Drawn to You

by Natalie Vivien

  Red for the Vermilion paint smeared across the front of Ash’s white shirt, right where the hem lay against her smooth, tattooed skin…

  Focus, Molly.

  I breathe in and out, swallowing hard.

  The Rocky theme song suddenly, randomly, fills my head. I guess it’s appropriate, if a little out of context. I’ve never even seen Rocky, and likely never will. But the triumphant melody makes me feel stronger, more determined.

  I playfully punch a fist into the air—and then, off-balance, lose my footing and slide over the gravel driveway. But I catch myself on my hands before I fully fall.

  That’s a good sign, right?

  Biting my lip hard, I hope so.

  Because my prodigal ex-girlfriend and I have things to discuss.

  ---

  Juliette is lying naked on my bed.

  Well, mattress. I got rid of the bed frame at the yard sale, and I was tempted to sell the mattress, too, but Pauline talked me out of it. Don’t be a martyr, Mol, she said. Not for that lying, cheating—

  “Hi, baby,” Juliette drawls, stretching her arms luxuriously over her gleaming blonde head. “Hope you don’t mind. I got tired waiting for you to come home, and the air mattress is deflated. Figured I’d steal a couple of winks up here.”

  I stand in the doorway, one hand on my hip, the other scratching at the splintered wooden frame. “And your clothes…fell off? Disintegrated? Time-traveled without you? Got—I don’t know—reverse-raptured?”

  Her mouth curves up seductively. “It’s hot, baby. You know I always sleep au naturale when it’s hot.”

  I cross the room and flick on the tall oscillating fan in the corner. Then I stand awkwardly beside it, trying hard not to stare at Juliette’s extraordinary assets, and trying my best not to remember all of our kisses, not to ache for the shock of her cool body against mine...

  Just think of Ash, Molly. Think of Ash, and don’t let Juliette—

  “C’mere, baby.” Juliette pats the space beside her, blue eyes beguiling, coaxing. “Time for some pillow talk.”

  “I don’t think that’s—”

  “Hey, I won’t bite. Promise.” She holds up a hand as if she’s taking an oath, but then her first two fingers cross, and a slow-moving smile steals over her perfect face. “Well…not hard, anyway.”

  I loosen my tie, fold my arms over my chest and stare stubbornly at the ceiling. But I’m flustered, blushing from head to toe, and more than a little turned on. It’s not Juliette’s doing, but Juliette is here, and Ash is there. Juliette is naked, and shamelessly flirting. Lying in my bed.

  I wish I had a miniature Pauline sitting on my shoulder. She’d slice the sexual tension with a cutting one-liner, coach me on all the right things to say, remind me of the terrible things Juliette has done so that I wouldn’t second-guess, wouldn’t long for her red, red mouth, wouldn’t pine to trail my fingers through her short, silky hair…

  “You really want to sulk over there in the corner? You could just as easily sulk next to me, Molly. It’s late. You must be exhausted. Come… Rest.” She slides away from the center of the mattress and onto the left-hand side, her side. Pathetically, I still sleep on the right side of the mattress, even though Juliette has been gone for two months.

  Sometimes, in the middle of the night or the early morning—Juliette loved morning sex—I wake up and reach for her, clutching at the ghost of her… And then my heart cracks all over again. And the pain is too much to bear, so I don’t bear it. I just get up and get busy, numbing my mind, Novocaining my heart.

  Because, for all of my words to the contrary, I’m not over Juliette. I thought I was. Maybe I almost was. But now that she’s back…

  I mean, she left me so unexpectedly.

  I still loved her. I never fell out of love with her.

  But loving Juliette is like loving a star. She’ll burn you up if you get too close, if you hold on too tight. And I want someone I can hold not just skin to skin but heart to heart. Mind to mind.

  And, as New-Agey as it sounds, soul to soul.

  “Baby?” Her golden brows knit together, forehead creased. I know this expression, the hurt-little-girl face. Manipulative and adorable, it always worked on me.

  Still does, apparently, because I sigh heavily and then walk toward my side of the mattress, seating myself gingerly on the edge, arms still crossed.

  I am exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically. But I’d be lying if I claimed that was the only reason I’m sitting here now. I need closure. I need one last hug. I need a promise to remain friends. Because we were great friends; we argued a lot, sure, but for the most part, we got along like wine and Cheez-Whiz, a bizarre but somehow delicious pairing.

  Or…maybe that’s just the story I told myself.

  The truth is…Juliette always had a wandering eye. I doubt that her Paris liaison was the first time she cheated on me—but it was the first time she openly admitted it. And her admitting it made it real.

  I used to ignore her flirtations with the other actresses in her company. I used to tell myself that she was just an affectionate person. She liked to make people feel wanted—but she wouldn’t step over the line. She wouldn’t betray me…

  And then she did. Proving what Pauline had warned me about all along. I was just a plot device in the play of Juliette’s life. The wronged woman. One unwitting slope of a secret lesbian love triangle. And I didn’t know it before, just contented myself with being an extra, but I think—no, I know—I want a lead role. I want to be a co-star.

  Juliette would never, will never give me that sort of power. She will never make herself vulnerable enough to share top billing, not with me.

  I grip my head in my hands, hair falling over my face.

  Calm down, Molly. It’s okay.

  It’s neither good nor bad. It just is.

  We are who we are.

  And I realize now with a sad, sinking finality that we were both holding each other back, forcing ourselves into ill-fitting molds—never quite comfortable, never truly happy.

  We just…don’t match.

  I turn to tell Juliette that, stringing together the proper words in my mind—

  And then she pushes me down against the pillow and kisses me.

  “God, I’ve missed you, baby,” she breathes against my neck, nibbling lightly—and then not so lightly. Her hands deftly unknot my tie, in one motion looping it around my wrists, and then she tears open the top of my shirt, her mouth hot against my bared collarbones.

  “No, Juliette…” I struggle to free my hands, flinging the tie to the floor. “Juliette, we’re supposed to talk—”

  “This is how we talk, remember?” Her mouth claims mine, soft tongue flicking against my tongue, hungry and possessive…and something else, something new: desperate.

  “No. This isn’t how we talk anymore,” I say softly, no longer aroused. I’m simply sad. Gently, I press my palms against Juliette’s shoulders and ease her away, back onto her knees. I sit up, too, shoving tangles from my eyes and staring at my hands in my lap.

  “Baby—”

  “Juliette, you left me for another woman. You broke our trust.” I try to rebutton my shirt, but the buttons have all popped off and lie like casualties between us. My chest rises and falls in a soul-deep sigh. “You broke us.”

  She bristles, crossing her arms at her narrow waist. “Molly, don’t be so dramatic. I’m supposed to be the actress here.”

  “You are the actress, Juliette. You’ve been acting offstage for years. I just…didn’t want to see it. I wanted to believe—so much—that you really loved me. I blinded myself—”

  “I did love you, baby! I do!” She crawls to my side and curves around me, one arm wrapped around my middle, one leg swept over my hips. “I did a horrible thing, Molly. I admit it. I was weak… I was stupid. I just… I wanted one last adventure before—”

  “Before you married the boring old ball and chain?”

  “I never thought of you that w
ay.” She tucks her head beneath mine, sighing lightly. “Never. I just… I’m all screwed up.” Her voice breaks, and she whimpers a little. “I’m so sorry, Molly.”

  My heart seizes. I lift an arm, poised to embrace her, but then I let it fall back against the mattress like dead weight. What if she’s only manipulating me? What if she’s only pretending remorse?

  I don’t know…

  Maybe she’s genuinely regretful.

  But I can’t let her break my heart again.

  I rest my chin against her shining head of hair and breathe her in—for, I know, the last time. She smells different than I remember… Maybe her French girlfriend bought her some pricey Parisian perfume. Tears sting my eyes; I blink them away and bite my lip, aching but determined. “Honey…”

  She draws back and gazes hopefully at me, her blue eyes large and wet and shining.

  I take her hand.

  “Juliette.”

  “Yes, baby.”

  Swallowing the softball-sized lump in my throat, I whisper, “I loved you with every cell in my body. I loved you so much that it hurt. I couldn’t imagine living a life without you—”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, Jul. I do.” I cup the side of her face as fat, star-quality tears begin to roll from her china-doll eyes.

  They’re real tears, though, because this isn’t “pretty” crying, as she used to call her fake-tears performances. This is “ugly” crying; her cheeks are splotchy, her eyes veined with red. She hiccups and gasps and tugs at my open shirt, snaking one cool arm between the fabric and my body to press desperately against my skin, fingers fumbling with my bra—

  “No, Juliette.”

  “Please…” She pulls her arm back and lowers her face into her hands, fully sobbing. “I tried to be faithful. I really did! It’s just so hard… And now you hate me—”

  “I could never hate you, honey.” Now I do embrace her, holding her soft, shaking form tight against my chest. “I’ll always love you—just not like I loved you before. I can’t, Jul. I really can’t. When you left, I almost… If Pauline hadn’t been there for me…”

  Juliette makes a sharp, choking-laughing sound. “Pauline poisoned you against me, didn’t she? She always despised me. She always wanted you to give me up.”

  “No.” I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. I cough roughly into my hand. “No,” I say again. “I made this decision myself. I sold all of our things in a yard sale. I want to start over—not just romantically, but in every way. I want…a new life. New dreams.”

  She lifts her head then, regarding me with miserable, gleaming eyes. “Why can’t your new dreams include me, Molly? Am I such a terrible person? Didn’t I make you feel really good?”

  I smile sadly and nod, sighing out. My fingers absently stroke her bare back, following the familiar curves of her shape. “You made me feel so good, Jul. And…so bad.”

  The red line of her mouth droops, even as her blue gaze glistens. “Let me try again. Let me get it right this time—”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Is it because of that woman? The one who was here last night? Who is she, Molly?”

  “This has nothing to do with anyone but you and me. I just… I’m sorry.” I smooth her yellow hair back from her forehead and then lean forward to kiss her there. I’m trembling. I’m missing her all over again, even though she’s still here with me. Even though I’m calling the shots this time.

  I don’t blink back my tears; I let them fall in rivulets, obscuring my sight. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my body…

  For a long moment, we hold one another, each of us quietly sobbing, lost to our grief.

  She curls my hair around her fingers, crying into the damp, dark strands.

  I drag a deep, humid breath into my lungs and wipe my face. Despite the present wretchedness, I’m grateful that she came back. I’m glad that we had this chance to say good-bye.

  “Well, I won’t beg,” Juliette whispers, pulling back from me and gathering up the sheet to cover her naked skin. Her eyes flick toward me, looking pained, and then focus on some point far off. “But…”

  “What, Juliette?” I ask, so tired that I lean back against the wall and tilt my head in her direction. My eyes are blurry and sore, and my limbs feel as if they’re stuffed with concrete bricks.

  “I have nowhere to go. And…” She makes a worried face, chewing on her lower lip. “No money.”

  “Oh.” I exhale, plucking my abused buttons up from the mattress and holding my shirt closed with one hand. I guess I’d been expecting this. I mean, I figured she had nowhere to go; that’s why I agreed to let her stay here last night. And for as long as I have known her—and despite, or because of, her expensive tastes—Juliette has been perpetually broke.

  “My girl—I mean, um… Jeanne ran off with everything I had, disappeared in the middle of the night from our hotel. Luckily, I still had my passport and a return plane ticket, but… That’s it.” She shrugs, smiling slightly, letting the sheet fall down to her lap to artfully expose her breasts. “I suppose you think I deserved it.”

  I shake my head and stare hard into her eyes, trying to find in them the woman I had loved, the woman she had seemed to be... Unsettling how someone can, in such a short amount of time, become a perfect stranger. “No. I don’t. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

  “Not even me? After what I did to you?”

  “No one.”

  Her eyes well with fresh tears, but she turns her face away from me and sniffles quietly. “Thanks, Molly.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and speak quickly, before I have the chance to regret my words. “You can sleep on the air mattress for a few more days, Jul, but you’ve got to try to find someplace else to stay. And I could loan you some money if—”

  “I was thinking…” Her too-blue eyes flash. “Maybe I could crash at the cottage. That way, I’d be out of your hair, and I’d get to sleep on a real bed—that air mattress could be categorized as cruel and unusual punishment—and then—”

  “You can’t stay at the cottage.” My blood pressure leaps; I begin to feel a little faint. I don’t want to tell Juliette why—

  “Why?” she asks.

  Again, I close my eyes.

  It shouldn’t matter; it’s just information, facts. So there’s a woman renting the cottage… Big deal. But it is a big deal to me. And I don’t want Juliette to pick up on that. I don’t want her to guess, or assume, or wonder.

  One glance at her, though, tells me it’s far too late to prevent her shrewd speculations. She has always claimed that she descended from a long line of psychic women—apparently, her great-grandmother did Tarot readings in an Episcopal church basement—and I kind of believe it: she has an uncanny knack for reading my mind.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” she says, her voice low, hostile. “That woman from last night. You let her move in—”

  “She’s renting, Juliette. I needed the extra money after you left, to cover your half of the mortgage.”

  “Of course you did. And you chose her amongst all of the hopeful applicants. The flaming lesbian.” She gives me a bitter smirk. “So. Are you having sex with her yet?”

  I flush Quinacridone Red, glaring in the direction of the bare window. The sky is black beyond, and a few summer stars, barely visible, twinkle blue and white. Suddenly I wish I were strolling beneath their dim light, walking, maybe, toward Ash’s door, or just away… Walking anywhere away from this room, from this moment. “I can’t believe I have to say this… But that’s none of your damn business, Juliette.”

  Now it’s her turn to change color—though she goes pale with fury rather than red with shock. “You are sleeping with her. God, Molly, I didn’t know you had a fetish for white trash. Hey, I hear there’s a tractor pull at the fairgrounds this weekend. Maybe you two could get all gussied up and enjoy a formal evening—buy one of those beer-hats-built-for two?”

&
nbsp; “What the hell?” I try to exit the mattress gracefully, but I end up toppling over the side, my unbuttoned shirt sliding onto my face, exposing my stomach and my wounded pride. “Why are you being like this, Juliette? You’re the one who—”

  “I’m the one who came back—groveling—only to find out that my future wife has thrown off her panties for some disgustingly tattooed biker chick! How do you think that makes me feel?”

  From my seated position on the floor, I smile disbelievingly, breathing hard through my nose, like a bull in a ring. I remember some sitcom where an angry kid was encouraged to count to ten whenever he felt upset, to give his rage some time to cool off. Worth a shot, I guess.

  Mentally, slowly, I count to ten.

  Nope, still furious.

  I try twenty. And then thirty…

  “Look,” I begin, gritting my teeth, “I have done nothing to intentionally hurt you. I didn’t leave you; you left me. I never cheated on you—”

  “Yeah, well, I wish you had. Then you might not be so high and mighty, so superior, when the truth is, Molly,” Juliette seethes, rising up on her feet to loom over me in backlit, naked glory, “you were lucky to have me. And you’ve obviously lost your mind if you’re really and willing to kick me to the curb for that, that…” She searches for a word, waving her hands dramatically over my head. “That woman,” she finishes weakly, and then it’s as if all of the fire and air has gone out of her. She sinks down to her knees and crawls over to me, her face blanched white and level with mine.

  I watch, confused, as her lower lip begins to tremble.

  “I can’t lose you, Molly. I…I lied. Jeanne didn’t leave me. I left her. I just…missed you. And I was too proud to tell you that before, but it’s the truth, I swear it.” She sags, folding over herself until she’s crouched in a ball, like a frightened child. “I hate myself for what I’ve done to us. I…hate myself.”

  “God, Juliette,” I groan, reaching for her, gathering her close against my chest and slowly rocking back and forth. “Listen, what’s done is done, okay? We can’t change the past. We can’t change ourselves. We’ve got to just go on. And…” I take a deep breath and pat her back gently. “We’ve got to go our separate ways. It’s the best choice—for both of us.”