by Anne Whitney
“Lie down on your side,” he tells me. I comply, making sure my floral skirt isn’t exposing anything. I freeze in my position as I watch Fitz remove his pants, tossing them onto his bed. His boxers soon follow and I immediately shut my eyes, keeping them closed as I feel his naked form join me on the floor. A hand reaches out and cups my wrist.
“Open your eyes.”
I’m still frozen in fear and anticipation.
“Please,” Fitz says, and I do.
He is upside down and I am left staring at his chest.
“Tilt your head to the side and place it against my chest.”
I shuffle until I get to this awkward position, my neck muscles straining to keep my head in place. Fitz does the same and soon his ear is against my heart. One hand is resting on my back, tapping out a gentle rhythm. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s clapping my heartbeat.
“Can you hear my heart?” He asks.
“Yeah.” His heartbeat is strong but calm, much more so than mine. I lightly pat out the beat against his bare back. His body is so warm and strong, beautifully maintained and completely irresistible, like a sculpture from the city’s gardens. He is his own artist’s tools, after all.
I try to remain focused on his heartbeat, but the temptation to just sink against his body and lie there in this strange but painfully intimate embrace is overwhelming me. Fitz’s head is nestled against my breasts and his deep breaths are causing me to break out into goose bumps. I pray that he cannot tell how aroused I have become by this.
“Your heart beats like a hundred thousand times a day,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Your heartbeats are for you, your lovers and your doctors, but they never experience each and every one of them. Only you do.”
I’m sure my heart is racing far quicker than a hundred thousand beats a day right now.
“This is the most intimate thing you could possibly do with someone outside of making love,” he explains, pushing my body closer to his ear. “What a gift to share.”
Soon his hand is tapping against my back like the wings of a hummingbird. I’m so distracted by the knee-weakening sensations of his body, his breath, his hands against me that I forget to measure his own heartbeat. This position is awkward and tough to remain in. I have no idea how Fitz has the endurance to remain like this long after my neck muscles are screaming for relief.
When he slowly pulls away, I close my eyes and slump onto my back, rolling my neck back and forth to alleviate the stiffness. I move to sit up, but suddenly Fitz is on top of me, one leg on each side of me, his hands pressing my wrists onto the wooden floor above my head.
“You did this to me,” he says, leaning in so close to my lips. “You’ve been making my heart go crazy ever since I first saw you. Look at what you do to me.”
He rolls his hips against mine and I realize that he’s hard.
Oh my god!
“I need you, Marina.”
He kisses me and I realize how much I want him, too. My whole body shivers and sparks underneath him, each part begging for attention as he steals my breath from my mouth with biting kisses I’m sure will leave bruises. This kiss is hard and completely merciless. It overpowers me in every way. As his lips move across my face, I have a moment to regain my breath, only to gasp loudly as he sucks and nibbles at my neck. This is so much more than our previous kisses. While there is want, there is also uncontained desperation.
His fingers caress my increasingly hardening nipples, and I don’t protest as he pulls my tank top over my head, revealing my lack of bra. He stares at my topless form as if he’s struck gold, then moves down to take my nipple in his mouth, tracing the raised peak with his tongue.
“Oh my god!” I gasp, mewling like a wounded animal. How can such a simple action on such a tiny part of my body have such an overwhelming effect on me? I didn’t realize my body was even capable of experiencing such feelings, a dizzying mixture of ecstasy and just a touch of fear. My body wants more, but the tiny part of my brain that is still functioning properly is more cautious, warning against giving into Fitz’s skilled mouth.
But the pleasure is too good to resist.
As his mouth moves onto my other nipple, his hand cups my free breast and caresses it, rolling my stiff and extremely sensitive nipple between his fingers. I’ve regressed to a whining and panting mess, pushing into his touches and stroking his hair as he leaves more marks across my pale skin. I’m helpless, completely and utterly, under his body.
Yes, my mind sighs. I think I’m ready for this.
It is only when Fitz hitches my leg around his waist that it hits me like a freight train.
No. No I’m not ready. Stop it now!
“Stop!”
He looks up at me, panting with an obviously disappointed expression on his face. I’m held in this position until I speak again.
“I’m sorry. I’m not ready.”
“You sure?”
“I thought I was, but I’m really not. This is too much.”
Biting his lip, he lets go of my leg and moves off me quickly. Meekly, I cover my naked chest with my arms and look for my top, finding it on the bed next to Fitz’s clothes. I can feel Fitz watching me as I quickly pull my top back on and fold my arms across my breasts, desperate to hide my still stiff nipples. The tension in the room is an excruciating mixture of awkwardness and unresolved lust. He’s still naked, so at ease with himself, and I can’t look at him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“No, it’s okay,” Fitz replies breathily. “I can wait.”
He can wait. Can he?
“And what if I’m never ready?” I ask, keeping my gaze focused on my feet. “What if you have to wait forever?”
He doesn’t reply, and that’s all I need to know.
This is what we are. This is what exists between us.
It might be the only thing that will ever exist between us.
I leave Fitz’s room and start shoving things into my old rucksack, not paying much attention to what goes in. I need to get out of here now. The walls around me have gone from spacious to suffocating, and all semblance of comfort and home have disappeared. My feelings for Fitz are so driven by lust that I can’t begin to sort out whatever else there is between us, if there even is a possibility of something more. It’s not just that he’s a stranger to me; I’m a stranger to both of us, and nothing could possibly work between us if we continue to go down this path so blindly.
“Marina,” Fitz says as he joins me, thankfully wearing clothes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to go visit Viridian for a while,” I tell him. “I just need to... I have... Fitz, what are we doing?”
“Well, I know what we were about to do, but you’re not ready and I respect that.”
“And if I’m never ready?” I repeat. He’s still silent. “And if I never understand art, and when my hair grows back, and we stop all the bullshit? What will we do then?”
“Marina, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this about that talk we had? I thought we’d cleared that up. You know that I like you just as you are.”
“Fitz, we don’t know anything about each other. I only just found out today that you have a brother and sister, for God’s sake! I have no idea who you are. I barely know who I am these days. And we don’t even know what we’re doing here. I just... I need to clear my head.”
He stares at me with an expression I can’t decipher.
What does he feel for me? Is there anything there beyond lust?
“You don’t have to leave,” Fitz says. “We can talk about this.”
I shake my head.
“I’m sorry, Fitz. Whatever’s going on between us... I think we need some space first. If you want to talk about things properly, if you want us to become something, I’ll be at Viridian’s.”
“Marina...”
I hear him call my name again as I leave the apartment and dash downstairs. Surprisingly, I don’t cry.
The first thing Viridian does after she opened the door to me and listens to my somewhat nonsensical babbling about what happened with Fitz is pull me into a bone crushing hug.
I remain dry-eyed throughout her comforting platitudes occasionally interspersed with “I told you so’s,” which surprises me given my eternally heightened emotions recently. I’m sad, confused, bewildered, and in a general state of shock. Everything seems to leave me overwhelmed and disoriented these days.
Passively, I let Viridian drag me into her studio and pour me a cup of coffee. It tastes stale and has clearly come from a jar, but I drink it anyway, grateful for the warmth and the distraction. A plate of broken chocolate cookies is placed in front of me.
“Help yourself,” she says. I notice that her tiny TV is turned onto some trashy news show hosted by a woman with makeup and hair as loud as her voice, screaming about law and justice or something to that effect. The split-screen keeps flashing to some reporter standing in the rain near some suburban houses I recognize all too well. The flaking white paint and unkempt lawns are part of the neighborhood I used to call home. The reporter is giving an update on my missing persons case.
‘Sally, the missing young woman’s father spoke exclusively to us earlier about his daughter, and we’ll show that interview tonight at 8 Eastern, but we also spoke to some of the neighbors, and they had their own suspicions about Marina’s disappearance.’
The screen cut to the doorway of the old man who lives three doors down from my old house, looking annoyed that he has to deal with the reporters seemingly parked down the driveway. I’d never really spoken to Mr. McQueen before. I was never allowed to talk to the neighbors of the numerous areas we moved into throughout my life. Neighbors caused problems, my dad said. Never could keep out of other people’s business. Mr. McQueen looked straight into the camera as he spoke, his voice gravelly with age.
‘I never saw her ‘round here much. I didn’t even know the guy had a daughter for a long time. Always kept to themselves. All I’m saying’ is maybe they should talk a little more to the father.’
‘Sir, are you making an accusation?’
‘I’m just saying’. Nothing’ more.’
Viridian quickly turns off the TV before the reporter returns to the screen.
“Sorry about that. I just like to keep up with things, you know?”
“It’s okay,” I insist, even though those familiar sites and Mr. McQueen’s words fill me with dread. I shudder to think of what kind of sob story interview my dad will give to the baying presses. He was always an excellent actor.
“Want to talk about it?” Viridian asks. I shake my head. “Want to talk about the F word? Or should we just skip straight to the booze? I have a bottle of gin somewhere in with my paints. It’s been there for a while, but it’s probably still good.”
“No, thanks. Not really in the mood for it.”
“You will be later. Take it from an expert in the art of the break-up. You’ll be begging for something with more alcohol than sense by the end of the night.”
“But that’s the thing,” I sigh, gulping down half of my coffee in one go. The taste is foul, but more bearable this way. “I don’t think what we went through really counts as a break-up. I mean, I don’t even know if we were dating.”
“It sounds like you were dating.”
“Does it? We never actually said we were dating, and we never went on a date.”
“Nah, traditional dates aren’t Fitz’s thing, unless you count alternative burlesque shows and accompanying him to his performances.”
I don’t even want to know what an alternative burlesque show is. Whatever it is, it sounds right up Fitz’s alley, and probably isn’t moonlight and roses.
“Didn’t he say he would take you on a proper date?” Viridian continues.
I nod. “Not that he sounded keen on the idea. I don’t think we can call our... whatever it was... it really wasn’t a relationship, or even the beginning of one. It was a little more focused on... non-romance things.”
“So I can see,” Viridian says, raising an eyebrow.
“What?”
She motions toward my neck, which I suddenly remember is speckled with bite marks. My hands fly to cover my throat. I don’t know how bad it looks but I can only imagine.
“How many of those did he leave?” She asks.
“A lot,” I admit. “They go...” I quickly wave my hand up and down my front, where Fitz had so adoringly dedicated his attention, and where I can still feel his lingering touch. The memory of what we did together, only an hour or so ago, makes my breath shudder. Lying there, topless and whimpering, my entire body a live-wire thanks to his touch, I genuinely thought I was ready for what had plagued my thoughts constantly. How wrong I had been, and now I was more unsure than ever.
“How close did you two get to doing the nasty?” Viridian asks. “Second base? Third base?”
“I don’t know the difference between them.”
“Really? Oh, Spokane. Second base is usually topless fondling; third base is oral or mutual mastur...”
“Second,” I interrupt her. “It was... intense.”
“It was your first time, wasn’t it?”
“Is it that obvious?” I sigh, finishing my coffee before chomping down a slightly stale cookie. “I’m such a pathetic novice in all this. I had no idea what I was doing with Fitz, and not just on the sex front. I never knew what to do or what to say, and the idea of talking about myself just terrified me. I doomed things from the beginning.”
“Hey, don’t play the martyr here,” Viridian says sternly. “If we’re going to be discussing emotionally stunted crappers-on of happiness and common sense, then Fitz is far worse on that front than you. Or half of the population of Manhattan.”
Her comment brings a brief smile to my face.
“You know what’s weird?” I ask. “I was so wrapped up and worried that he only liked me physically, and only this physical version of me, that I barely even thought about my own feelings for him. Hell, I still don’t know what it is I feel.”
“Do you feel something?”
“Yeah, but I have no idea what to call it. Lust makes up a huge part of it, I do know that.”
“Ah, the universal rule of life,” Viridian says with a laugh. “Look, Marina, you’re welcome to stay here for a few days. Although, as you can see, I don’t have a lot of room.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. Right now, I just can’t deal with this. I will soon, I promise, but now, I need some air.”
“Take as long as you need.” Viridian stands up, kisses my forehead and moves to get more coffee. There isn’t much room to move, but this tiny studio with its peculiar artwork and even more peculiar smells feels like a wide open field in comparison to the atmosphere of stifling claustrophobia present in Fitz’s grand and very expensive apartment. Another cup of coffee is placed in front of me. “Hope you don’t mind bunking up with me.”
“Not a problem.”
Having a real friend like Viridian is a luxury I could only dream of as a child. Anyone who ever came close to befriending me during my schooldays, if I let them get close enough, would quickly be warned off by concerned parents who eyed my father with distrust. To live a life with nobody to confide in, nobody to bring comfort and warmth during desperate times is a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I wonder how I’ve managed to live as long as I have without someone like Viridian in my life.
“While in these circumstances I would usually suggest a night of extreme partying and dangerous drinking,” Viridian says. “I get the feeling you’d probably rather stay indoors.”
“Yeah. I’m just not in the mood for jumping around a club or whatever. Some other time?”
“I’ll hold you to that. How would you feel about a night in with some drinks and take-out?”
“That sounds divine.”
“Great, because Derek’s coming round for a pre-show meal and he’s payi
ng! I’ll go get some concealer.”
“Huh?”
“For the hickeys. Believe me, you don’t want him spending the entire night making innuendo about you and Fitz. I swear the man is documenting his brother’s sex life. It’s unsettling.”
Before Derek can even dump his bags and say ‘hello’, Viridian drags him into a corner of the studio and sternly warns him not to bring up the topic of Fitz and myself, or he will “suffer greatly”. Wide-eyed, he nods and turns to give me a hug, bags of hot food and clothes slung across his arms.
“I do like that skirt on you,” he says, laying out steaming foil packets crammed full of goodies. “I must say, I am very good at my job.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any sweat-pants lying around at your job, would you?” I ask. The look Derek gives me is one of pure horror, as if someone just died. “Is that a no?”
“I can’t believe you would even ask that. I feel so dirty. V, hold me!”
“Sorry, but wearing short skirts and pants I practically have to be sewn into every day can be a little exhausting.”
“Fashion is exhausting!” He exclaims.
“Where have I heard that one before?” Viridian asks, dishing out plates for the three of us. “Unfortunately, sweetie, the rest of the world may not be ready for some of your more exhausting choices. I have no idea how you convince some women to wear the stuff you pick out.”
“I haven’t heard any complaints from you, V.”
“I know better.”
“Less talk, more food!”
We share the multiple packs of what I have been informed is Vietnamese food. Whatever it is, I heartily approve and gobble up whatever is offered to me. My appetite has been practically non-existent since I came to New York, but right now I’m starving and my stomach greatly appreciates such fantastic flavors and textures. Viridian and Derek chat away about tonight’s performance and his plans to “mentally fuck everyone in the room” and I am happy to sit silently and listen, appreciating the chance to just enjoy their company in a way I haven’t done before. They're just so much fun to be around. It can be tiring at times, I imagine, but it’s also very entertaining.
