by K. M. Liss
“Hmm?”
“Thank you, and I'm so sorry. For everything.”
“It's okay. I just wish I'd known about all this. Dad and the girls never told me a thing.”
Actually, despite knowing this, it's not okay at all. But if I want things to get better between us I'm going to have to do some work. Hopefully she'll do some as well. We can meet half way, somewhere. Wherever that is. She's obviously starting to realize what she's done to me. There's hope on the horizon and that's a positive thought. The mother iceberg is beginning to thaw. I hope it continues to melt completely.
“Hmm, I may have influenced and misled the girls a little. I wasn't in the best of minds...and by the way...I really must apologize for throwing away all your clothes and possessions and changing the locks like that. It was a knee-jerk reaction after the reading of the will. I was so upset the way your father favored you yet again, way beyond the rest of us. Maria was distraught. She gave me a wicked tongue lashing, you know?” She smiles through her snuffles.
“Good old Maria. Sticking up for me.” I smile in return.
“Feel free to come back. Whenever you like.”
“Maybe I will. I'm staying with a friend just now, so I'll see. And Mom, I'm really glad we sorted this outside of court.”
“So am I, dear. Now then, love, I have to press on. I have a schedule. Come to dinner when you have time. Call me, won't you?”
I stand up and kiss her cheek, and she kisses mine back, albeit in a reserved fashion.
My head is reeling from being called “dear” and “love” by my mother for the first time ever.
I leave the room and speak to the Signor and the accountant briefly, explaining the arrangements I want to make. I tell him to sell everything my father owns, liquidate his company and give half to my family, in equal parts. He raises his lawyer eyebrows very highly at my expensive suggestion. But I really don't care if I've given away millions without a fight. I feel I'm being fair. Kind and generous. And having a taste of my mother's love is worth every last cent. It is what I have craved for so many years. I need to find out more about depression, though. I think Karen has a friend who suffers from depression. Maybe she can guide me in understanding it. I need to understand my mother more. Perhaps that could help restore our relationship?
I walk down the street and take the longer route across the busy square in a daze of happiness. I'm almost at the cafe before I know it, and I pull up short as I'm about to pass.
There's a tight hug going on. And a really smoochy kiss. And another long and very sexed-up kiss. And a lot of hand action. He's whispering in her ear and playing with her hair and smiling like an idiot. I storm up to her in a rage. All my good feelings have evaporated in a puff of jealous smoke.
She spots me and jumps out of their tight embrace in shock.
I poke her in the shoulder.
“Kate...?”
“Aaron....” She starts to say something...her face is a mixture of guilt and horrified realization that I've caught her out.
“Going out to buy food, huh? It looks more like sneaking out for some dessert to me.”
“I was, I mean, no it isn't...,” she flusters.
“Signor, It 'ees not...” he starts, but I don't let him finish.
Bastard...
“Fuck off out of it, you,” I snarl at him. It's all I can do not to shout.
And he does. The glare in my eyes and the fact I'm a good four inches taller and far better built than him, hastens his retreat.
I turn to face her. Her eyes are full of tears. Tears of guilt, I presume.
“So, what are we? What am I? A quick fucking session to get over your problems and you're back on course with your Latino model?”
Her eyes register hurt at my nasty comment. “Of course not. I was just saying goodbye for a while that's all.”
Rage begins to rise inside of me.
“Just saying goodbye for a while?” My angry voice rises in a mocking tone. “How sweet and touchy feel-y. And that's just fine by me.” And now it's dripping with raging sarcasm. I can't stop myself. My anger is erupting like an ice-cold volcano. “Why don't you stay for a 'while' longer, have some more coffee and bad English. You've been such fucking hard work, Kate. Getting you in bed after all that rape shit. I worked at that, and for what? Not much actually. It was pure crap, you know. Give me ten minutes and I'll be gone. My mother has more feelings for me than you do, you bitch.”
I storm off at a fast pace leaving her standing ashen-faced behind me. I'm completely torn up. I want to hurt her so badly. Because she's hurt me. More than I could ever say. And it didn't take her long at all, did it?
Fuck her! Shit. FUCK HER!
The fact she's been so lovely to me and given me somewhere to live is pushed firmly to the back of my mind right now.
I want to stab her in the heart. A hundred times.
HER
I'm dead inside. It feels like he's ripped my heart out and thrown it away like a piece of trash. I can't even cry because I'm so shocked. To bring up my past was beyond the pale. I can't believe this is the same man I was making love with a few hours ago.
Marco comes up behind me and puts his arm around my shoulders and hugs me tight.
“S'okay, he angry now. Leave him. Explain later.”
“Oh Marco....” I start to well up fast at the sound of his kind voice. “What's to explain? I was kissing you and hugging you, wasn't I? I know it was just goodbye, but you know how I feel about you. And now he knows, too. He saw all that, Marco. The whole us. How would Margarita feel, hmm?”
“Not good...but there is no 'us', Katie. That was real goodbye. I'm sorry, but no more us, because I too feel same for you. Come, sit down. Have glass of wine. To help feel better.” He settles me at a table and leaves me briefly to get me a large, full glass, bringing it back quickly and insisting I sip it while he watches.
He carries on with his job as I hold the glass in my unsteady hand. I'm miles away, the heat of shock coursing through me, tears dripping down my cheeks.
I've lost them both. Aaron and Marco. My lover and my friend. Just like that. All thanks to one unintentionally overheated goodbye kiss.
I play it all back in my head. Leaning in and saying, “Adio mio, Marco.” It was my sweet Italian goodbye. Kissing him chastely on the lips, wishing him well with Margarita. Telling him about Aaron. The happy little smile that appeared on his face when he knew that I'd found someone else, too. Then came the tight hug we both wanted and the sudden overwhelming need for another kiss, and then that final one which took us both by storm. It was definitely the whole nine yards of a goodbye forever. And shit...if Aaron had arrived a minute later, it would have all been over. Done and dusted. He need never have known about my intimate closure with Marco. And it means nothing going forward. That was goodbye to my past. I could kick myself right now. Our goodbye should have taken place in private, inside. Not that I'd planned on doing anything like that, or for it going that far at all.
Thinking all this through is not helping me. It just makes me cry all the more.
Through the blinding veil of tears coursing down my face I see a key placed on the table in front of me. I look up and watch him walk away. He doesn't look back. Not even once. This one small fact cuts me like a knife.
I don't even deserve one last look?
My whole world crumbles into pieces. I've just lost someone I really wanted and cared for. And it was completely my stupid, stupid fault. My timing is the worst in the world. I'm so useless and hopeless and don't think about things. The damage I accumulate so effortlessly stuns me.
I need to escape from this scene. I can still see him standing here saying all those painful things. I pick up the key and run home as fast as I can through the square. Luigi, from the bakery, is sweeping up outside, and he calls out and waves at me, but I ignore him and run past him sobbing like a lunatic. I don't care who sees the dreadful state I'm in. I fumble with the lock, desperate to get inside, and rus
h up to my room where I throw myself on my bed and sob myself to sleep.
It's almost dark when I wake. I get up and try and pull myself together. I take a deep breath as I stand under the shower. It wasn't a big love affair, I tell myself. He helped me through my problems. That's my silver lining in my dark hour. I can move on now. Find someone else when I've recovered from this. I harden my heart as best I can. I desperately want to call him, but I can't bear the thought of his cold voice on the other end. The fear of more rejection and heartache stops me doing it. I send a message. It’s a few short words. Civil and pleasant, with a hint of what I really feel.
So sorry. Keep the song. It's my gift to you. I hope it does well for her xxx
I wait for a reply and give up staring at my cell after an hour.
I sit in the dark, looking out of the window, hoping he'll come back and take me to Rome and everything will be wonderful again.
But he doesn't. He won't. And, it isn't.
I rearrange my flight to Las Vegas for the next day, let my mom know I'm coming, and then pack.
~ * ~
I'm up far too early and hang around until late morning. Finally the cab arrives and I get inside. I feel awful, absolutely shattered. Of course I wasn't tired after my long afternoon nap yesterday and spent a dreadful night tossing and turning with my mind and stomach churning over Aaron and the dreadful way it ended. I'm a bag of nerves and hovering on the edge of tears.
I sigh deeply and very sadly as I leave my Venice home.
So much has happened in the last few days. I can't believe it.
Aaron has swept in and out of my life like the wildest of storms.
Last time I came to Venice it all ended badly but this time it's so much worse.
This time I'm leaving part of my heart behind.
HIM
I sit miserably, watching the clouds pass by beneath me.
I'm such a jerk.
How the hell could I have said all that? Fuck...And about the rape as well? And that she wasn't worth the effort. And it was crap? God help me and my fucker of a tongue.
My head reels with my prize bastard words.
I feel sick with myself.
I really need to sort this out.
I've been replaying the scene over and over.
Even though it kills me to do it, I'm trying to understand.
Marco and Kate.
What are they?
She's obviously got some feelings for him, but I never asked. In fact, I ignored it completely.
But she's known him for a while, so she told me.
So I expect she would have some feelings.
That doesn't mean deep ones.
Maybe it really was a goodbye. And just a very emotional episode.
I didn't give her the chance to explain or even listen properly to what she said.
But one thing I do know. She has much stronger feelings for me.
Really strong ones. I can see it in her eyes and feel it in her touch.
I have no right to demand it, but I can't let her see him again.
Because I want her all to myself. No distractions in her mind.
I can't believe I'm actually thinking this.
It can't be me, can it? Contemplating having a real and “exclusive” relationship?
Fuck, how my world has changed over the past week.
My mindset has altered so much I'm starting to think I'm ill or suffering from stress-induced or emotional trauma of some kind.
I take a long, deep breath as I try to get my head in order. Back to how it was when I arrived in Venice.
I gather my old ways about me, those comforting only-me-to-worry-about ways where I felt safe and secure in my head.
I'll probably forget all about her in a few days. Out of sight, out of mind. I'm sure I won't miss her at all.
I recline my first-class lounger and shut my eyes resolutely, immersing myself in self-indulgent thoughts about what I'm gonna get up to when I get back. But I can't relax, sleep, or keep my mind in the me zone, and I'm not enjoying it for a second. Despite the very self indulgent thoughts that are running through my brain.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
Not myself obviously. I miss her with an acute pain already. It's like a sharp spear in my chest.
She's all I see and think about.
My head and heart are so full with her, she's about to spill over and run down me.
I'm soaked and saturated like I'm a sponge full of Kate.
And I can't squeeze her out and don't even want to.
And no, I'm damn sure she's not going anywhere, at all, anytime soon.
The plane lands with a heavy thump and it shocks me to my core. I can't stand plane landings. I'm a brave guy until I'm in the hands of a pilot approaching the runway. The two other first class passengers get up, and I eventually move my shocked ass, grabbing my carry-on and leave the plane.
I'm finally outside and I try to turn my iPhone on but the battery's dead.
There's a long line of yellow cabs waiting at JFK arrivals and I grab one and bark out my address. The cabbie wants to chat but I'm monosyllabic. I'm tired, overwrought, and so damn angry with myself. When he finally pulls up outside my place, I'm almost asleep. I pay him and give him a ten-dollar tip for my bad attitude. He smiles a gap-toothed smile and speeds away.
So here I am. I'm home.
On my own.
And for the first time ever, I really don't like being on my own. I wish I'd stayed and sorted things out with her.
It was so immature and idiotic of me. Storming off back to New York over a couple of hot kisses.
The place smells stale as I open the door to my apartment. I open the windows to air it out and plug my iPhone and laptop in to charge.
I'm thirsty and I open the fridge and get out a beer, sinking it fast.
The alcohol rushes to my head, and it's comforting, blurring my unsettled mood, and taking the edge of my acute loneliness.
My iPhone bleeps as a few messages come in.
I pick it up and scan them warily. I'm dreading what I might see.
My heart pounds and my stomach contracts as I see the one from her.
I can't bear to look at it for a few seconds, the heat of shock hits my head, and then I gather up my courage and make myself read it.
So sorry. Keep the song. It's my gift to you. I hope it does well for her xxx
My eyes blur with tears at the thought of her typing it. Those eyes, that hair, that wonderful perfume she wears. The unbelievable taste of her. Her kindness and the way she’d made me feel.
If only I hadn't been such an...
I bring myself out of my thoughts abruptly. I'm really not helping myself here. I need to calm down and see how I feel in a few days. Maybe a week. I'm suffering from emotional overload.
I steel my inner misery and tap out a short reply.
- I'm sorry too. And thanks for the song x
My stomach squeezes so tightly as I hit send.
I know it doesn't say much.
She won't get much joy from it, other than the fact I'm prepared to answer her pleasantly.
But I don't trust myself at the moment. I don't know what to say.
There's so much more I want to add.
But I can't. Not yet. I need to get my head around things. And that's what I'm gonna do.
What I need to say should be done face to face, not on a call or in a text.
Because what I want to tell her goes way beyond the word “sorry.”
I want to tell her everything.
HER
I read his message as I sit in departures. It's so ambiguous.
He's sorry?
Sorry for what?
Sorry for what he said? Sorry he stormed off, sorry he hurt me, sorry he ever met me?
I'm hoping he's sorry about all those things, except the last one. My stomach rolls over yet again with a sickening sensation. My heart squeezes tightly with hurt. If only I hadn't opened myself up so s
oon. I wouldn't feel this bad. But how could I possibly hold back what I felt for him after what he did for me?
I've never had such a wonderful experience in my life.
My mind whirs away, replaying the horrible parting scene over and over.
For God's sake. Stop this crap right now. It's over. I'll probably never see him again. It was a quick fling, and that's all.
I desperately try and forget about him yet again, for what must be the hundredth time today, and text my mom.
Leaving on time, arriving this afternoon 5pm LV airport flight VH1445, can you meet?
I wander around buying some extravagant gifts for Mom and my friends. Dior perfumes, Clinique and Elizabeth Arden make up, and a large bottle of cologne for Harry. God knows what Harry likes, but I've decided he's a Hugo Boss kind of guy. Who doesn't like Hugo Boss? I know Mom does and she's the one appreciating it. I'm really looking forward to seeing her. I've not been to Vegas for a year.
Bambi's not my mom's real name. She's called Denise. But she never liked Denise Denton as a name. It was so “not her” she said. She rechristened herself Bambi, mainly based on her long slim legs and big eyes. It's kinda cute, I guess, and it sure gets her noticed. That and other more physical attributes.
I sit down and put my ear buds in and find something to listen to. I need some rousing fun music. Something to take me out of myself and break my bad mood. I scroll down to The Saturdays. The girl group I nearly got to see in Rome.
Fucking typical!
I can now add loss of a great concert experience to my growing list of failures. I can't stop myself imagining how it could have been. It's something we both shared a great love of. Music and songs. I can just picture how it would have gone down as well...driving to Rome together, having a trip round the hot spots in the blazing sunshine. Throwing our coins in the fountain and wishing our dreams would come true.
What an ironic thought that is...
My dreams certainly died a quick death, didn't they?
In more ways than one. I tap play and slouch down in my seat listening to Disco Love for a while, tormenting myself until my gate is called. Even the lyrics remind me of him... Mr. Love -Loveable, and Mr. Got It All. I can't imagine I'll find another man I want to dance with as much as him. Ever.
