Cherry Blossoms

by KT Morrison

  A smile broke his face. He sipped his wine again, regarded her, his eyes travelling from her face down her body and she knew he was looking at the revealed flesh of her thigh.

  She smiled and she said, “All right, why don’t you just tell me what you think it is I’m playing at...”

  “Nia, look at me,” he said and he leaned forward now, lowering his wine to his lap. “I don’t play games.”

  She took a long sip of wine, her eyes on his. She said, “You don’t play games but you really love the theatre.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You have a flair for the dramatic.”

  “I do?” he said, his voice a mean grumble.

  She rolled her eyes, looked out the window and tilted her head back so he was sure to see her fine long neck. She said, “No one has ever seriously said to me, ‘I don’t play games.’”

  “I don’t play fucking games. I’m not…look, why don’t you fuckin leave…”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” she said. She lingered a moment, casually slumped in the chair, her free hand twirling a long lock of her raven hair while she finished her wine. The room was dead quiet but she could hear Rocco’s breathing as he stared her down. She let her legs move side to side, parted them slightly, let him see the bare inside of her thigh above her stocking if he’d like to look. Then she put her wine glass down on the table next to the flowers and she smiled and raised her eyebrows, lifted herself from her seat.

  Rocco watched her. His leg bounced double-time as his frustration was building to anger. His jaw muscles jumped and flexed, his brow dipped in a low scowl.

  “Good night,” she said and she slowly crossed to the partition, swaying her hips gently as she walked, filling the room with the click of her high heels on hard maple.

  “Wait,” he said behind her and she smiled. Didn’t wait.

  “Nia,” he said again, a growl, a warning from a vicious animal, a predator. She turned and saw his standing shape, black, intimidating, against the nighttime blue of the streetlight city out the window. A century-old building behind him, its facade lit bright with the flickering grey video of WWI soldiers lurching over the wall of a trench. He took his shirt off.

  She waited, watched him cross the room to her, come into the light slashing pale amber from the open door of the bathroom. He came to her, looking like a man wanting trouble. The light cut across his big hard body, drawing deep black shadows under his slab of a chest. His belly was thick, smooth, he was covered in hair that led a trail from a thick thatch just above the button on his jeans and scurried up over his chest.

  He said, “Where are you going?”

  “To my room, Rocco.” She kept her eyes on his but reached behind her and put her hand on the lever of the partition door.

  “No, you’re not.” His hand went over her shoulder and he placed his big palm on the door, stopped her from opening it. She could smell his animal smell, his musk, his pheromones.

  “Rocco, I’m fuckin married—what do you think is going to happen here?”

  “You’re fuckin beggin for it,” he sneered.

  “I have a husband.”

  “Who, that little homo?”

  “Fuck you…what do you know, you—”

  “I know that daughter isn’t his.”

  Cold death fell on her. A ghoul from a cold tomb, its hand piercing through her heart and turning her body to ice. Her knees buckled and she fell back against the door. Her face was struck in horror. She tried to speak, but her voice was a groan, a creak from an exhumed coffin.

  “How do…what…” she managed before she turned and her hands went over the door blindly, both of her weak pins-and-needles hands scrabbling along its black surface like they had no idea where a doorknob would be.

  “You…how…” she muttered.

  Then her head whipped back, Rocco’s huge hand clutching a fistful of her hair, pulling it right out of her scalp. She screamed, threw her hands up and she clutched his wrists with her hands in claws, her face clenched in pain. He threw her on the bed.

  GEOFF

  Could you really burst a condom? Probably. Nia had said to that girl at the sex store that she hoped he didn’t burst those big condoms. Joking and all. But did a boy with a big cock split his condom open inside her one time? Is that why she thought of that? What if Rocco split his condom? Maybe that was what her text could mean. Maybe she was in the hospital getting an AIDs test because he fucked right through that tough condom with his huge cock. She was on the pill but she wouldn’t want his bare cock in her. What if she did? Holy fuck. His Nia was dirty—what if she said, condoms are for sailors, Rocco…please fuck me bareback, big daddy.

  Fuck!

  He was never going to get to sleep. Why couldn’t she just tell him how it was going?

  Fucking two in the morning and he was going back to the show in six hours. Fuck, Nia. Just a half day tomorrow but he sure would like some sleep, sweetheart. He checked his phone again in case he’d drifted and missed an incoming text. Nope, fucking nope. Oh, look at that, the clock on my phone (right above a smiling picture as his screensaver of Geoff and Odie and Nia under some cherry blossoms) says it’s now two-twenty-seven in the goddamn morning.

  “Ah, Nia,” he groaned and tossed himself over again, threw his arm over his forehead. There was, under all this malaise, a sexual tension that tightened his belly. An excitement. Something hard to qualify but it was something he knew would be memorable. He laughed, looked at the ceiling in the moonlit bedroom. Yes, one year from now he would look back on this evening very wantonly. This painful moment would be forever sexualized for him. Loss, fear, regret, shame, lust, happiness. Simultaneously. Too many emotions stuffed into his 160lb frame. The emotion stuffed and stuffed and it was finding a weakness in his belly. Soon it would burst out of him. Most likely out the tip of his cock when she got home and pressed her lips to his.

  14

  Aftermath

  Sunday, July 16th

  GEOFF

  “You look how I feel,” Odie said.

  Geoff blurted out with a laugh, “What?”

  She acted all silly now, getting a reaction out of him was her favourite thing and she wobbled on her stool, swinging her hips and making faces at him.

  He rolled his eyes at her as robustly as he could.

  He was leaning on the counter of the island with his back to the stove top while their fried eggs popped and crackled behind him. Looking at Odie, looking out the window, looking at nothing really, his mind a thousand miles from here. Or five-hundred more exactly. Odie was waiting for her breakfast, in a good mood, a good night sleep behind her. No tossing and turning for her. Her ‘you look how I feel’ comment just something dumb she picked up from TV or something, looking to make fun of her old dad. Dad did not have a good night sleep.

  Geoff turned to the stove as their toast popped and he put it on the plate and he brought it to the island and sat on the stool next to his daughter and pushed her strawberry jam (pronounced starberry jam since she was four and he hoped it would stay that way forever) over to her. He ate in a reverie while his daughter told him about Marshall’s Family Flight and how she wished the story was more, like, fantasy with, like, a girl who was the hero and he smiled and nodded and wished he could pay better attention but he had a knife that was somehow plunged through his temple like one of those bizarre construction accidents where someone is impaled and somehow never lose consciousness and make it to the hospital with all their faculties. Big piece of rebar parting the lobes of their brain. That’s where he was. Functioning, but one wrong move and suddenly he’d have to learn how to tie his shoes all over agin.

  Winslow slowly came up the stairs making his way to the kitchen. A slim but lumbering black shape rising up the concrete staircase from the walkway, silhouetting himself against the dawning blue sky. Only it wasn’t Winslow. Geoff jumped up and ran to get the door.

  “Nia!” he said and he opened the door wide for her. S
he stepped into their kitchen in her high heels, her suitcase still on the stoop. He wrapped his arms around her from the side and held her tight. Odie turned on her stool and he saw her face transform, saw the honest excitement wipe across her little features. She cried out mommy and she came to her too, jumping off the stool and coming around the island.

  Geoff bumbled, “Nia, what…why…” and he leaned his head to get a look at her face under all that hair. He saw her troubled, eyes wide, happy, but her chin trembled like she was going to burst out crying.

  “Oh, baby,” he said, and he nuzzled his face into her neck under all that wonderful hair. Her hand came up and she gently held his forearm wrapped around her chest.

  Odie hugged her leg and she said, Mommy, mommy, trying to get her attention. Nia bent then and Geoff rested his hands on her shoulders while she hugged Odie.

  Odie said, “I’m sorry,” whispered it to her but Geoff could hear. Nia just held her tight.

  GEOFF

  Geoff brought Nia’s bag in from the stoop and felt something hard press up against his heart. He knew something was wrong.

  Winslow was coming along the alley, he could see him over the roof of the garage studio, walking along the treed path with his hands in his pockets. He’d come in off the TTC, walked in from the Village down Garden, cutting through someone’s yard to get to the alley. Shit. He just wanted to be alone right now. Wanted to be alone and say a million things to her, tell her over and over how much she means to him. She had a lot to tell him too and none of it could be done with anyone around.

  Nia was standing now in the kitchen, Odie up on a stool again. Odie was happy to have mom home but her face was tinged with something, a worry, O could see something was wrong with the woman who’d come home to them.

  Nia was dressed in her work clothes, her black skirt and black top, her black shoes and her bare legs. She didn’t wear makeup. She hadn’t showered. When he’d hugged her she didn’t smell like soap or perfume. She smelled dirty. Her lips were puffy and swollen. There was a bruise like a thumbprint above her clavicle. Geoff could feel his heart race, his breaths come suddenly quicker.

  Nia had something to say, her face struggled, her mouth opened. Winslow came in the kitchen door behind Geoff, and Nia lowered her head and turned to the island.

  “Good morning,” he said, then, “Nia? Wow, hey, you’re home early…”

  She turned, her face brightened, not like Geoff had seen it the moment before, that grim worried skull stretched with beautiful skin—now she was pretend-happy. Worn but pleasant.

  “Hi, Winslow, yeah, I came home early…not feeling too great…and I missed my family,” she said and she ran her long fingers through Odie’s thick hair.

  “Well enough to come to the last day of the show? It was awesome yesterday…”

  Nia’s face froze forming a vowel, “Uh,” she croaked, her lips parted, her brows raised. She said, “No, I don’t…feel well, I think I just need to lie down.”

  “Aw, mom,” Odie whined.

  Geoff said, “Odie, Mom’s not feeling well,” and he went to Nia again, crossed the linoleum and put his hand behind her neck and rested her head on his shoulder. His other arm went around her waist. With her pressed to him he could feel how much he was trembling now. All he could think about was the bruise, her swollen lips…she looked beaten.

  Nia said, “You guys go to the show…I’ll just stay here…I’m going to bed…”

  “No, no, I’ll stay here…” he said. Then, over his shoulder, he said, “Winslow can you take Odie out to draw, get ready for the show…I’ll…I’ll be down in a minute…”

  “Geoff, you have to go…” Nia whispered.

  “I want to stay…”

  “No, Geoff, go…”

  “Nia, I’m…I want to stay with you…”

  Winslow led Odie out in silence. It was evident something was going on, something too big for Winslow to be part of. Like Mrs. Kane got fired from her job or something…who knows what he thought. Geoff could hear Odie and him talking on their way down the steps, headed to the studio.

  “Nia…”

  “Please...please, stay…” she said, her voice just a whisper.

  “I’ll stay, baby, I want to stay, I don’t need to go to the show…”

  “I’m sorry, Geoff.”

  “Baby, don't be sorry.”

  GEOFF

  Geoff walked Nia up the stairs to their bedroom, hands on her waist as he followed behind her. His heart raced with anticipation. He wanted to hear every detail, he wanted to know everything that happened. He’d pictured this at night time, in bed, black sky, Odie asleep…he’d make love to her and she would whisper the grittiest tidbits into his ear.

  This was morning though, bright and sunny now, Odie was home, Winslow was here, he had a Book Expo to attend, fans to see, Jenny would be waiting…

  Right now his erection was going to have to be respectful, be patient. Nia needed help right now.

  He got her into the bedroom, walked her to the bed and he held her hand while she put a leg up on the mattress and winced, carefully lay down on her back and shimmied herself up the sheets until she sat hunched and cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

  “Your shoes, baby,” he said, and he sat next to her and pulled her leather slip-on heels off. He saw bruises on her inner thigh.

  “Nia, what the fuck…” he took her ankle gently and he lifted the hem of her skirt and he saw dark purple blotches, like the fingerprints of the big ogre that held her legs apart and fucked her with his big warty cock. “Nia, baby, there’s…you’ve got bruises all over your legs.”

  She nodded, a quick little shake, her eyes stared straight ahead and down at the bed.

  “Are you all right? What the fuck did he do to you?” he put a hand on her neck, up under her hair, felt its heavy tickle on the back of his hand.

  “I’m okay,” she said softly.

  “Nia,” he said, and he ran his thumb along her sweet jawline, chin to hinge. “Nia, baby…did it happen?”

  She nodded. “It did.”

  His breath chugged, his nose whistled as he exhaled in sobbing gasps. He was fine but this was so big. He wanted it….but now it was done and no matter what ever, ever fucking happened in the future—it could never be un-done. “Okay,” he gasped, his voice trembling.

  He waited for her to tell him something, indicate somehow what she’d done. But she stared, shell-shocked, looking at nothing in the quilted space between them.

  “Nia, was it bad?”

  She shook her head no, her vacant eyes looking at the patchwork of their white cotton duvet.

  “Was it good?”

  She nodded her head yes.

  “It was?”

  She nodded again, still vacant. Her swollen lips hung open.

  “Was it better than good?”

  “Yeah,” she croaked.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  His heart tightened, he winced. “Was it…the best sex ever?” he tried to joke.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it was.”

  “Wow. Holy shit,” he said, he felt his eyes swell.

  “Geoff…it was, like, my every fantasy…” she murmured.

  “Nia, honey, come on and snap out of it.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked him, looking up at him, her eyes quivering, her expression plaintive and troubled.

  He leaned to her and he gently took her lips with his own. She kissed him back, her hands came up and her tough nails scratched through his beard and he felt finally like it was all going to be okay. He sucked on her lips, he took her tongue. Not with lust but with love. He tasted her mouth, he felt the soft slippery feel of the world’s best formed tongue. Her lips tasted like copper, they felt different, swollen, puffy.

  He pulled back, pulled her lips with his own, heard their wet sounds smack as they came apart. Nia’s lips hung pouted from her face, unrecognizable. “What happened to your mouth, baby?” he
asked her.

  She sighed, her hand came up and she felt her own lips, her fingers smoothed the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I sucked his cock.”

  “Oh, Nia,” he moaned. “You did?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “That’s why your lips are swollen?”

  “I guess,” she said, she looked at him, puzzled. She didn’t know why. “Can you…can you run me a bath?”

  “Sure, baby.” He went to rise, stopped, said, “Can I just hold you a while…like this?”

  “Like what?” she said.

  “Before your bath.”

  “I’m dirty, Geoff.”

  “I know, Nia,” he said and he put his mouth on her neck and under her hair and he smelled her sweat, her heat. “That’s why,” he said.

  She rested a hand across his neck, her hand hot and damp and it made his heart beat fast. She said, “Sure, Geoff. Yeah, baby. Do you want…do you want me to undress?”

  He nodded into her mane. He did, he really did.

  “Get the bath started,” she said, and she put her hands crossed over under the hem of her black scoop neck shirt and she pulled it up.

  Geoff quick-stepped into the bathroom and he ran a bath for her, got the water roaring in there, tested it with his hand to make sure it was as hot as she liked it. He put in two caps of bubbles for her and got back out.

  Nia was on her back on top of the sheets, her shirt off, still in her black bra and she was struggling to get her skirt off.

  “I got it, Nia,” he said and he went to her and she took her hands away, rested her forearms over her forehead as he undid the zip on her skirt. He looked at this woman he loved so much as he took the bottom of her skirt in both his hands and gently pulled it down her legs. He watched the sway of her bosom in her bra as her body softly rocked with his movement. Then horror as the skirt came down and he saw more bruises on her thigh, high up near her panties. That fucking animal had hurt her.

  “Nia, these bruises, what the fuck…” he said and he dropped her skirt to the floor and climbed over her on the bed, on all fours, his face at her thighs.