Lost Angel (The List #1)

by N. K. Love

  Five minutes later, she shouts that she’s going to pop out to the shops and grab a bottle or two for later.

  I strip off my clothes in the bathroom and find myself standing naked, with my eyes, closed in front of the full-length mirrors… Plural... Wills certainly has no inclination to feel self-conscious. She’s so self-assured and oozes sex appeal. She has such a beautiful, spiritual approach to life, with a wonderful ability to lose her inhibitions, which I seem incapable of. Or rather I’ve been moulded into keeping them locked down. We’re already so close, the sister I never had, so I hope that living within such close proximities for a while will rub some of her ‘Que Sera, Sera’ attitude off on me.

  A sudden rush of internal anxieties betray my calm exterior. Mike’s never had any complaints about my body. He hadn’t exactly paid it much attention for a while, extra stress at work being the mask for what we now know was our dwindling marital flame. But I’m sure he was happy with my appearance. There’s no reason for him not to have been, I look after my body; working out more than most and I’ve always had a healthy balanced diet. I’m top heavy with large breasts contradicting my neat 26-inch waist. My hips wider than average to help support my oversized bottom—I can thank my mother’s genes for that! No matter how many different types of cardio workouts I try, I’ve never been able to shrink it down. Same goes for my chest. I often think if my breasts were smaller it’d make running and aerobics a helluva lot more comfortable.

  For the first time in a long time I’m going to look at myself as ‘single’. I’ve been with Mike since I was sweet sixteen, a young inexperienced girl. Now I’m a woman. What if I have loads of new insecurities about whether or not anybody else will find me attractive? Not just attractive for a quick fuck, I mean attractive as in girlfriend material and eventually way down the line—dare I say it—marriage material. Am I past it? Are all the good men from my generation already taken? Leaving me the dregs of the barrel consisting of a murky puddle filled with obnoxious players… Urgh, great!

  Argh! I’m not used to this. This is freakin’ bizarre; I’ve never lacked self-confidence but maybe that’s because I was so comfortable with Mike that I’ve lowered my expectations of myself…

  “Jeez just open your goddam eyes Beth.” I mutter under my breath.

  Here goes, I start with my face; olive skin complexion, warm chocolatey hazel extra-long hair scraped back into a high chunky bun, faint freckles galore – or rather ‘fairy kisses’ as my mom used to tell me – hazel coloured eyes complimenting my hair and finally my lonely pink lips. I slowly look myself up and down, holding my breath as I do so.

  “Phew.” I breathe out with a sigh of relief. Nothing’s changed, I’m still content with what I see when I look at my body thankfully.

  After getting married I did allow some extra pounds to sneak up on me, I was so content in my life at that time that I didn't even notice I'd let myself go a bit. We were having sex one night and as I turned onto all fours – a position I hadn't donned in a while – I realised it wasn't just my full double D’s that were bouncing for England. My tummy had developed a wobble of its own, which completely ruined the moment for me as I usually take my fitness so seriously. Not out of vanity but because I’ve conditioned myself into believing that I must look after my body to give myself the best chance of a long healthy life, not to mention having the best chance of conceiving and carrying a baby through a healthy pregnancy. My mom suffered complications when I was born. I’ll do whatever I can to reduce risks further on down the line for me where possible. Plus I obviously wanted to be attractive for Mike.

  The upside of this is that I unequivocally love working out and being fit. So how did I end up with a business based on a hobby involving sitting on your arse? I’ve never thought of it like that before. But then again, audio books and e-books have opened the doors for exercising whilst listening or even swiping through pages whilst on the treadmill.

  Well anyway, the moment was ruined and I think I probably faked an orgasm quicker than my usual protocol, just to hurry him up so I could get to sleep and wake up early for a morning run. Running to the inner chant ‘Get Fitter, Not Bitter’, I soon shifted those extra pounds. Thinking about it makes me feel like that behaviour was somewhat obsessive. Maybe I concentrated my energies incorrectly.

  Sex with Mike was unfortunately lacklustre and I’m certainly no stranger to faking an orgasm. Although I actually have no physical comparison, as he was my first and was supposed to be my last. That would have been great to tell our children when they were older; how their parents were each other’s first and only loves. Well actually, that wouldn't be right either as Mike had put a few notches on his bedpost before taking my virginity. After all, he is a couple of years older than me and classically handsome. He has fair skin that contrasts against his dark brown hair and eyes. Mike can typically eat what he likes and his body doesn’t alter much. Being a pen pusher by trade and not pushing weights or working out means his body isn’t muscular or defined but he still looks great in a suit, which is what matters to him at his business meetings. Plus we weren’t that adventurous in the bedroom anyway so bulging biceps wouldn’t have benefited us in that regard. That didn’t stop me fantasising about all manner of sexual positions, being controlled and having my stamina and flexibility pushed to their limits.

  Every once in a while we'd get drunk and have a night of what we thought at the time was incredible animalistic love making... When in reality, if witnessed, it was probably more like awkward drunks fumbling around in the dark, haphazardly groping each other and grunting. But it didn’t matter because it worked for us, always triggering a boost of sexual encounters that lasted a few weeks and died back down again. Our action in the bedroom over the years slowly diminished. Goes to show that our attraction to each other was somewhat forced. We weren't the kind of couple that created sexual energy from just a look, a whisper or a touch. I’m pretty sure that sort of lust mainly happens on pages with the exception of rare couples like my parents. God I ache to feel that with somebody. I want to feel that electricity spark. I’ve always wanted to experience the kind of sex that has you feeling like you’re craved and cherished and the man you’re sharing that with has no hesitation in telling you how he cannot get enough of you. That right there would be absolutely wonderful.

  In hindsight, aside from drunken fumbles, our sex was always a bit contrite. We did ‘it’ because we're married and that's what couples do. We enjoyed it, climaxed – sometimes both of us – and struck it off the ‘to do’ list until the next time. How sad is that?

  Mike seemed to instigate the quickies and I’d attempt to instigate anything outside of the quickie box. He wasn’t a great fan of foreplay, so I’d always try different techniques – sneaking a peak at ideas from the adult section after hours at work – for handjobs or blowjobs, to encourage him, in the hope that something would spark a wave of satyriasis. Not that I’d consider myself a nymphomaniac. The chance would be a fine thing. Mike wasn’t too bothered about blowjobs either. Seriously, what man doesn’t like having his cock sucked by his wife? I originally thought it was something I was doing wrong, but eventually I realised that Mike just wasn’t a sexual person.

  Recently, it felt like he was literally just going through the motions. There’s always been a voice in the back of my head telling me that I’ve got so much more to experience and learn about the world of sex.

  Now I realise that I've unwittingly sacrificed so much because I was too scared to step outside of the box, always reminding myself that there are people who are a lot worse off than me.... Rather than admitting that actually there are people who are a lot better off than me too and I don't mean financially. I mean emotionally, mentally, physically, sexually satisfied on a daily basis.

  I know that I was too frightened to stop and say "Yes I have a house, a handsome successful ambitious husband and a thriving business but I'm still not FUCKING HAPPY", without feeling like an utter ungrateful bitch.

&
nbsp; Back to my reflection in the mirror, I sway my hips from side to side looking at my profile and my back. No tattoos, no piercings, no hair colour, no make-up, immaculate French manicured trimmed nails, no tan – fake or otherwise. My reflection screams, “I look after myself but these splinters are playing havoc on my arse from all this sitting on the goddamn white picket fence!”

  I stop swaying and take out my hairband throwing it on the side of the bath. My wavy long locks tumble over my shoulders and cover most of my breasts. My eyes follow further down and dance over my hourglass figure; cinched in at the waist and out at the hips. I cock out my bottom, extenuating my thigh gap just below my predictable neatly trimmed bikini line. My imagination runs away with itself and thinks about all the things this body could be capable of but has never had the opportunity. There it is again—that exciting taste of positivity.

  I’ve had to keep my sex drive under manners for so long that it’ll be a relief when I feel comfortable to put myself and my needs first for a change.

  I take a deep breath in, filling my lungs with the delicious shea butter scented bath oil Willow has used, knowing it's my favourite. As she rightfully said earlier, tonight really does mark the start of my ‘Next Chapter’.

  I lower myself into the deeply filled tub and begin to wash away my exhaustion, self-pity and negativity. It feels amazing and whether it’s because I’m in Wills home, I don’t know, but I feel like I’m looking at my life through new eyes—not with neurotic happily-ever-after blinkers.

  I feel as though I’m having an enlightening experience. Looking down on myself as I float on the mist from the heat of the water. This woman isn’t beaten. She’s not a ‘has been’. She isn’t wrong for making sacrifices or for committing to a relationship with somebody she loves. This woman is a pure and honest person and it’s about time she realised exactly what her mind and body are capable of. Pep talk nailed!

  8:20pm

  “Hey there beautiful… You’re just in time for wine o’clock, get in here.” I join Wills in the lounge. “I hope you’re feeling as good as you look because you are glowing girl!”

  She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with a large glass of chilled white wine in one hand, gesturing for me to take the second glass from her outreached hand.

  I gratefully accept the chilled glass from her. “Mmm that was divine Wills. It was exactly what I needed. It’s been a mind-fuck of a day but I’m feeling curiously relaxed now.” I mirror her position opposite the coffee table on a gorgeous shag pile rug.

  Wills clicks mute on the television remote control to give me her undivided attention. “B, I know you’ve probably just done a lot of deep thinking in that bath and you and Mike have probably got more conversations to have before you find any sort of closure... But for now, can you just tell me where your head’s at… You know, are you having doubts? Confident it’s over? Happy? Wanna talk, cry, scream, get pissed?” Leaving herself breathless, she giggles and adds “Please let one know dear, so one can cater one’s friendship accordingly.” Saying her final words with her best Queens English, flashing me her beautiful smile, with a look of anticipation.

  “O-okay… Well, as it stands… I don’t feel like crying, having a meltdown, screaming or any of those things. I know there was no other choice and although we were years into a relationship, I’ve got to be grateful that it’s happened now and not even more years down the line.” It’s true. “It must seem like it’s suddenly happened in an afternoon, but I think that unbeknownst to us we’ve both been subconsciously preparing ourselves for this for a while now… Maybe that’s why it seems less traumatic than I would have ever envisaged.” I take a large gulp of wine, clear my throat and return my best Queens English; “So my darling friend Willow, please refrain from catering your friendship to suit my needs, as it appears all one needs you to be, is you; your wonderful self.” I may be joking but she knows I mean it.

  “Sorry to bombard you babe, I just want to do whatever I can to support you.”

  “I know. You’ve already done so much Wills, thank you.” I raise my glass and she follows suit, “To the ‘Next Chapter’. Cheers!”

  We clink glasses, marking the start of a girly evening in with my best buddy doing what we do best; gossiping until our jaws ache and giggling until our sides hurt. It’s long overdue and so much appreciated. I brush away a pang of regret that I’ve always put Mike first, before myself, my life and my friendships. Hence why there’s only Willow that I wholeheartedly trust and love. I have friends but nobody else that I’m close to, that’s stuck with me. Let’s face it, I’ve not been the kind of friend I want to be. Now there’s nothing in my way.

  Chapter Two

  Sunday 15th March 2015

  12:12am

  After we finish the second bottle, it’s a little after midnight so we say our farewells and I find myself in bed replying to a text message Mike must’ve sent me earlier, whilst my phone’s been charging in the bedroom. His message reads:

  Bethany, this is so strange. The house feels empty without you here. The bedroom is bare without your ‘stuff’ around. Hope you’ve settled into Willows place. How are you feeling? Of course, if you think it’s odd for us to text like this so soon I’ll completely understand. I thought we’d meticulously covered all angles of practicalities before you went but I’m not sure about this. Okay. Text me when you can so I know you’re okay please.

  I’m tipsy and tired.

  Hey Mike, sorry it’s late, been up talking with Wills. I’m fine, cheers 4 asking… No regrets?

  I think I needed to ask him about regrets to help reassure me that my ‘no regrets’ attitude is mutual, which will help me to continue in this transition. My phone pings just as I’m about to dock it.

  Thanks for replying at last. Bit confused though, when you left we both agreed that we would never make this decision unless it was for sure… No confusion. No regrets. I hope you still feel the same. I don’t want to hurt you Bethany.

  Damn he types fast when he’s anxious. Well, there’s my confirmation; he clearly echoes my emotions and I feel one last knot of uncertainty in my tummy undo. I type a speedy reply.

  Don’t worry, just double checking. I still feel the same. Nite

  I hit send, dock my phone and easily drift off into a wonderful uninterrupted sleep.

  8:30am

  The heat of the sun basks on my eyelids as I start to wake to the crooning sounds of Jimmy Cliff’s, “I Can See Clearly Now”. Willow changed my alarm ringtone in a moment of clarity last night. Which begs the question, why did she not think to change the time too? Isn’t it way too early for my first wake up as a single woman?

  Not an attractive start either; Dry lips, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and eyes feeling like they’re glued shut. I blindly stretch out, snatch up my phone and swipe to snooze. I’m a lightweight drinker at the best of times but a bottle each and on an empty stomach is asking for trouble.

  I attempt to peel my eyes open wider and as the sunlight shoots to the back of my head a thunderous headache descends like a wicked departing gift from the wine. “Oooou-ch.” I croak.

  In true best friend style and bang on cue, Willow knocks and swoops in to the rescue, with a glass of cold orange juice, a headache tablet and far too much energy.

  “Sorry, I heard Jimmy...” She smirks mischievously. “How’s my partner in wine doing? Sleep okay?” Handing me the juice and tablet, she perches on the edge of the mattress next to me. I take a welcome mouthful, swilling it around my desert dry mouth, letting the moisture soak in before I swallow, licking my lips.

  “Soundly... I literally did not wake up at all—comatose.” After knocking back the tablet with the next swig, I start to feel more human. “Thanks for last night by the way… and in the spirit of your thoughtful alarm track, how about we get motivated and go for run?” Her forehead immediately crinkles in an expression of blatant protest so I give her a light punch on her upper arm. “Come on, I need to start as I mean to
go on and it’d be great to have a running partner—” I finish my juice, put down my empty glass and start pouting.

  It’s no good. The look on Willow’s face says it all and this girl’s not budging.

  “Beth, I love working out but I burn my calories down the gym where there’s plenty of randy eye candy to keep me entertained. No offence but the sight of you nearly giving yourself two black eyes doesn’t do it for me babe.”

  “Excuse me, I wear shock absorbers—”

  “That’s one helluva shock to absorb.”

  Point taken. I throw the back of my hand across my forehead dramatically, turning my face away from her in mock horror and she smacks my arm away.

  “Well my trusty running soundtrack will have to keep me company instead… After all—” Then, as loud as my head will permit, I sing the lyrics that woke me. Wills joins in as she skips her far-too-spritely-ass out of the room, leaving me to get up.

  After freshening up and getting dressed, I resolve to unpack the rest of my bags properly when I return from my run. I plot out a route on my phones running app, grab a sports shake, put in my earphones and shout goodbye.