by Mia Villano
I recognized many features of the naked thirty-eight year old body in front of me – tall, dark eyes and hair, broad chest and tapered waist. But the reflection in the mirror staring back at me also showed a man who wasn’t there before. That man stood strong and proud. This man was nothing short of broken. And not just the fucked up leg that was looking better than it had, but the hollow, sunken eyes, the prominent cheekbones, and new wrinkles were that of a weaker man than stared back at me a few months ago.
The shock of what I saw in the mirror traveled through my gaunt body. I wanted so badly to go back to my bed and hide. I didn’t have the strength to face the world and my responsibilities. I closed my eyes and tried to will time to go back to the day I was shot. That horrific day that I could not get past. I had never been a man scared of anything. I’ve looked terrorist in the eye and shot them in the head without blinking. I’ve flown helicopters into gunfire and not thought twice about the danger or the fear. I shuddered at the thought of being weak, of not being the man I used to be. I was in an abyss of depression. Darkness embraced me with a grip so tight I feared I would not see light again. I couldn’t seem to fight my way out. Everyone told me how lucky I was. I survived an AK 47 gunshot. The bullet hit my leg, not my head, my chest or anywhere else that could have killed me.
I was ready to go to my office and pretend to be the man appointed to this position. My clothes no longer fit me, and my overly big suit made me look as if I was dying. I’ve lost a lot weight since Isabella left. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t’ care about myself. I was a walking dead man.
I shoved my hands into my pocket and felt the ring. It’s there. It’s there every day with me. The ring promising my love to the one woman I needed. I made sure I had it with me every day. I kept her ring with me in case. In case what? That she would come back to me? Why would she? I told her to leave. I broke her heart. The ring was a little piece of Isabella I still had. Every now and then when I would put my hands in my pockets, I would feel the diamond and think of her. Somehow, having her ring with me, gave me what little strength I had.
I had a duty to serve my country as the Ambassador. As depressed as I was, tired, and in pain, my obligation to my country had to be fulfilled. I went to work every day and continued to do as was expected of me. General Morou was with me and helped me to get through as much as she could. I confided in her one afternoon and told her what had happened. She, like everyone else, told me I was crazy and needed to get back with Isabella. Because of my current physical condition, she suggested I see a psychiatrist. That was something I couldn’t do. No one could see I was weak, not even a psychiatrist. I had to let things be and work out my problems myself.
I met with the President of the United States, and he and I had a long talk about terrorism. I had not met with him personally since the Correspondence dinner. He asked if I had been sick. I was a little embarrassed and quickly informed him that I had not fully recovered from the gunshot and was healing slower than I expected. It nearly killed me when he asked about Isabella. He wanted to know how she was doing. I didn’t know what to say other than she was fine and she and I would be coming to the dinner that year. Yet another lie. I went over the issue with my brother’s girlfriend. If anyone could be trusted with this information, it was the President. He agreed the information needed to be kept secret and offered to let some of his men find out more. I agreed that would be fine and didn’t mention I had my own men. Once again he promised to have my safety top priority while I was in Washington. He offered more security, but I declined for myself. I was fine and could handle it. I did ask for a little extra protection for Isabella and her family. Since he seemed intrigued by Isabella from the dinner, he quickly agreed. President or not, he was still a man and Isabella was a woman he found extremely attractive, and I used that to my advantage.
I met with my defense team at the Embassy and was informed my country was going to begin airstrikes targeting known cell groups in Syria. The Defense Ministry thought they had pinpointed their primary base of operations and were ready to strike. I sat through the meeting with as much poise and grace I could muster. I kept the image of being ruthless, strong, and unhinged. Everyone was buying the fake persona I put forth except for a few people close to me. I kept my head cleared and trudged on.
The nights at home without her nearly did me in. When I would get home at night, I’d go directly to my room with a bottle of vodka. The chef would prepare dinner for me, but the food would sit until the next day. Since I kept my comments to mostly a few grunts and groans, the chef thought it would be a good time to engage me in a conversation one night. I was in no mood to talk.
“Where has your beautiful girlfriend been, Ambassador?” The question was unwelcomed and irritating. I stopped pouring a glass of water and slammed the glass on the counter. My temper hit a nerve. The chef jumped and looked away. My avoidance of speaking told him the answer to that question.
“Accept my apologies for intruding, Ambassador. I’m not used to my kitchen being so clean every day.”
“Well, get used to it,” I grumbled, as I walked out leaving his dinner to sit untouched.
I had been back for a while and settled into my life as the Ambassador in D.C. Things were back to usual at work. I kept my personal life separate from my work life, and I made everyone aware my issue was not open for discussion. The only one I would talk to about my life with was, my long time office manager, Fran. I confided in her as a friend. She was the only one I trusted. I would not tolerate anyone asking me about the day I was shot. I made this perfectly clear to Fran that she needed to address the office staff and inform them my personal life was not to be discussed. I was strictly business at all times and the best thing they could do was not speak to me. I got through the days knowing I could escape some of my torture by drinking at night till I passed out. My nights would be sleepless if it weren’t for the vodka.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The flight to D.C was perfect. I was making love to the most beautiful woman on earth. I haven’t been up to par since the gun shot and it was a week ago that I was able to satisfy her in the way I knew she needed as well as myself.
As we flew above Europe and headed towards home, my face was buried in her luscious sweet pussy. Dear God. The most wonderful place to be was either my face or my dick inside her. Today she got both. Fuck she was wet. She was always wet but today something about today was different. She was warmer and tasted sweeter. I could stay in her cunt forever and be happy.
“Oh, Fabrice. Oh God. I’m so close.” That was her favorite thing to say to me when she was teetering over the edge of an orgasm. She didn’t realize it I’m sure. But, she said that every time. That’s when I ease up and make the need build up even stronger. I love to get her right at the edge and then pull her back. Let the orgasm build up even stronger so that when she did come, it shredded through her. It’s the most beautiful sound and feeling. I love having her quiver on my mouth and my cock. I love the sounds she makes. Her moans are incredible. They are what I live for.
“I know baby. I know you are close. Not yet. I want you to hold back. Relax.” I whispered to her as I let my mouth stop sucking on her clit.
Since the accident, I had done a lot of reading while I regained my strength. Most had been for work, but some has been for pleasure. I wanted to try new things with Isabella. I wanted to see where else I could take her.
“Fabrice, let me come.” Kissing her pussy lips, I felt her shiver under me. Another sign she was close to an orgasm.
“I will get you there, baby. Hold on. Enjoy this.” I coaxed her.
She faded away. No. Come back. I was waking up. Being back with Isabella was a dream. Making love to her was a fucking dream. I reached over to where she used to sleep. I was still living in hell without her. The quietness of my loneliness took over. Trying to take in the fact she was not coming back in my life brought back the dark solace of my life. Only thoughts of Isabella could upset me so much. I had worked t
hrough the attack on my life. I got past those sounds, smells, and memories. Each day they were farther away from my mind. Each day I was without her, Isabella grew stronger in my thoughts. I woke up hard and in need of her. The dreams were so real.
As I did most mornings after I dreamt of her, I showered off my sweaty, bony body. I tried so hard to get up every morning to start a new day with a better attitude. However, the despair could not be washed away as easily as the sweat covering me. The sight of her face when I told her we couldn’t get married was forever ingrained in my memory. The pain I caused her that day could not be taken back. In the darkness of my misery, I whispered her name. No one would hear me, but maybe she would feel me saying it. Wherever she was at that moment, maybe she knew how much I needed her. As if she was in the other room I said the one thing I wanted to say.
“I love you.”
There’s was a knock at my door. Why the fuck couldn’t people leave me alone. Every morning my day starts out like this.
“Fabrice?” It was Gustan. The only person in my life I hadn’t told to go away. I tried, believe me. I tried hard as hell to get him the fuck out. He wouldn’t go.
The door opened, and he looked inside.
“Are you ready to go?” I didn’t answer him. I never did. We went through this every day, and every day I responded the same, by not answering. I grabbed my suit coat, straightened my tie, and walked to the door.
His eyes went from my face and over to my bed where an empty vodka bottle lay on its side. He knew what was going on with me. “You need some new clothes or you need to eat.”
I needed to be Fabrice again, not this fucked up piece of shit.
“Ronnie is downstairs waiting to take you to the office. Here, drink this coffee.” He handed me a to-go cup of coffee he brewed for me like he did every morning. I grabbed the cup and took a sip to shut him up. My stomach clenched when the warm liquid hit. The only thing going into my stomach lately has been vodka.
I stumbled as I slid into the back of the SUV. I no longer needed the cane, but I walked with a permanent limp, and drinking the night away didn’t help my balance.
Ronnie, like everyone else in my life, knew after so many weeks not to talk to me. I wouldn’t answer. I never did. He nodded as I struggled to get in the back seat. The back seat I had taken Isabella in so many times. The back seat held the memories of her straddling me as I rammed my cock into her. That was when I was able to make love to her like a real man. I ate her out right there as she clawed at my hair and begged me to let her come. I shook the memory out of my mind. I had to keep myself together.
Like every morning, I stared out the tinted window watching the traffic and looking for Isabella. Every morning I scanned the pedestrians looking for the one woman that stole my heart and my love. I needed to see her one more time. I needed to know she was okay. I swore a woman on the street was Isabella one morning. She had the same hair, and same body. She was dressed like Isabella. My heart jumped in my chest. The closer we drove to this person, I realized that woman wasn’t her. I kept searching, always searching. That’s what forced me to the office every morning. The thought I may catch a glimpse of my girl. That hair flowing across her face, and that body that brought me to my knees, those breasts that I wouldn’t touch or have in my mouth again. As we approached the Embassy, I mentally became ready to do my job. Gustan sat next to me ready to jump out and help my fucked up self out of the car.
Frustration and anger tore at me as I walked up to the elevator like a wounded animal to the office. Today, I had several meetings with my staff, a call to Russia, and another briefing on the attack that nearly took my life. My country caught the fucking bastards in charge of this attack. Andrea Noir was not with them. She was another mystery that could not be solved. I felt Isabella was somewhat safer now that most of the men were killed or captured. I wouldn’t be truly at peace till this Andrea was annihilated. I read a full report of the attack on me. The terrorists watched me when I was in Paris. They didn’t have the balls to get me in Washington. These cowards wanted to get me in my homeland, and wanted to kill my people along with me. I thank God, Isabella wasn’t with me that day. They knew I went to the Le Chocolatier Coffee Shop every day for lunch and knew that day would be crowded with people. I was told the group had been following me since I was appointed the Ambassador, lying in wait until the right moment presented itself. To these pieces of shit, the right moment was a crowded coffee shop full of people.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the glass doors. I looked like a fucking homeless man. Gustan was right. I needed to get some better fitting clothes.
“Good Morning Ambassador.”
“Fran.” I nodded. Fran tried every day to get me to smile. I couldn’t smile. I would never smile again.
She had more food for me. Every morning she handed me food, but I didn’t want it. This game went on every day with me waiting till she walked out and I would throw the food in the trash.
“Ambassador. You need to eat.” Her gaze followed me up and down. I’m sure I was a sight even to Fran.
“Thanks Fran. I’m aware of that. Leave the food on my desk and I will eat later.” I threw my bags down and sat down at my desk.
“No.” I looked up at her. My brow furrowed angrily. I didn’t need this ever, much less on a busy day. And who was she to argue with me?
“No?” I asked. She didn’t jump at the tone in my voice.
“No, I did that yesterday and every day for the last month only to have you throw my food in the garbage. The cleaning crew told me.” Her eyes never left my face as she stood in front of me with her arms crossed. I didn’t say anything else as I opened my laptop, turned on the news and went to work.
“I want to watch you eat something. I’m not leaving here until you do.” She kept her stance in front of me.
“I don’t need a babysitter.” This woman had balls taking me on.
“It seems you do, Ambassador. You need to eat so you don’t end up in the hospital again. Please.”
I reached for the food and opened a container to find it was filled with chicken noodle soup. The soup smelled good. I would take a few bites to get her to leave.
She unwrapped a plastic spoon and handed it to me with a napkin. My eyes bore into her.
Fran was a tiny woman with no sense of fashion or style. She still permed her hair once a month and insisted on taking the bus into work every day. She didn’t care about how she looked but she was the best office manager in the world. She sat down in the chair across form me, folded her arms, and waited. She was really going to watch me.
She smiled after I took a second bite. The soup tasted fine. Not as good as what my Isabella could cook.
“Happy?” I asked, not smiling back.
“No, I’ll be happy when you can eat a steak again like you used to. I’ll be happy when I see you put on some weight. I’ll be happy when I see you smile and I’ll be happy when you have Isabella back.” This damn woman. I loved her.
My stomach wasn’t accepting the soup as well as I thought. I drank the warm broth and left the noodles.
“You know I talked to her last week.” She said with an urgent tone in her voice. My heart skipped a beat. I knew what she meant. I knew who she talked to. I looked up and tried to read what she was going to say before she spoke.
“She’s a mess, Ambassador. Isabella loves you so much. She is thinner, unkept, and depressed. Her eyes looked like she had been crying nonstop, and her face looked so troubled.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. My girl looked bad. She could never look bad.
“Did you make her soup?” I asked, to lighten the mood.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. But, she has her family around her, so I don’t need to babysit her. They won’t leave her side. They’re very worried about her. I have never seen such a family. And her roommate with the heart problem is in the hospital again.”
What? Avery in the hospital? Oh God, Isabella would be a mes
s. I promised if something happened to Avery, I would be there for Isabella. I broke another promise.
“Who was with her?” I asked.
“Her mom won’t leave her. Her sister Sophia and the baby. Isabella’s niece is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”
Oh my God. What have I done to my girl? I reached into my pocket and felt for the ring again. She was living her life without me.
The first few months after I arrived back from Paris, things were quiet and a good time to get readjusted to my role as the Ambassador. One of those adjustments was hosting an event at the mansion. I had to force myself to have a black tie affair at my home. I wasn’t looking forward to socializing. The thought of people traipsing through my home and asking where Isabella was, sounded like a nightmare. However, entertaining was part of the job. A job I chose before this and one I was obligated to keep. Since I had not spoken publicly about the attack, this was a good time to answer any questions and make an appearance.
The morning of the affair, I woke up pissed off and in pain. My leg hurt from exercising too much and I needed to dull the ache somehow. Vodka would do the job. I was pathetic drinking in the morning. I had not been much of a big drinker until the attack. Now, here I was having a double shot with breakfast to face the start of my day.
The caterers were already scurrying around while I showered and dressed. I wanted to go to the office a couple of hours before the bullshit started. Security was going to be a bitch. With what was going on in the Middle East, my so called assassination attempt, and my brother possibly linked to the widow of a known terrorist, Gustan felt the need to add extra measures. The extra measures were more armed guards at the door and metal detectors outside before the guests walked in.
