Before You Were Mine

by Heidi Lowe

  I growled in frustration. She still didn't get it. "I didn't want to spend my Sunday with you...I want to spend every day with you."

  Once the words were out there, I felt a huge weight lift, a burden I realized I'd been carrying around for a while. Still, it didn't make it any less embarrassing to stand before her and speak my truth.

  Slowly, a smile broke out on her face, and her eyes were the softest I'd ever seen them, watery. She stepped closer to me.

  "Well that's good to know, because I want to spend every day with you," she said.

  Now we were both smiling, nerves making us tremble.

  "This is crazy," I said.

  "I know. I'm going to kiss you now." She pressed her lips to mine without waiting for the go ahead – she must have known she would undoubtedly get it.

  This time, the couch wouldn't suffice; this time we meant different things to each other, and the setting had to be perfect.

  Unable to keep our hands off each other, getting upstairs to her bedroom took much longer than necessary, as we stopped on the stairs several times to kiss, caress, and rip bits of our clothes off, leaving a trail of them behind us.

  This time I had no alcohol to fuel my actions, to provide dutch or any other kind of courage. But I didn't need it; not anymore, and not with her. I wanted this more than anything.

  Just like before, she led the way, ridding us both of the remaining items of clothing as we climbed onto her bed. I paid no attention to her room, my surroundings, and focused only on her. The beauty of the female body, of her curves, her pert breasts that had defied age and gravity.

  She let my hands roam and wander, like I was seeing everything for the first time. Her nipples hardened beneath my touch, and when she lay on her back, I brought my mouth down on each of them in turn.

  Her staggered breathing, and the light, little moans she released were encouraging, reassuring. I wanted to be good – great – for her; unforgettable the way she was for me. I wanted to be better than the rest – the Sarahs and the other tattooed rebels who'd been at this thing forever.

  As I graduated from her breasts to her stomach and finally to the doorway to heaven between her thighs, I stopped second guessing myself and let nature take its course.

  She'd seen me at my most intimate, and now it was my turn to see her, revel in how vulnerable she was with my face buried in her crotch. She clutched my hand in hers as I let my tongue penetrate and traverse her sex. I had no real rhythm going, but one goal in mind: to make her climax louder than anyone ever had. Even if I failed, I was going to have so much fun trying.

  Once that goal was set, and I ramped up my efforts, her moans rose in volume and frequency; her grip on my hand tightened.

  I knew when she started speaking that I'd hit the spot...many times, as it turned out.

  "You have a wonderful tongue."

  "That's it, right there."

  "I'm going to come all over your face if you're not careful."

  It always surprised me how dirty she got during sex. The dirtier, the sexier, as far as I was concerned. Her breathless words only made me wet.

  Her promise to cover my face in her sap, however, didn't happen. She stopped me before I could take her that far. She pulled me up to her level for a kiss, and slowly turned the tables on me, laying me on the bed and taking over. She climbed on top of me, pressed her full weight down, and we kissed again, breasts aligned and joined. I loved the feel of her on me, and the joy of the unexpected, not knowing what she would do with me next.

  I couldn't have predicted any of it. How she lifted my thigh, pressed it to her stomach, and positioned herself between my legs as though sitting on a horse, making our sexes meet. Nor could I have known how vocal I would get when her steady thrusts against me created cripplingly delicious friction.

  As she fingered my nipples and rocked back and forth between my legs, I whined and cried out in ecstasy, sensing that a powerful orgasm was close. We hadn't even been going long.

  Roaring and jolting through my body, it felt like a dozen orgasms rolled into one. And when hers came, within seconds of mine, I felt that, too.

  When she collapsed beside me, panting just as much as I was, I reached for her hand, we turned to look at each other, and identical smiles spread across our faces.

  An hour later, the smile hadn't left my face. I sat up in bed, bed sheet pulled up to my chest, covering my modesty. She'd been gone only a minute, but I already missed her.

  She returned my smile when she entered the room with water. She set the glass on the bedside table, leaned in to steal a kiss from me, before being dragged back into bed. She chortled as I devoured her, pulling her under the covers and kissing her everywhere.

  "You're crazy," she said when I finally let her go.

  "About you, yes."

  "When you called and said you were coming round, I didn't think the night would end like...this."

  I took a sip of water before handing her the glass. "Neither did I. I didn't know I would be so honest tonight."

  "What made you?"

  I looked at her, my face serious. "Because I couldn't stand seeing you with Sarah. Green isn't a good color on me."

  She stared at me for a moment, then slowly pressed her lips to mine. A nonverbal declaration that I was foolish for being jealous of Sarah, and even more foolish for not coming clean about my growing feelings for her.

  "Seeing as I'm being honest, I want you to know something else," I said when our lips parted ways. "Since our first night together, I've barely thought of anything else."

  This made her chuckle. "Ahh, so that's what all of those longing glances my way were about."

  My face must have been bright red, I could feel it burning with embarrassment. "Did I do that? Oh my God!" I covered my face with my hands. "You must have thought I was a tease."

  She took my hands away and replaced them with the sweetest, softest kisses to my face, finishing off once more on my lips. I couldn't get enough of those kisses. It was as though, with each one, new life was being breathed into me.

  "I thought no such thing. You explained why you weren't ready to get serious with anyone, and I respected that. But, is that still the case now?"

  I shook my head emphatically. "No. I can't just put my life, my happiness, on hold simply on the off chance that there's someone significant in my past."

  The truth was, I could no longer justify waiting, denying myself a future over my speculative past. This was the only world I knew, and she was the only person I wanted to be with, everyone else be damned. Perhaps it was selfish of me to think this way, but in that moment I didn't care.

  "You won't feel that way forever," she said, her tone slightly dark.

  "I feel that way now, and that's all that matters." I kissed her as reassurance, though I wasn't sure if it did provide any.

  I dreamed for the first time that night since waking from my coma. I was wandering through a hospital, but it wasn't Oakwood General, it was somewhere else. The corridors were empty, cold, and dark. Wandering, but not aimlessly. I knew where I was going, though it terrified me when I finally got there.

  I pushed open a door and saw a woman lying in bed. She looked close to death: frail, pale, eyes bloodshot, several drips attached to her. The door opening made her look my way, and she offered me a faint smile, before beckoning me forward slowly, as though calling me to the grave. I didn't dare go to her, didn't take even a step closer. I opened my mouth to scream, but it came out quiet, muffled.

  I woke up with a start, shrouded in darkness. I heard Tiffany's steady breathing beside me and immediately felt better about my nightmare. I cuddled up to her, and tried to get the image of the dying woman out of my head in order to get back to sleep, but never managed to. Because although I had no idea who she was or how she fit into my new life, I was certain I hadn't simply conjured her up. A ghost from my past.

  "I'm surprised you can stand playing for fun when you do this for work," Mrs Howlett said when she rejoined
me in the living room. She'd just gotten back from her trip to Illinois to see her children, and had returned in such a foul mood I'd had to play a tune from her favorite movie (Gone With the Wind) to calm her down. Now it was three in the afternoon and she'd broken out the "good brandy".

  She handed me a glass.

  "I can't get enough of playing. It's almost like breathing for me," I said. I took a sip of the brandy, but immediately started coughing. Too strong. I set it down on the piano. "Was it really that bad with your children?"

  "Yes," she said tartly, and took a huge gulp from her glass, which had double the contents of mine. "Wretched, good for nothing little creatures. It's all me, me, me with them. The grandkids are no better. I still can't believe I made them."

  Although I sympathized with her, I was way too excited about the unexpected yet wonderful turn my Monday had taken. Putting on a disingenuously sad face wasn't easy when I was bursting with joy.

  "Here's a tip for you: never have children. And if you're ever unfortunate enough to find yourself with child, consider all the options!"

  I laughed. "You don't mean that, surely. You must have enjoyed at least some part of motherhood?"

  "Sure...right at the beginning, before they could talk, argue back, and disappoint me. Those days are long gone."

  "Well it's highly unlikely that I'll ever find myself accidentally with child. Try impossible."

  She frowned, searching my face for the details to uncover my cryptic message, details I was brimming to give her.

  I couldn't hold it in any longer. I was so happy, still reeling from our love-making and the cuddling thereafter, that I didn't even think about how Mrs Howlett might react.

  "It's early days, as in not even a whole day old, but Nurse Tiffany and I are...seeing each other."

  She gaped at me, blinked a couple of times, then smiled slowly. "When did that happen?"

  "Last night."

  "So you're gay? I can't say I didn't see that coming."

  "What?" She saw it coming? How? I didn't even know it was coming, nor did I know for sure what my sexuality was.

  She chuckled. "You two were spending a lot of time together. If I'm being honest, I thought you were already an item. I didn't buy that just good friends thing for a second."

  It mattered to me what she thought, perhaps because I considered her a friend. No, more than that, a mother figure, someone who'd looked out for me from the start. My question, "So what do you think?" came out cautious, hesitant, as though I was afraid she would condemn my fledgling relationship.

  "Who cares what I think? But if you must know..." For the longest beat she didn't speak, then she leaned over, patted my hand and said, "I'm very happy for you. You couldn't have chosen a nicer person than Nurse Tiffany. They don't make them like that anymore."

  When she left me alone, I smiled to myself, as I had been doing all day, and all of last night while I lay beside my new lover. I must have looked silly, goofy, but it was worth it. I guess happiness can have that effect on a person.

  Although it had been merely a few hours since we'd seen each other, I already missed her. When I retrieved my phone to call her, my heart jumped for joy upon hearing the new voice message she'd left. It seemed I hadn't been far from her thoughts either.

  "So I can't stop thinking about you, and I realize now that I probably should have asked you to stay another night, because waking up beside you in the morning is like a dream come true... I guess what I'm trying to say is, would you like to come over for dinner tonight?"

  Yes, of course, I couldn't wait to see her again.

  Beaming from ear to ear, I'd begun picking out my outfit before the recording had even finished. When I did return her call and inform her how delighted I was, I held off telling her that I would take up permanent residence in her house if she let me! That would have been coming on too strong. It was clear we were crazy about each other, but I didn't want her thinking I was actually crazy!

  EIGHTEEN

  I raided the closet looking for something to wear, with the idea that, by the end of the night, my outfit would end up on Tiffany's bedroom floor. Or kitchen floor. Or bathroom floor this time. We'd christened every room in her house – more than once – in the six weeks that we'd been seeing each other; no room was off limits.

  The panties I settled on were my fanciest pair: red and frilly, purchased in a sale. They fit perfectly, and had gone down a treat the first time I'd worn them to see her. A naughty smile crept to my lips as I recalled her sliding them down my thighs.

  Tonight we were going to pig out on homemade pizza, for which I still had to buy the ingredients.

  My cellphone beeped from the bed, and with lightning speed I rushed to check the text message. Tiffany was the only person who sent them, so I knew it was her.

  I grinned as I read her confession about being excited to see me, and her hope that I didn't burn the pizza the way I did the last meal I'd tried to cook for her – an ambitious pasta dish that had ended up nearly burning her kitchen down! She suggested that, just for a change, we spend the evening at the guesthouse – dine with Mrs Howlett and keep her company.

  That was how every day had been in our whirlwind romance: every day, without fail, before I could beat her to it, she messaged me. Sometimes just to say hi, or to tell me a bad joke her niece or nephew had told her. Now I'd grown so accustomed to her texts, it would have worried me if she went a day without sending one. I liked knowing that I was on her mind, constantly, as she was on mine.

  The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked nothing like the one I'd first seen in the hospital, upon waking from a coma. For starters, my hair had grown, now falling down to my waist. It suited me better, I thought. The sparkle in my eyes was new, also, having only shown up within the past six or so weeks. That couldn't have been a coincidence.

  As I pulled on a pair of faded denim jeans and a baggy T-shirt that was two sizes too big for me, I concluded that the woman I'd been before turning up in Oakwood couldn't have been this happy. It wasn't humanly possible. Maybe that was the reason why getting my memory back wasn't high on my list of priorities now.

  "Is there anything else I need? What other ingredients go on pizza?" I said to Mrs Howlett, as we stood in the produce isle of our local grocery store. After I'd begged her and offered to write a role just for her in my musical, she'd agreed to help me make the pizza, though insisted I simply order them ready made instead.

  "Contrary to popular belief, you can have too many toppings. Six is more than enough."

  "You're the expert." I peered into our shopping trolley. "Do you think I should get more wine?" There were already three bottles – two white, one red.

  "Now that you can't ever have enough of," Mrs Howlett said with a grin. I wasn't so sure. She looked at me. "You're really going to a lot of trouble for tonight. What's the special occasion?"

  I shrugged as I wheeled the trolley towards the checkout till. "I'm not going to any trouble." I said this with the coyest smile.

  "Yes you are. You want everything to be perfect. Anyone would think you're about to propose..."

  A laugh burst out. "Proposing? We've been together six weeks. Not only is it way too soon to even think about that, I still don't have a surname!" The idea was so absurd it caused me to chuckle again and shake my head as I loaded the shopping onto the conveyor belt for the store clerk to ring up.

  "It's never too soon when you're in love," Mrs Howlett said with that omnipotent fortune teller air she put on every now and then to sound wiser than she was. "Listen to me. If anyone knows about marriage and proposing, it's me."

  "That's absurd," was all I said, and held back on pointing out that it probably wasn't a good idea to take relationship advice from a woman who'd been married six times, only been truly in love twice, and disliked all of her children.

  She'd given me something to think about, though. If what I felt for Tiffany wasn't love, I didn't know what was. Those butterflies that fluttered about in my
stomach whenever I thought about her, heard her voice, saw her smile... Infatuation may have looked similar, but it didn't feel this all-consuming. It was safe to say that she'd stolen my heart, had done so from the start, from that first day in the hospital. I'd envied the man I assumed had stolen hers. Now all of that was apparent, though it hadn't been at the time. I hadn't realized my feelings for her went far beyond admiration, or friendly affection.

  "You're smiling again." Mrs Howlett's voice invaded my thoughts, dragging me from my reverie.

  "Was I?" I said, totally unaware. She said I did that sometimes, just sat there smiling to myself. It was no use trying to convince her that I wasn't thinking about Tiffany. Fact was, only she got me to smile like that.

  She nodded, smirking knowingly. "Isn't love grand?"

  "Looks like I'll have to make two trips," I said, as Mrs Howlett and I lifted the grocery bags out of her trunk. Five in total. We'd gotten carried away with the drinks, as she'd added an extra two bottles of wine, just because.

  I insisted she go ahead with one bag and unlock the door, leaving me to lug the others in.

  All of a sudden, the fifteen-meter distance from the car to the guesthouse seemed dauntingly far with a million bottles of wine and food to feed a small army.

  I buckled under the weight, and the bags were about to fall out of my hands, when a miracle happened. He appeared out of nowhere, his muscular arms reaching out and catching the shopping just in time.

  "Whoa!" he said with a laugh. "That was close."

  Our eyes met. His were gentle, jade green with a pensiveness, or something similar, to them. But his smile was genuine. He was handsome in a devilish way, like a trickster who'd racked up a sizable collection of female hearts in his time. The beanie he wore suited the shape of his face to a T. The overgrown beard did nothing for him, however, made him appear older than his eyes suggested he was.

  "Thank you," I said, returning his smile and letting him take the bags from me. "My savior."