Paradise Forbidden

by Natalie E. Wrye

  Sweat drips over my head and down my brow. It lands on my bare shoulders, but I barely register it. I barely register anything… except for the cool hands that suddenly reach directly over my eyes.

  I jump sideways, grabbing the wrists that hang close. I glance up and see nothing but blue.

  Not the sky. So much lighter than the sky.

  It’s those irises. Misty, water-colored irises, fraught with wintry wet lightning bolts. I can see every dimension in them, every facet. Will they ever not amaze me? I don’t think it’s possible.

  “Looks like you’ve run to the right place,” she says.

  The sound of her voice makes the shock wear off. “You mean… come to the right place…”

  “No…” she says, sitting near the edge where I’m perched. “I mean run. You’ve run away to here.” She grins then, one side of her face pulling upwards slightly into a lopsided smirk.

  I almost can’t believe it. My mouth is moving, but it’s the only part of me that seems to be sane. It’s Kat’s voice; it’s Kat’s eyes; it’s Kat’s face.

  But the rest of me won’t let it sink in: that she’s sitting here… next to me… looking as beautiful as ever.

  It seems as if every inch of me is dingy and grungy, but she… she looks like she’s been steam-cleaned by the heavens: dipped in angel dust and dropped down beside me.

  My sluggish brain is over exaggerating, but goddammit, she looks so fucking good. Get it together, Foxx, you fucking sap.

  I clear my throat, looking away. “I needed the inspiration. I’m thinking of writing a story.”

  “And what is the land telling you?” she asks. She’s searching for my eyes, but I won’t meet hers.

  “Probably the same thing it told you… only I didn’t listen the last time.” I finally chance a glance at her face. “What did it tell you?”

  She sighs resignedly, running a hand through her brown waves of hair.

  “It took a while for me to get it… but now I’m sure I do. Maybe I didn’t get it at first because of the language difference… you know, the message being in Cherokee and all.” She chuckles sadly, but continues.

  “This story can’t be written. Nothing would do this justice, and I don’t think anyone should even try. Especially not an outsider. Writing about it… for money… would just be wrong.

  “Exploitation is not appreciation. Sitting here, just… soaking it in: relishing in what the Creator has created. That’s appreciation.”

  I nod solemnly. “Well said.”

  Kat shifts from where she sits, turning even closer to me.

  “Look, Brendon, I want to explain a couple of things…”

  I head her off before she can start. “No need to.”

  “No,” she states, clutching my arm. “I want to.”

  I’m not sure I want to hear this… but I have to. I have to man up and take this verbal beating. And then… I have to put this all behind me.

  Kat starts out slowly. “I know you came looking for me back then. And I ran.

  “I ran away from you. I’m not saying that it was the right thing to do, but it was right for me at the time. It was what I needed.

  “I was so terrified and cynical and angry that I can’t believe that I was actually going to pass on something great… even when it was staring me right in the face.” She glances up at me.

  “My anger didn’t have anything to do with you. It had to do with myself. I built an enemy in my head that was never really there.

  “It wasn’t the corporate culture. Or the rich executives. It wasn’t even the brown nosers. It was me… not following my instincts, not following my dreams. When I ran away from Tampa, everything about that world became vilified. Even you.

  “And I’m so sick of running from something. For the first time in my life, I wanna run towards something. And now I have. I’ve run to you.

  “Karma took her sweet time strolling in, because now I’m the one doing the chasing.”

  I’m incredulous. My eyes swivel towards her face. “You followed me here?”

  She shrugs, looking downward.

  “Less ‘followed’… more like ‘stalked.’” She flashes a shy smile. “I saw Chris and Griff in Tampa. I know what you did with Greg and your dad. Everything.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Please. Please tell me it’s all true…”

  “What’s all true?”

  “Please tell me… that you really punched Greg in the face.”

  I laugh, loud and long. I wasn’t expecting that. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s all true.”

  “And what about the rest of it?”

  “The rest of what?”

  “Everything. Everything that Chris and Griff told me…” She looks up at me: hopeful.

  I narrow my eyes at her in confusion, prompting her to finish with an open palm.

  She takes a deep breath, and the words start flowing.

  “Please tell me that you haven’t been able to eat.

  “That your sleep is few and far in–between.

  “That your eyes have lost their light and that your smiles haven’t been as bright.

  “That breathing right is a chore and each day is harder than the last.

  “Please tell me that you’ve been completely, utterly and wholly miserable without me… because if you do… then I can tell you that I’ve been feeling exactly the same way without you.”

  She stops speaking, lowering her eyes once again. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  After months of the back and forth… After I’ve finally gotten to this point…

  I grab her shoulders firmly, but not forcefully: just enough to get her to see me. Really see me.

  I need her to see Brendon Foxx. Not Trevor Cassidy.

  There is no Trevor Cassidy.

  He’s a fictitious character, an actor… a ruse. He may look and smell and feel like Brendon Foxx. But he will never be him.

  Trevor Cassidy is the one who held the secrets. I had it wrong. It’s Brendon Foxx who is much more than that. He’s understanding and empathetic and life-loving. He’s enthusiastic, outdoorsy: smart.

  He’s everything I wanted to be; I just didn’t know that I was already him. And now he’s back.

  He returned the second that I looked into her powder blue eyes. I no longer see ice when I look at them. Not now. Not when they stare at me with a tenderness that she can’t hide.

  “Kat. Listen to me,” I swallow thickly, nearly pressing my nose to hers.

  “I’ve come a long way from where I was. From a deeply-rooted unhappiness, the feeling of something missing at the core. An empty vessel on auto-pilot. A simple shell just going through the motions.

  “I’ve had to recover from a lot. My entire life has been under reconstruction.

  “Trying to build a business from the ground up. And not only that… but trying to build a new me.

  “Twelve weeks.” I emphasize harshly.

  “Twelve weeks without you. Seeing you and having you in one instant, only to have you disappear again.

  “Twelve weeks of toughening up. Making it without you. Moving on. And you know what?”

  I hesitate, tripping terribly over my next words.

  “I’ve gotten nowhere.

  “I’m going in circles. Circles, Kat. And you are the only one who can set me straight.

  “You were right. I haven’t been able to breathe, sleep or eat… because all I can think to do is sleep with you, eat with you… breathe you. Inhale you like some narcotic.

  “And if you feel anything like I feel, then the absence has been crippling, debilitating, all-consuming. It eats you from the inside-out, making normal functioning impossible, making each breath unbearable.”

  I grip her shoulders even tighter.

  “If it’s even a tenth of that, then you crave me more than air… because that’s how much I yearn for you.”

  Her eyes glisten, watery: glazed over with a shimmering sheen. And then it
happens. A tear finally falls from her lashes: one solitary, clear raindrop from her dewy sky-blue eye.

  “It’s every bit of that… times infinity,” she says. Her voice is shaky, but it is determined, and I am in awe of the woman she is revealing herself to be.

  Her strength and her sensitivity. She’s finally sharing all of it with me.

  I shake my head at her. “Then there’s nothing left to say. Let’s face it, princess…” I draw her into me, speaking against her lips, my mouth brushing against hers as I talk.

  “You need me. And I know that you already know how much I need you.”

  I gaze at her now, through renewed eyes. I watch as understanding washes over her. I can see that she knows that I mean more than what is apparent on the surface.

  I don’t just mean physical survival.

  I need her for the survival of everything that I am, everything that I ever was. I need her for the survival of my soul.

  The soul of Brendon Foxx.

  I thought he was dead; she’s revived him.

  I tried to save her. She saved me in return.

  I kiss her... with all the passion of a contained maelstrom, with the intensity of a tornado in a bottle. Her lips give way in the most supple of manners, and we become nearly intertwined: our lips and tongues and whispers so fully connected that they are almost one.

  My hands drift down to her waist, to her hips, and her movements begin to match my own. When her tiny hands reach my hips, they make contact with my back pockets.

  She withdraws from the kiss.

  “What’s this?” she asks, perplexed. I glance back towards her fingers. I look back at her.

  “You know what it is,” I answer cryptically. I reach down inside of the pocket, pulling out the weathered blue planner.

  It’s been folded in half and stuffed in my shorts; it’s been to Tennessee, Tampa and all the way back again.

  All to end up here. Right now. At this very moment.

  I hand it to Kat, watching her face intently. She opens it, skimming through it as if this is her first time ever seeing the notebook.

  I watch her scan through certain passages, reading her own written words with blatant fascination. She doesn’t even ask how I came to possess the planner, but I know she is seeing what I have seen when I perused it.

  Does she remember what she wrote? I sure as hell do.

  My look hardens a bit at her downturned face.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, Kat?” She gazes back up at me: surprised. She places the book down on her lap, still clutching it.

  I grasp it carefully from her fingers.

  “Still more secrets?” She says nothing. “That’s ok… because I have one, too.”

  My lips slide into a small smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll show you mine… if you show me yours.”

  Kat looks back down at the blue agenda. I don’t need to follow her gaze; I already know what the notebook says.

  Every day, starting on the 15th, features a personal entry from Kat. Each day’s entry is different from the next. Every account is personalized, detailing landmarks from our journey, notes about our direction.

  Only one commonality connects all of the separate notes. One phrase. “Tell Trevor.”

  The words “Tell Trevor” are inscribed at the bottom of every entry: every entry for five straight days. The interesting part? Kat left me on the third.

  “Kat…” I say, tilting her face to meet mine. “What is there left to say? What do you have to tell me?”

  She stares at my finger on her chin. “It’s not a matter of what I have to tell you. It’s a matter of what I haven’t.

  I drop my hand from her jaw. “I don’t understand…”

  She sighs, grabbing my slowly descending fingers.

  “For being the type of man who helps an embittered lonely girl on a bus. The type of man who then saves that bitter girl… who bandages that girl, who puts up with that girl’s shit…” She laughs.

  “For being the type of man who runs after that stupid girl… looks after and caters to this selfish girl.

  “For being the type of man who changed that lonely girl… who turned that lonely girl into a woman… a woman who wasn’t so lonely anymore…

  “I wanted to say thank you. One thank you was never enough. I should have been thanking you every minute… of every hour… of every day.

  “Thank you… for being the type of man that can look at me the way that you’re looking at me now and still want me, flaws and all.

  “Thank you for being you.” Her eyes glisten with rekindled tears.

  I run my thumb smoothly over her cheekbones, hoping to catch the salty droplets. “You’re welcome, my Katarina,” I respond. My voice is thick: heavy with emotion.

  I lean over, kissing the hand that holds mine, stroking it slowly.

  “You still haven’t asked me my secret. Show and tell, Kat. Show and tell…”

  She sniffles, wiping a quick hand under her eyes as she laughs.

  “No, I guess I didn’t. What is it?”

  I pull her into me.

  “I love you… and I want to thank you for showing me that you love me, too.”

  She lowers her head, digging her tear-streaked face into my neck as she wraps her arms around me. She kisses above my collarbone, withdrawing gently.

  Her eyes are crystal-blue pools of sentiment: frosty seas of thawed ice. I’ve done it: melted the icy girl and made her mine.

  “I do, Foxx,” she says, using my nickname with a watery smile. “I really do.”

  One year later

  Foxx

  “Babe, I’m almost ready! I swear!”

  “Taking a shower is not almost ready, darling! We’ve got twenty minutes, Kat!”

  “I’ll be out in five!!”

  I sit down on our sofa in my tuxedo, checking the time on my over-sized IPhone.

  Five minutes. She’s got five freaking minutes, I swear. I adjust my cuffs to distract myself from my anxiousness. I brush imaginary lint from my shoulders with slightly shaky fingers.

  On the fourth minute, I burst into the bathroom, pulling back the curtain.

  Her brown hair is soaking wet, and there are soapsuds on her shoulders and between her breasts.

  She looks like Christmas morning. My eyes go wide. Damn, I’m a lucky man.

  I have to refocus.

  “Baby, your five minutes is up. Now, get your sexy ass out of this shower and into some clothes so we can go to this ceremony.” I shift her slightly, slapping her on the ass. “Right now.”

  She yelps, turning afterward to blow a soapy kiss at me. I grin, roaming my eyes over her form, but I leave the room quickly. If I don’t, I’m going to jump right in there with her, tux and all, and we’ll never make it to the awards show. And what an award show it is.

  The Pubbies are one of the most renowned award ceremonies for people in our line of work. I’ve been to them before… but never with Tripping Out!

  It turns out our precious little travel magazine is nominated. Our magazine. Mine, Chris’s, Griff’s… and Kat’s. She’s as much a part of the magazine as the three of us are.

  She signed on shortly after we reconciled, joining our team to make Tripping Out! one of the best new travel publications on the block. Technically, she would be my employee, but all of us think of her as more of a partner.

  And someday soon, she really will be. As soon as I convince her to be my wife. The ring is in my pants pocket, ready to slide its way onto her finger. Ready to make its way to the only home it will ever know. Hopefully.

  Kat thinks I have jitters about the ceremony. And I do... but not nearly as many jitters as I have about what’s happening after the ceremony.

  I pour myself a shot of whiskey at my bar, downing the brown liquid and letting it burn my nerves away. I start to pour a second small shot when suddenly Kat flounces into the room.

  Not flounces. More like struts. She’s clad in a silky silver number that hu
gs her every dip and peak. She looks better than any medal or figurine that the Pubbies could ever give us.

  Her skin is still slightly damp from her shower: her hair still wet even after a quick blow-dry. Her makeup is natural-looking, and her lips are glossy. I almost drop my liquor glass at the sight of her.

  “Done!” she says happily, reaching towards me.

  “Not quite…” I place my glass back on the bar, grabbing her waist and kissing her. Mmm. She really does taste like cherries this time.

  I pull back. “Now, you’re done. Let’s go.”

  ***

  We haul ass towards the venue, jumping into my Audi and doing twenty above the speed limit the entire way. Unlike Chris and Griff and the rest of the attendees, we don’t arrive in a town car.

  There’s no pretense or ostentatiousness. Frankly, I couldn’t give a damn about being seen. The recognition is all I’m looking for. Winning a Pubbie could launch Tripping Out! into a separate stratosphere.

  We run into Chris outside of the main hall.

  “Where have you guys been?” He starts exclaiming. “You missed the red carpet!” As usual, Chris is a nervous wreck. I slap a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

  “Little Miss Lexington here is the reason.” I wink at her and shake his hand.

  Kat waves us off impatiently. “Hey guys. Relax! Perfection takes time.”

  I lean in closely to her, whispering. “There’s nothing about you that isn’t perfect.” She blushes fiercely, kissing my lips before biting them briefly.

  Chris groans. “Good God, you guys are sickening.” He slaps a hand into my chest. “Let’s just try to get our perfect asses in there before the proceedings actually start.”

  I clutch Kat’s hand, and we all hurry into the grand hall where the ceremony is being held. We sit down beside Griff as the host takes the stage.

  We settle in, waiting for our category to arrive. Award after award is bestowed. I can feel Kat’s legs shaking under the table. I place my hand on her thigh to ease her agitation. I keep it there because she feels so good.

  I watch Griff stiffen out of my periphery, and I pull my own back straight. Here it comes. Best new travel publication.