The word “hard” made Christina cringe and when she looked at him his green eyes were sparkling with malicious glee. He was working overtime not to laugh directly in her face again and she wanted to slap him so badly her hand itched. Christina knew that Riley knew this, but she also knew he couldn’t resist the opportunity to bait her or prolong her acute embarrassment. As they say, karma is a bitch and obviously, hers had come now.
Riley had the audacity to look Christina straight in the face and say. “I suppose it’s customary in these situations to offer my, um, ‘guest’ breakfast.” When she looked at him like she wanted to strangle him, he laughed outright.
“No? Perhaps a ride home then? You seem to have more experience in these situations… ” With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he said,“ how about I take direction from you?”
It was one thing to be a slut with your ex-husband, but to basically be called one by him to your face? That was quite another and it wasn’t the first time. Actually, correction: that wasn’t true. The other time he’d called her a “whore.”
Christina’s eyes narrowed at his gall. Straightening herself up to her full height of 5’6 to his 6’, she snapped. “No thank you. I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just be on my way. But could I have a drink first please? And I’d like to borrow some footwear.”
Riley blinked. “Christina, my feet are almost twice the size of yours…”
“Well, I guess I’ll need some socks too. You can have them back when you find my stuff. I’ll leave them in a box on the porch.” It would be marked ‘dick-face-douche’, but she didn’t tell him that.
Riley sighed and went into the bedroom, returning with some flip-flops and socks. It took three pairs to make them semi-fit and Christina knew she looked ridiculous, but she couldn’t cross the Riley farm without something on her feet. She resolutely ignored Riley’s snort of laughter when she stood up and nearly tripped over. “Let me drive you home, Christina, come on,” he laughed, “you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Christina squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them, Riley was staring at her intently. She already had opened herself up to a world of hurt that was only going to end in disaster. Mustering a smile, Christina shook her head. “No thank you. I’ll be fine. I’d like a drink first please and then I’ll be on my way.”
Riley raised an eyebrow and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge. He did his best host with the most impersonation, which was designed to irritate her, and it worked. “What do you want to drink? I have orange juice, apple juice and cranberry… There’s water… or would my lady prefer something alcoholic?”
Seeing her face blanch Riley answered with a wide-eyed stare, “No? Are you sure? I’ve got beer, scotch, bourbon, a bit of rum somewhere, and some tequila.”
The thought of alcohol made her stomach roil and Christina felt the color drain from her face. She shook her head quickly, making her vision blur. She said quickly. “Agh, apple juice with water will be really nice. Thank you.”
Riley poured her drink – just the way she liked it. Walking over, he handed the glass to her and watched her virtually down it in one go. Holding the glass out to Riley, Christina asked if he would mind getting her another one.
He mock bowed and got another glass for her and after downing the second one, she decided she was fit enough to leave, or more explicitly, get the hell out of there. She also really wished Riley would put a shirt on. It was as if he was just rubbing their accidental intimacy in her face.
Thanking him politely, which hid her real desire of slapping him upside the head repeatedly, Christina walked through the front door as dignified as she could. The bright sun hit her directly in the eyes with the force of a thousand needles and she actually staggered. Christina grimaced when she heard Riley laugh behind her and with a cheery, “No kiss goodbye? Okay then. See ya,” he closed the door leaving her to embark alone on her walk of shame.
Chapter One – Runway
Christina, Shanwick, The Present, Saturday 6 October 2012
This was ridiculous. Christina felt like she had slut written all over her. The little blue dress she had on was obviously for going out and not for daytime. She had no bra on and the clicking noise of the flip-flops kept time with the pounding in her head. The remnants of last night’s make-up, not to mention THE hair, made her look like she was an extra from a horror movie.
It was five miles across country to her home and all she hoped was that she didn’t run into anyone along the way. Christina had no idea how she was going to explain this to her brother, Johnny. Her head was so fuzzy she couldn’t even think of a plausible story.
Negotiating five miles of fences, grass, stones, and animals when hung-over, and inappropriately dressed was something Christina hoped to never repeat in this lifetime. She also had the vague feeling she was being followed, but just put it down to city paranoia. She was in her hometown of Shanwick, population 12,000, and mainly horrible. The only person that could get into trouble here was Christina, especially with him in residence.
She paused for a moment and grimaced. How the hell did this happen? She was nearly 28 years old, not some idiot woman-child and she knew better, or she thought she did. In the deep dark recesses of her mind, the ones she didn’t visit often, she knew what the real problem was. It was her vagina: her stupid, unreliable, weak vagina.
Christina straightened her shoulders and resolve. Her new motto was “don’t look behind” which covered a raft of things, including brief memories of last night: memories that involved naked flesh, slapping sounds, yelling, sexual positions and dirty, dirty words. She inwardly cursed herself for allowing her brain to be overruled by her unreliable vagina when that horrible man was in close proximity.
She decided then and there: this was it. No more. They were poisonous for one another. They had once loved each other more than she thought possible, but that was then and this was now. He hated her and wished she were dead. She knew this because he once told her: verbatim.
Christina put her hands on her hips and nodded with grim determination. She needed to be ruthless and she was good at that. She was no longer some weak young girl that had stars in her eyes. No. She was dark and twisty, and disciplined.
Looking at the empty landscape, Christina made a promise, saying aloud. “It was just ex-sex. Meaningless. Nothing. I am better than that and I will not sleep with a man that hates me because…”
Christina paused. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, but she knew she needed a strong closing argument. Scratching around for a phrase that would encompass her thoughts, she settled on. “Because… I have an iron vagina. Yes, an iron vagina and I will no longer be a slave to my own stupidity.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes at herself. Saying it out loud made it just sound ridiculous. She knew what she was trying to say, but it didn’t work as the spoken word. Sometimes, it really was better to remain silent and leave words in the interior of your mind.
To Christina, it was a myth that your soul mate brings you bliss. Hers brought up every one of her unresolved issues and drove her bat-shit crazy. Where ‘true love’ was concerned, Christina was a fundamentalist cynic. She believed it existed, but it didn’t run smoothly, nor did it conquer all.
In her experience, there was no happy ever after, just a massive pile of regrets and shame. Anyone who believed different had a form of false consciousness or access to really good pills. She’d once had true love, it didn’t work out: the end.
Christina always suspected if she and Riley were in the same vicinity, something like this might happen. But having it happen and being reality were two totally different things. Apparently, she was just one drink too many away from going and making a fool of herself with him. Again.
It was like there was some dirty, sexual, gravitational pull between them and she resented it. She was so over him, it actually made her cringe to think that all it took was the release of some inhibitions, and she’d go there with him. It was disgusting.
Halfway home, Christina saw Riley’s father checking the fields and darted the other way. It would take her a bit longer, but she didn’t want to be discovered. She also had to go to the bathroom – quite badly – and didn’t want to do an exhibition squat where she could be seen from the field.
Finding a bank in the hillside, she pulled her panties down and managed to relieve herself, but fell over and cut her hand on some grass. Great! Not only was she doing the slut walk of shame; she had now peed on her legs, and was bleeding as well.
This was a mess of epic proportions and she would have to talk to her two best friends, Mandy and Bonnie, to try to piece together just how she had wound up with Riley, and in his bed. She didn’t even know he was back here. If she had, she would’ve left town straight away. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t cowardly, just good organization, but her head hurt too much to lie.
When she saw her house in the distance, Christina almost cried with relief. She had managed to go reasonably unseen by most people. Some cars did go by, but she kept her head down and refused to look directly at the occupants. She just hoped that no one would immediately recognize her. To be honest, if she hadn’t seen herself in the mirror, she wouldn’t recognize her.
Sneaking in the backdoor of her house, Christina tiptoed across the floorboards in the hope of avoiding Johnny. Her plan of attack was to jump in the shower and pretend that she’d always been home. Johnny could be a bit oblivious sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. She hoped he’d buy this, or at least give her the chance to come up with a better story.
Christina’s old bedroom was in the downstairs part of the house, but it was off the kitchen-lounge area and she would be seen by anyone who was in there. It was now her baby sister’s room, but out of habit, Christina slept there while she was home. She just hoped Johnny was somewhere else in the house because she wasn’t sure if she could cope with that conversation.
When she realized it was all clear, she darted into her room and headed straight for the shower. Peeling off her dress, which she would burn, and her panties, burn times two plus accelerant, Christina jumped into the shower. The warm water made her feel semi-human again.
She spent 30 minutes in there, washing and conditioning her hair, removing her make-up, and scrubbing herself to remove as much of Riley as she possibly could. Christina also used toothpaste and mouth wash – lots of it and floss. In fact, she repeated the process twice and tried not to think about why she felt the need to do that.
Wrapping her hair in a towel, Christina put on her robe and started moisturizing her face, and body. When she got to her neck she saw a dark mark, which made her heart sink. Stripping off her robe, she had a good look at her body in the mirror.
Damn him to hell.
On her neck and under her right breast were hickeys. Riley knew she hated them. Always had and always would. He’d done this on purpose to show he’d been there and to remind her that he had as well. It made her want to scrub herself all over again, but she was just too exhausted. Christina crawled into bed and passed out for most of the day.
Chapter Two – Lost and Found
Christina, Shanwick, The Present, Saturday 6 October 2012
Christina woke up in the afternoon, a little disoriented and in the brief pause of bliss before memories came flooding back, she was almost happy until the night of shame tugged at her consciousness. There were ‘stuff’ and ‘things’ that kept coming unbidden, and uninvited into her mind. She would neither confirm nor deny, not even to herself, that there may or may not have been begging, screaming and even some crying involved.
Any thought of adventurous sex antics were pushed firmly away and hidden behind a mental door labeled “don’t go there.” But she had “been there” and no matter how she framed it, this was bad. She’d gone to her ex-husband’s place and thrown herself at him like some sex-starved beast.
She’d always imagined her first encounter with Riley, after such a long time, as more civilized and refined. Also possibly chaperoned, with a seriously hot husband and children in tow, with a still single and miraculously ugly Riley, but that hadn’t happened. None of it had happened – not the new hot husband, or children, or ugly Riley and there was nothing civilized about last night.
Christina decided that whatever happened from here on in, she would never, ever drink that much again. This was it. Line in the sand, bottom of the barrel, the only way is up and all other such meaningless self-help terms.
It did make her wonder how many times anyone who had ever drunk too much and acted like an idiot in the history of the world had promised the same thing? She was pretty sure it was way too many times to count and they had probably nearly always gone back for a repeat. Her next course of action fell on some critical questions. Did she:
a) Confront - apologize?
b) Avoid - pretend it never happened, leave the country; or
c) Join a convent? Like the Carmelites where they don’t speak?
The more she thought about it, the more Christina came to the conclusion a) was the best option and the mature thing to do, except she didn’t want to. Apologizing to Riley was something she never enjoyed. They’d been at war for the better part of a decade and humble pie was hard to swallow at the best of times, especially when followed by a cup of cold vomit. If she had a choice, she’d crawl over cut glass naked, which is pretty much how she felt anyway.
Over the course of the next few hours, Christina talked herself internally into some kind of frenzy. She was hedging toward b) or c), but without joining a convent. The avoidance/confrontation dilemma went through her head until she gave herself a headache and decided it was time to let it go.
Christina decided to put on some music to try and block out the noise in her head. Going through her family’s music collection, she rediscovered her high school favorite, Hole’s “Celebrity Skin.” She’d once sung in a high school band with Riley and her brother. They’d actually done quite well for a garage band.
She’d been recruited to sing the popular angry girl music of the time and shared lead vocals with her brother. They had lived and loved the grunge scene. Riley had played guitar and he was pretty good - although not as good as Johnny, but Johnny was gifted.
Listening to the music was like a trip down memory lane for Christina. She didn’t sing in public now because it belonged to her past, but when she put on Hole’s “Celebrity Skin - Make me over” she found herself singing along without missing a beat. Right now, she needed angry girl music because she was an angry girl. She was also a shame-filled, dirty, slutty, and contrite girl.
Hole played at that volume was the reason she didn’t hear the knock at the door until it become a loud, repetitive banging. Turning the volume down, Christina made her way to the front door. She opened it to find Riley standing there dressed in faded jeans, a white t-shirt with a black shirt over the top only partially buttoned up.
He looked like he’d just got out of the shower and he was wearing some aftershave that really smelled good. Christina willed herself not to go bright red or show her shock, but failed dismally on both counts. Riley looked at her with a warm smile.
“Hey, I found some of your stuff.”
In his hand he had her handbag, which he gave to her immediately and then asked if he could come in. Against her better judgment, she opened the door and let him through. Riley took his shoes off, which she told him was unnecessary because as far as she was concerned he was not staying, but he did so anyway.
Riley’s appearance and easy manner annoyed her. He didn’t appear uncomfortable in any way, as if it was somehow normal for them to be standing here talking to each other after all these years. Like they hadn’t done unspeakable things last night or fought this morning. She knew it shouldn’t, but it rankled and it reinforced her opinion that Riley had somehow missed the shame gene.
He pulled some earrings out of his top pocket that Christina had never seen before and handed them to her. He then reached around into his b
ack pocket and pulled out her bra. Christina hurriedly grabbed it off him, which made him laugh.
She handed Riley back the earrings saying sharply. “These aren’t mine.” For some reason, Riley’s “Oh” and the way he quickly put them back in his top pocket annoyed her. She knew she had no right, but she was anyway. He was free to sleep with whomever he wanted, even though the thought made her want to slap his face.
Christina was trying to pluck up the courage to discuss last night with him and decided she’d take the nicey-nice approach, which didn’t come naturally to her, with a full cross-examination later. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, she asked him if he would like something to drink. He eyed her suspiciously and then smiled, which made her blink rapidly.
“Yeah. A beer would be good.”
She wasn’t sure if they had beer in the house, but went to look in the fridge anyway. She found a couple of dozen bottles and figured Johnny must have gone shopping for all his essentials before he’d left. While handing Riley the beer, their hands touched and his eyes locked on Christina’s. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, turned it over and placed a kiss in her palm.
He then looked at her and gave her a slow smile that lit up his face. Christina felt her breath catch in her throat and swallowed hard trying to calm herself. Mind over matter, she thought, mind over matter, but the problem was: they’d never been able to keep their hands off one another, even if sometimes that involved her slapping him.
It had always been one of life’s unexplained mysteries how compatible they were in bed, but incompatible outside of it. It hadn’t always been like that between them, but it had been pretty much their reality for the last eight years. Some things still remained the same.
She watched him put the beer bottle on the kitchen table and dip his head toward her. His eyes never left her face and she found herself automatically lifting her lips toward him. Rationally, Christina shouldn’t want this, but she wasn’t thinking very rationally anymore.
Lost in Flight Page 2
