Ripped

by Olivia Rigal

  My mind is too foggy from lack of sleep so I give up and ask, "Who are you talking about?"

  The door bell rings and Oliver turns around without answering. He walks out leaving the bedroom door ajar.

  I hear him open the door and say, "She's in Ten's room... don't ask me. I don't know. I don't care, I'm going back to bed... Oh and Happy New year."

  Now I'm wide awake and there's this bubble of hope that grew out of nowhere. The only other person I could owe an explanation to is Alexander. Could it be him? I want to run out of bed to check it out but I'm naked. Instead of running, I close my eyes and pray. When I open them again, the door is open wide.

  "Is it really you or am I having a dream?" I ask sitting up with the quilt wrapped around my bust.

  "Waddaya think?" he asks. He smiles, walks in the room and closes the door behind him.

  "If you're not a dream, I think you should lock it," I say.

  He chuckles and turns around to twist the little knob in the door handle. He drops his bag on the floor and his coat on Ten's desk. He takes three steps to the bed and sits facing me. I run the tip of my fingers on his face to make sure I'm not dreaming that he's really here. It's much more pleasant than pinching myself.

  I want to be mad at him and yell, "Your brother is my roommate. Andrew told you I had your baby and yet you did not reach out to me. Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you write?" but the only think I say in a whisper is, "I've missed you so much."

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and draws me to him. His lips reach mine and I'm whole again. His kiss is so tender, even more than before. Or maybe I forgot. I feared I had lost him forever. I want to be his, whichever way he wants me. I hold on to him with all my strength. I'm filled with an irresistible need of him.

  My hands are on his belt and then on the zipper of his pants. I feel his legs moving. He's kicking off his shoes. He breaks the kiss to pull away his sweater. He pushes his pants down and tears open a condom that looks like it just magically appeared out of nowhere.

  I scoot over to the center of the bed to make room for him. He gets under the quilt and positions himself over me. He buries his face in my neck and thrusts himself inside me. I gasp. It hurts. My head is more ready than my body. He freezes for an instant and waits until he feels me relax. When I do, he stops holding back, he thrusts into me once, twice and the third time he roars "You're mine, all mine." Then he shudders and crumbles in my arms. Frustration doesn't even begin to describe what I feel right now.

  I must have growled because he laughs and apologizes. "Sorry Love, I couldn't hold on. I promise, after I get some sleep, I'll make it up to you."

  He tries to roll to his side but I hold on to him, "Please stay," I pray. "I need you right here."

  "I'm not crushing you?" he asks.

  "Yes you are but I love it. It makes me feel alive again," I answer. That gets a chuckle out of him. I'm glad someone's finding my frustration amusing. I'm finding it... frustrating. He relieves me of some of the pressure by leaning on his forearms. I look at his face and run my hands through his hair. It's much shorter than last year. Gone is the thick dark mane I could grab onto. "What happened to your hair?"

  "In October I shaved it," he says.

  "Why would you do that?" I'm curious. I know the man's a little vain and I don't see why he would give up his beautiful head of hair.

  Looking a bit sheepish, he confesses, "It was a promise I made to myself. When you vanished I promised myself that if you came back, I would sacrifice my curls."

  "Oh, that is so incredibly sweet," I say pulling his face down to mine. I kiss the tip of his nose and his eyes and his chin and finally I nibble on his lower lip. He's almost forgiven for his thirty second fiasco. "I've never stopped being yours, even if I failed you."

  "Why do you think you failed me?" he asks.

  "Because I let them take your daughter away from us," I say. My eyes are filling up with tears and I blink to chase them away. I want today to be a happy day but still I can't help myself so I tell him, "I'm so, so sorry, I tried as hard as I could to fight for her but I failed you, I failed her, I failed myself."

  "Shush. We still have each other and we can make another baby anytime. Just say the word and we'll do it."

  "Really?"

  "Really but I have a confession to make," he says. I study his face as he searches for his words. I have no idea what he's going to say.

  "Love, you have to understand that your baby, I'm sorry, our baby, is an abstraction for me. I never saw her, I never even saw you while you were pregnant. Hell, I didn't even know you were pregnant before Andrew told me about it in October. I just knew you had vanished while I was on tour."

  He stops and thinks. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that no matter how much I care for you, I can't really share your grief."

  He rolls to his back and I rest my head on his shoulder as I try to wrap my mind around his explanation. The logical part of my brain accepts that what he says makes sense. He can't miss Eve when he's never even seen her. She's can't be as real to him as she's real to me. Still, I'm hurt that he doesn't share my grief. It creates a distance between us. Ten understands and he mourned the loss of the baby with me. Why can't Alexander feel anything for her?

  I scold myself and think that, on the plus side, he's also saying he's ready to be a father if I want another child. I need to sleep on it because I can't think after only five hours of rest. Obviously he needs to sleep as well because he's already snoring. I close my eyes and go back to dreamland.

  I smile thinking that when I'll wake up I'll be cashing a ... sperm check?

  Chapter Twelve

  I'm happy. My life is perfect. I'm almost afraid to think that. I fear I'm going to jinx myself.

  Well, it's perfect if I don't think about Eve. I still think of her everyday but I'm learning to deal with the pain and to let go of my anger against the Bitch. Anger and hate are too energy consuming and there are so many more productive things I can do with my life.

  So yes, my life is perfect. I have a job I love, I've got a home, a real home. Not just somewhere I go at night to sleep. I have a place I belong to where I spend time with my family. It's an odd family made up of four fabulous guys I'm differently crazy about.

  There's Ten of course. He's a little less available these days because now that he finished his term finals, he's making up for lost time with his downstairs lover. He's not brought the guy back home yet and won't tell us his name but I got the dirt from the doorman. Giovanni is a model and a would-be actor who lives most of the year in Italy. I don't know what to think of Ten being so protective of his relationship. Could it be that he's in love or, just the opposite, that they're just sex pals?

  Then there's Oliver. He works and studies like a mad man. He's changing departments again soon and is still undecided about what specialty he'll pick. I'm rooting for obstetrics but that's because it would suit my own personal agenda. It would be nice to have an OBGYN on call at home because we're trying to have a new baby. An emergency specialist would be cool too.

  The cute little intern we met in December has come back a couple of times but so have a few others. As far as we're concerned they're all called "Babe." It makes our life easier. Some days I think he takes the concept of rotation through the hospital too literally.

  There's also Andrew, Alexander's brother who still apologizes profusely for the way he behaved on New Year's eve. He denies ever seeing me naked in the shower and argues that it was the liquor talking. I'm not so sure but I've let it slide. He's made the resolution to stop drinking anything stronger than beer. I tell him to study to become a detective or a sergeant. I keep nagging him because he says he's not happy. If he liked being a patrol officer I would leave him alone but he bitches about it all the time and doesn't do anything to change it.

  Last there's Alexander who moved in with us at the beginning of the year. He has to stay put in New York at least for the next three months doing studio work with his band befor
e he goes back on tour. He's very busy with recording sessions and I'm busy with work so we're not crowding each other.

  Right now I'm finishing this fabulous restaurant renovation project as the first assistant to Marc and he has decided that now that he's sixty he won't work on weekends anymore so my schedule is not as bad as when I started. I now get my weekends.

  Last Sunday I spent the day in the studio with Alexander. After everybody left we recorded the song we wrote together a little more than a year ago; just him at the piano and our two voices. I was so excited when I listened to us afterwards. I think the song is perfect with two voices. He needs to find a good female performer to put the song in his next album. We've got a date tonight but it's been a very long week and the only thing I really want to do is to go to bed and not hang out in some smoke filled bar.

  As I enter our place, I call out "Anybody home?" I go to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I'm very thirsty these days. I'm trying to remember if I was thirsty when I started expecting Eve. I don't remember but then I hadn't even realized I was pregnant then. The apartment is totally silent. Strange, usually on Fridays at 6 p.m. everybody's home. Maybe Alex's studio time got extended and he's taking advantage of the extra hours. That's cool, I'll nap and maybe then I'll be ready to party.

  I open the door to the bedroom and find Alex sitting at the foot of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. I close the door behind me, kick off my shoes and climb on the bed. I kneel behind him to massage his shoulders. The recording sessions can get very tense and this usually soothes him.

  "Hard day?" I ask.

  He stands up as if my hands were burning coals on his back. I look up at him. "What's wrong?"

  "Everything," he says with a defeated look that I've never seen on him.

  "Everything?" I don't understand.

  "Yeah, what part of everything don't you get?" he barks at me.

  I don't answer immediately but take a deep breath and count to ten in my head as I process what's being said. That's a trick Marc Martin taught me at work when he realized I had one single spontaneous reaction to aggression, I fought back. It's like I've spent all my 'flight' answers living with the Bitch. Now I will no longer retreat, I can only fight back with the rest of the world.

  Marc's method is working. I take my second breath and keep on counting in my head instead of screaming at him that everything can't possibly mean what's going on with the two of us. Alexander drops to his knees on the bed in front of me and puts his hands on my legs. He looks at me as if I'm a puppy he's dropping at the pound to be put down.

  "I'm so sorry Love," he says and my heart stops beating. Everything doesn't mean everything. It means us. My heart starts pumping again and the blood throbs in my temples. I open my mouth and gasp for air. I think that my soul just shattered in small pieces. He doesn't love me anymore. All my insecurities come back at the speed of light. Sure he's wanted me but no more. The only reason he's ever chased me was because I was the one that got away. I got away twice. He was really challenged because the second time I did get away in a spectacular fashion. Now, I'm here, all his, totally available, the magic has gone.

  I close my eyes and bite back the questions I want to ask. Were those weeks of total bliss for me, weeks of total hell for him? I won't say a word. I have to spare myself the humiliation. I want to run away and hide but I have nowhere else to go. This is my home, this is the place where I'm supposed to be safe. I thought his arms were my shelter. Was I totally blind? Why am I this stupid? I blink repeatedly to make sure I don't cry and press my lips together to remain silent. I'm afraid if I open my mouth I will howl. I swallow hard. I have to keep some dignity.

  "Say something Love," he says. I shake my head and sit back on my heels. If I can't run that means he has to go. I don't have the strength to ask him to leave.

  My hands are resting on my thighs and the only thing I can see is how big I am. It only takes a few seconds for the wave of sorrow to wash away all the self confidence my belief in Alex's love had given me. I don't have anything to say. If it's over, it's over. I'm not going to make a spectacle of myself.

  I barely hear him when he says, "I love you. I think I'll always love you. You're the sweetest woman I know and I don't want anybody else but you." The words reach my brain and they're not making any sense. I look up to his face. I don't understand. How could what we have be wrong if he feels that way about me? He must read the question in my eyes because he tells me, "It's this domestic life I can't deal with."

  I hear the explanation he's giving me but I don't believe him. It's not even been a couple of months since he's moved here. We've both been so active that there has been no time to create a boring routine. I understand the fear of the wear and tear of a relationship. I get it. Really I do. I know that the magic of the beginning eventually fades with the passion. I've always been a people watcher so I know this happens. I have no illusions. Curiously it seems that living with a wicked witch prevented me from believing in fairy tales. Unlike regular teenagers, I know happy-ever-afters are few and far between. But I believed we would have one because we were not ordinary people, because our love was deeper than most.

  I can't understand what the issue is. We're living very privileged lives. We both do something we love, we're both becoming successful at it and there's been no money issue. Just as Oliver and Andrew do, I pay my share of the maintenance and utilities to Ten and I've never asked Alex for a penny. There's no drudgery. How could he possibly be unable to deal with our domestic life?

  The only explanation is that he's having second thoughts about us having another child. He's scared of committing to me. He's scared by the responsibility of being a father. I just wish he would tell me the truth instead of taking the coward's way out and making up this stupid excuse. He gets up from the bed and I think he's going to leave but instead he goes to the door to lock it shut, takes his clothes off and then comes back on the bed next to me stark naked and obviously aroused. I want him so badly the idea of pushing him away barely registers in a far back corner of my mind. I know I should but it seems like the most absurd thing I could do right now. If this is our last time together I will take it and make the best of it. I'm pitiful.

  Tonight I have back in my bed the Alexander of the first night. He's trying really so hard to please me as if he wanted to spoil it for anybody after him. He's tender and delicate and so loving that his caresses are almost painful. There's not a single part of my body he doesn't explore and bring to life. Every cell tingles and catches on fire under his touch.

  He doesn't only take care of my body magnificently making up a hundred times for his return debacle, he messes with my brain as well by saying all the right things. All the words that I want to hear pass through his lips. He tells me how much he loves me. He swears he can't imagine how empty his life would be without me. He whispers that I have this magical power over him, that when I look at him I give him incredible strength and that it's only because I love him that he feels he can conquer the world. His words and his touch make me soar like I never soared before. I rise to heaven again and again and when I think I'm done and sated he lifts me up one more time and I let him. I don't ever want this night to end but at some point I can't keep my eyes open and I fall asleep in his arms holding on to him for dear life.

  A few hours later, I open my eyes. His guitar case is no longer tucked away behind the door. He's gone. On the nightstand there's a tiny blue square box and an envelope. A parting present? A goodbye note? I don't want to open them. I push them in the top drawer of my nightstand and slam it shut.

  I want to go back to sleep and believe, he's just gone out of town for a gig and he'll be back tomorrow. I roll to his side of the bed and bury my head in the pillow that smells like him. He said I was his harbor, if he really meant it he'll have to come back to me, won't he?

  Chapter Thirteen

  "What's wrong with this picture?" Marc asks me as he's paying the check for the meal we
barely touched. I know this is a test. If I pass, Marc is going to let me tackle my first take over. I'll be one of the new managers at Marc Martin Restaurant Extraordinaire, Inc.

  "What do you want me to start with?" I ask.

  He shrugs, "It's your show Lyv."

  Okay, it's sink or swim time. I warm up by stating the very obvious about the restaurant we just had a very unimpressive meal in. "First there's the location. This place is smack in the center of a very busy part of town. There's a great potential for lunch and happy hour. I'm not sure about dinner."

  Marc nods and I feel a little more comfortable when I go on. This is my world. I know how it works.

  "Second there's the decor. It stinks. It's horrible. I understand not every one shares my taste for bright and airy and that dark, intimate does have some charm but this is like a funeral home."

  Marc chuckles. He obviously agrees.

  I continue. "Without even turning bright lights on I can tell that the place should not pass sanitary inspection. Everything if filthy." I show him the color of my napkin. I used it to wipe the fold between the seat and the back cushion in our booth and you can tell no one's thought of cleaning it in like ... for ever. Marc makes a face and shows me his napkin. He's done the same on his side of the booth and it's just as revolting.

  I go on about the staff. "They're very obnoxious, actually they match the food. It's obnoxious too." Marc raises an eyebrow. I defend my choice of word. "Yes, food can be obnoxious when the presentation on the plate is a lot more interesting than the flavor of the content." That gets a half smile out my boss. I go on for a while more and there's no doubt in my mind the only thing this place has going for it is its location.