Before Him Comes Me

by Sure, Alexandria

  Franky

  I had to smuggle those chocolates in because Jean George is famous for his deserts, but it was worth it. I wanted you to have something from home when you got here. Enjoy!

  See you soon (not soon enough)

  Frank

  I set the cards down on the table. Another sip of champagne but I need food before I ingest any more alcohol. I seek out the room service menu I am starving. I place my order of a cheeseburger and fries, and two yes two crème brules. They say it will be twenty minutes, which is plenty of time to take a hot shower.

  Instead of drying off I just wrap myself up in the plush terry cloth robe relishing in the softness, a cross between washed cotton and silk. I throw my hair up in a towel turban and make a mental note to order one of these robes or hell I will just pack this one up and they will bill me for it.

  I sink into the couch propping my feet on the coffee table. Enjoying my champagne, I have a nice view of Central Park. It is amazing, and reinforces why I came back. This city does something to me. It breathes life into me, it’s like that click you search out with a person, but I have found it with the city, I have always had it. I got an email from the movers confirming the time for tomorrow, and one from the property manager of the apartment instructing me of “noise hours” that are acceptable. I chuckled reading that email. Noise hours? Really? I can only make noise during certain times of the day? This is definitely not California. I have always lived in a house, but not anymore. I live in a luxury building with rules and restrictions. But I will deal with all of that because this is New York. I could have gone to Brooklyn and spent the night with my cousin Jenny but getting in at almost 10, and then a drive out to Dyker Heights wasn’t an option. Oh how I have missed her. I can't wait to spend some real time with her. She is the sister I never had. 3 years older than me, put us together we look like twins. Dark brown curly hair, her eyes are hazel/green where mine are a deep brown. The same well fed bodies. She taught me when I was younger to embrace my healthy curves, and big butt. But it was not just on the outside but the inside too. Wish I could always remember what she told me, that I was amazing, beautiful and a force to be reckoned with. I seem to have forgotten that along the way. The Trump was the best and closest choice. I drain my glass reaching for a refill and realize the bottle is empty too. I set it on the tray with the empty plate and dessert dishes. Yeah that was the best $25 dollar cheeseburger and fries. I am shocked that I ate everything. In the last few weeks I have been hungry, starving even. But when the food comes I lose my appetite. Eating seems normal, and food is a big part of my life. I am Italian. Food and eating is our thing. We eat when we’re happy or when we’re sad. I can remember coming home from school when I was in the 5th grade after having a “fight” with a little blonde girl who made fun of my “big lips” and “curly hair” The first thing my mother did after I told her what happened was put down a plate of pasta and sauce with a glass of milk. Food made everything better. The act of eating is normal. Although without my mother nothing seems normal anymore. I have found myself many times the last few weeks throughout the day and night wanting to pick up the phone and call her. Tell her about the job, tell her the friendship I seem to be building with Frank. I wish I could dissect it with her. I want to call her now tell her I made it safely, but I will never talk to her again. See her face, or have her kiss my forehead and tell me that everything is going to be ok. She was always right, if she said it would work out in the end. It did. I kind of hate that about her, but it’s who she was. It had been me and her against the world she was my mother, my rock. As I got older she became my best friend. We fought like girlfriends, and we made up like girlfriends. The thought of never arguing with her about my life choices twists my heart into a knot. Who is going to help me with my wedding dress when I get married? Who is going to tell me all the things happening to my body when I am pregnant is normal? Who is going to tell me what to do when I don’t know? I lie on the couch and curl myself into the fetal position as the first tears fall, and I let them. I let them. I allow myself to feel the pain of losing her. I close my eyes and I am with her sitting on the edge of her bed. I have the crushed up Percodan in a spoon with yogurt; it was easier for her to swallow it. The look of fear, of deep sadness in her eyes crushed me because I knew what she was thinking. That here I was taking care of her, when it was always the other way around. She was the caretaker and now the tables were turned. It embarrassed her, it angered her. She held my hand tightly as she took her pill. I stayed with her. Not talking just being close. I will never be close to her again. It feels like someone has cut open my chest and taken my heart out, the pain is dreadful. Crippling and all consuming, but I feel it. I feel it in every bone, every muscle. The sobs shake through my body. The tears flow from my eyes like a broken water pipe. Not a little kitchen sink mishap, but a full on water main break in the city center, with no repair in sight. I lick my lips tasting the tears. I savor them for I know they are my balm, they will heal me. I will never get over losing my mom. But I will survive this moment. My heart is broken, but like she said to me once I can hear her voice clearly “your heart may be broken but it’s still beating” I cover my heart with my hand and feel it thump in my chest. I grab my phone to call Jenny but I am in no state to talk to her. So I text instead

  -I am here and ready for bed I will see you at my new place 8 o’clock in the morning?

  She responds right back

  -of course baby girl, you ok?

  -I am fine just crawling into bed.

  -See you in the morning. Glad you are home I miss you.

  -I miss you too.

  Britt began writing poetry, really sad poetry when she was in high school over some boy that broke her heart. Writing has always been a creative outlet for her

  About ten years ago she started writing erotica and posting it on a site dedicated to that. From there she got some positive feedback and shared a story with some female co-workers who loved one titled “The Interview” She was encouraged to develop the characters and expand on the plot. So that Christmas with her bonus she bought a laptop and began writing in six months she had over 500 pages that she is now trying to mold it into a trilogy and a novella.

  Through that writing she also has about 10 other story ideas, characters who had their own voices and demanded to be heard so if this one doesn’t take off she has others to bring to the light. She describes her writing as Racy Romance, with a bit of dirty sex.

  Being creative is in her blood. If she is not writing, you can find her in the kitchen cooking a new recipe or baking something sweet and delicious. Her most asked for concoction is “Salted Caramel Chocolate Chip Cookies” And don’t let her near a glue gun or a jar of decoupage she will transform anything into something fabulous just look at her house. It’s amazing.

  She is the mother of an amazing 22 year old woman and two spoiled Chihuahua’s. She lives in Northern California about an hour from San Francisco. She works full time and finds herself sending emails home with ideas that strike throughout the day.

  Her goal for writing or publishing is for one person to enjoy it, for one person to be taken away from their day and escape into a different world. Because that is what she gets out of reading, an avid reader she reads about a book a week. Some of her got to authors are; Whitney Gracia Willams, Michelle A Valentine, Lauren Blakely, Belle Aurora and so many others.

  So if one person gets it and falls in love with her characters then this whole process, all the frustrations and tears will be worth it to her.

  https://www.facebook.com/brittgainesauthor

  brittgaines69@gmail.com

  Bonus chapter from Di Anne Sandvik

  Steps Of The Heart First Dance

  Copyright 2015 Di Anne Sandvik

  Chapter One

  When I awake some mornings, I have to remind myself that this is real.

  I mean my life now, and where I am, and who I have become. Yes, it's all real. I know exactly who I am because I have w
orked hard to become this “me”. I have paid a huge price along the way. Because of all my hard work, my sore aching body reminds me every morning, who I am. I am the reigning World Latin Dance Champion, Victoria Moore. If you had told me five years ago that I would be a Latin dance champion living in a loft apartment in New York City, and owning my own dance studio, I would have told you that you were absolutely crazy.

  To this day, mornings are hardest. It's been five years since that fateful day when my world turned upside down. That morning when I felt like I lost everything. I can still hear the pounding at my front door. I opened it to find my husband's boss Scott standing there with such a look on his face. A look that I will never forget. He was there to deliver the news that the love of my life, my amazing husband Blake, had been killed that morning on a job site. The devastating shock and sadness that followed those first few days is still very painful for me to even think about. At that one moment, my life as I knew it had tragically ended.

  It was one year before Blake's death that I had to deal with the tragic loss of my parents who were killed in a terrible car accident. As an only child, I had to handle everything: funeral arrangements, selling the home I grew up in and settling their affairs. My husband was there to help me through what I thought was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Little did I know one year later I would face the unthinkable. We always had each other’s back. But this time, I had no one. I was alone with nothing but grief, emptiness and loss.

  I've struggled everyday since Blake's death reliving all the memories of our life together. It hurts too much to remember, but I fear the memories will fade and become just that, memories. God, how I miss him. He had the most amazing turquoise eyes that changed with his moods. Blake had ruggedly handsome features that were accented by his perfectly bronzed skin, from years of working outside in the Florida sun. We shared a love that I know I will never have again. I know this because I've chosen to close my heart off . Oh, I've tried dating these past five years but when you compare every man you meet to the one that captured your heart and soul so perfectly you eventually just give up. He was more than just my husband, Blake was my best friend. He was my everything. Why chase perfection when you’ve already had it. A love like ours only happens once. That’s why I have put everything into my career. It’s my way to escape the reality of it all. I hide within the comfortable routine of my life. I bet your wondering how I consider my life routine. It happens. You shut yourself off from love and close your heart, than life becomes routine.

  Selfish as this will sound, I miss his touch the most. Waking to mornings like this with his memory fresh on my mind reminds me how I loved to wake to his hands and lips all over my body. The site of his perfectly tanned, muscular body draped over mine was my favorite way to wake up. Blake always referred to himself as my personal alarm clock. Like I said, he was perfection. It's painful for me to remember Blake’s touch. But even more painful to live with that fact that I will never have that again. There are so many amazing things about him but the loss of his touch is what I mourn the most.

  We were in our late twenties when we married and it seemed we were always working so hard just to make ends meet. There was no time, and even less money in those early years of our marriage, for children. I learned that day when everything changed, that we had run out of time, and all the things we had hoped for were never going to happen.

  It was a long, emotion filled road to get where I am today. I can still remember the day I received the call from my husband's insurance company. They told me that they were so sorry for my loss, and that had a check ready to be sent to me. When I received the check, I had no idea he had taken out a million dollar life insurance policy. There was also a letter enclosed with the check, written in Blake's own handwriting and addressed to me. He had taken the time to write me a letter that was to be delivered with the check if anything ever happened to him. The letter is stained with my tears but his words brought me great comfort. I still carry that letter with me to every dance competition as a reminder. It is a reminder to me not to give up, to keep going, to move forward in life, and to be happy. He wrote that he never wanted me to have to return to work; he wanted me to enjoy life and do something I always wanted to do.

  In Blake's letter he said, "Maybe you should take those dance classes you always wanted us to take, but I was never interested." Ever since I was a young child I have always loved dancing. My mother sent me to the local dance studio and I took ballet, tap and jazz like every other young girl wanting to dance. I've always had this need and desire to not only dance but to perform and be the center of attention. But just like everything in life, we change, we grow, we mature. Real life begins to takes over and our dreams are forgotten.

  It was just like Blake to think that a million dollars would send me straight to easy street. Yes, the money has made it less difficult, but I still had to work hard to get here. I have learned money is not everything. For me it just helps fill a void for the things that are taken from you. I will be forever grateful to my husband for making sure he provided for me, even after his death.

  Financial security did make life more comfortable, but it wasn't until I received an unexpected call from Scott a few months later that made it possible for me to go after my dreams. Blake worked as a technician for Scott’s utility company and he was their lead man. It seems my husband was killed due to a piece of machinery that malfunctioned and Scott sued the manufacturer. They sued on behalf of the company, and on Blake’s behalf as well. I knew his boss had felt responsible for his death, but I had no idea he had gone after the company that built the faulty machinery. When he called that day he told me that there could never be any amount of money that would ease my pain, but he wanted to do what he could for me. Apparently the manufacturer did not want any bad publicity, and they were eager to settle both lawsuits out of court to avoid this. When he told me the amount they settled for on behalf of my husband, I was shocked. Not only was the settlement for five million dollars, but the manufacturer had also agreed to pay all the attorney fees.

  I was rich as far as money goes, but what I really needed was time to heal. Life had lost all meaning. It was as though I had no purpose, no reason to get out of bed in the morning. My days were empty and I felt there was nothing to look forward to in my life. The healing didn’t take place until a friend of mine stepped in to lend me a much needed helping hand. A wonderful man that I had met through work. I call him Dr. R. He was a customer that shopped at the department store where I worked, and we became great friends. Dr. R was a psychiatrist who practiced in the Central Florida area where I was living, and had an estate in his hometown of Cartageña, Colombia. When he heard about Blake's death he invited me to his casa in Cartageña to help me with my healing process. It was my first trip to South America. I knew his intentions were nothing but professional. He has an outstanding reputation in the community helping sexually abused children and over the years has become a great friend.

  Still I was not sure how the trip to Cartageña was going to help me, but Dr. R. insisted I needed to step away from everything to begin to heal. I had resigned myself to to a life of sitting on the couch every day crying. I figured I had nothing else to lose so I took him up on his offer. I had to do something. I was getting so good at picking the “Baby Daddy” before the results were revealed on Maury Povich that I was even starting to worry about myself. No matter how many close friends you have to help you get through something like this, their lives return to normal after a few weeks. But yours doesn’t. That is when the reality of everything sets in place. Dr. R. knew this, of course, and stepped in at the right time. If it wasn't for him, I’m not sure what would have happened to me.

  My first few days there he left me to myself. He owned a beautiful home on the coast. As cliché as it may sound, I took countless walks on the beach and spent time just thinking and remembering what I had and what I had lost. Once I adjusted to my new surroundings and felt ready to open up and talk, Dr. R an
d I would meet every afternoon for one on one counseling. During those first sessions we didn’t talk much -- instead, he just listened to me cry. Trust me, I cried a lot. It was as though my tears were speaking for me; they represented my pain in a way I just couldn’t put into words. At least not yet. Sometimes I wondered how he could do it -- just sit there and let me cry, saying nothing at all about what I was going through. But looking back, I can see now that this was the only way to get to the heart of what I was truly feeling. I was finally grieving. I cried until there were simply no more tears; and my tear banks were empty. Eventually, he started doing the talking and pointed out all the wonderful memories I had with Blake. He showed me how, once I began verbalizing those memories, how I could feel good about them and cherish them and keep them with me forever. It was only then I was able to step away from the pain and focus on the fact that I had a beautiful marriage with an incredible man. Dr. R reminded me that some people never get the chance to love, and even though Blake was gone, and we had only shared a short time together, we were among the lucky ones. We had that chance. We loved.