afraid. Just pissed. I’m sorry I tried to slap you. That was really out of line.”

  Rafa shakes his head. “I probably deserved that after what I said.”

  I chastely kiss his mouth and then press my breasts on his bare chest. He puts his finger on my lips.

  “No. Justine. I really don’t want to have sex tonight.”

  “Okay,” I say quietly. “What do you want? Sleep?”

  He nods three times, slowly. “I think I want to end our arrangement.”

  My jaw drops, and my bottom lip quivers involuntarily. Oh God. I thought I knew how horrible I’d feel once he finally broke it off, but I realize that it’s worse than I imagined. I don’t say anything for a full minute, and my face quickly becomes grubby with tears.

  “Why? Are you going back to Miami early? Are you done with me? Are we over?”

  He shakes his head. “Jesus, no. Stop crying. Please? I’ve decided to stay in St. Augustine until the end of the month. Then I have to go to Spain.”

  “And when you get back?” My thumbnail goes in my mouth. He takes my hand away and kisses the palm.

  “I want you. I want us. Together. But I can’t make you sleep with me for the next two weeks because of my stupid proposition. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can go home.”

  “What if I want to stay with you until you leave?”

  He strokes my hair. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  I throw my arms around him and say nothing. Maybe there is hope for us. Maybe we can make this work.

  “But Justine, first I want to listen, really listen, to why you left me. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we ended and why we’ve both held grudges. I need to hear you and your feelings.”

  “Now?” My voice shakes. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, not after our fight. Not while I’m strung tight with emotion. “Do you promise not to be angry?”

  “Yes. I won’t talk until you’re finished. Promise.”

  I take a deep breath and flip on my back. The room suddenly seems too bright from the bedside lamp, but I don’t have the energy to move and turn it off. “The real reason I left was because you were so cold to me after the miscarriage. I didn’t think you loved me anymore. I left because I thought you didn’t want me. That somehow you thought I was tainted. Or defective. Those three months in between the miscarriage and when I left for Nicaragua were the worst of my life. I felt like you abandoned me. You retreated, and I didn’t understand why.”

  I curl up and face him. Rafa takes my entire, balled-up body in his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry that I left and I’m sorry that I never explained it to you properly. My dad offered me the money to travel, and I thought it was the best decision. I was young.”

  “I was young, too, Justine,” he says quietly.

  His eyes have a faraway look.

  “Your turn,” I say. “Why didn’t you come to look for me? Why didn’t you answer any of my letters or calls?”

  “Perhaps I couldn’t see past my own pain and anger back then.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Perhaps?”

  His eyes lose their light, and all of a sudden he looks tired, older. I take him in my arms as he buries his face into the hollow of my neck. We hold each other until he falls asleep, and then I shut out the light and try to make sense of the confusion in my brain.

  35

  Valentine’s Day

  I once read somewhere that falling in love with the same person a second time is both confusing and exciting, because you realize you’re smitten with a completely different person.

  Every day is like this for me with Rafa, and I suspect it’s similar for him, as well.

  Our second-to-last weekend together falls on Valentine’s Day, and I’m eager to soak in every moment. It’s Friday, and he’d hurried me out of the office this afternoon, acting all mysterious and adorable.

  “Rafa, tell me what we’re doing and where we’re going.” I’m laughing so hard I’m almost peeing my pants, mostly because he’s tickling my knee and talking in a funny, accented, growly voice, the one we used to call his Cuban bear voice. It was always hilarious to us for some reason, probably because there are no bears in Cuba. Clearly, it makes sense only to us.

  “Close your eyes, little red riding hood.”

  I giggle and do, and the Tesla glides along. “Where are we going?”

  “Shhh. Put one hand over your eyes. Like that, yes. Don’t peek.” He squeezes my thigh possessively.

  The Tesla rolls to a stop. I clap both hands over my eyes.

  “Don’t move,” Rafa says. After a few moments, I hear the passenger door open and feel him reach for my hand and arm. I allow him to ease me out of the car.

  “Get out…slow. Good. Now walk. I won’t let you fall.”

  We gingerly take several steps, and Rafa squeezes my arm.

  “Stop. Okay. You can look.”

  We’re standing at the bottom of a staircase leading to a sleek, small jet.

  “Rafecito? Where are we going?”

  He kisses my temple and slings an arm around my shoulder. “That’s the second part of the surprise. Let’s go.”

  Grinning, I bound up the stairs. Once inside the jet’s cabin, Rafa points to a camel-colored leather sofa along one wall of the plane.

  We settle in, and I throw my arms around him.

  “What…? Why?”

  “Tu no eres un romántico,” he teases in Spanish.

  “What? I’m not a romantic?”

  “It’s Valentine’s Day,” Rafa says.

  “Silly. I know that.” I ruffle his short hair. I’d bought Rafa a book of Pablo Neruda poems and have it wrapped and tucked in my purse. I’m not sure what I expected from him for Valentine’s Day—nothing, actually—but a trip away from St. Augustine in a private jet hadn’t crossed my mind.

  Excited by the thought, I giggle as the plane takes off, and a cabin steward serves champagne and chocolate-covered cherries. Even though I grew up well off, it was nothing like the wealth that Rafa has at his disposal. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s the kind of lifestyle that could corrupt a woman forever.

  We’re only in the air for a couple of hours when we land.

  “It looks like an island.” I tap on his leg with my palm. I turn and peer out the window with big eyes. We’re obviously somewhere in the Caribbean, judging by the impossibly turquoise water that isn’t far from the airstrip.

  It’s been years since I’ve taken a proper vacation. Usually my scarce time off is scheduled a few days before or after journalism conventions.

  We disembark onto the tarmac where a waiting employee points us to a building.

  “I still don’t know where we are,” I whisper to Rafa, who can’t stop grinning.

  When the automatic door to the terminal opens, I see the sign: PROVIDENCIALES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.

  “Rafa, we’re in the Turks and Caicos!” I squeal. Normally I never squeal.

  “I know, mi corazón. I know.”

  The next hour is a blur. Immigration, customs, the caress of humid air on my skin. A limousine and a half-hour drive. As the limo pulls through a resort gate, I whisper the name of the place: Amanyara.

  We pull up to an unusual-looking building with a round roof and an impeccably Zen-landscaped exterior with lush hedges and rock formations. I worry for a moment that I haven’t anything appropriate to wear, but I remember that Rafa had packed a bag for me before whisking me out of the office at midday.

  “Have you been here before?” I ask as we walk inside the lobby, which is decorated in shades of white and tan, with a thatched roof and minimalist furniture.

  He shakes his head. “Never.”

  I don’t pay attention as Rafa handles
the details of check-in. Instead, I wander around the reception pavilion, looking out the open windows at the vast blue ocean afar.

  Rafa waves me over. “Justi. Let’s go to our villa.”

  An efficient-looking man in a crisp white polo shirt and tan pants walks us through the common areas: a stunning infinity pool, an open-air bar in an elegant thatched hut, the beach club, a library… I’m overwhelmed by the simple luxury of it all.

  When we arrive at our accommodation, I actually gasp at the graceful, airy beauty of the decor.

  The pavilion is perched above a reflecting pool, with a view of the ocean only about twenty feet away. The interior is styled in teak, taupe, and cream hues. But the most stunning thing are the windows—floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides that slide open to allow for oneness with nature. It’s at once a private wilderness escape and open to the entire world. The only sound I can hear is the ocean and a few distant birds.

  It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.

  I stand on the deck, marveling at the sky and the water while Rafa tips the hotel employee. Rafa walks up and presses his chest to my back, wrapping me in his arms.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs.

  “Look at the water, Rafa. And the sky.” I motion toward the horizon with my finger. “The way they reflect each other. They’re each a different hue. One blends into the other, and you don’t know where the sky ends and the water begins. They’re one.”

  “Like us,” he says, taking my hand and gently pulling me to the platform bed in the middle of the room.

  With a maddening slowness, Rafa removes my shoes, kisses up my legs, and slides off my lacy black panties. I kneel on the bed, and he moves behind me to unzip my black sheath dress and undo my bra.

  The humid air washes over my naked body and makes me feel loose, supple. I undress Rafa, and for several long moments, we kneel next to each other, kissing and caressing.