Taking my time, I fold up the blankets in the lounge and instead of putting them back into the trunk, I place them over the back of the couch. Getting a whiff of her scent from the blanket as I fold it up, I harden and groan, shaking my head. I've masturbated more times than I care to think about since she came into my life.
I journey back up the stairs, shower, and then slip into bed with Sarah who's still soundly sleeping, not having moved even a single inch.
Realizing, I feel at peace.
Chapter twenty-one
We're Losing Ourselves
ThenextmorningIopen my eyes, blinking lazily. It's Sunday.
Hair day.
I yawn and stretch my limbs with a little moan, sliding lazily along the crisp grey covers of Alexander's bed. The first thing I notice is I feel incredibly refreshed and at peace. The second thing I notice is my baby's still gone. My eyes sting at the reminder.
I tilt my head around and see the other side of the bed empty. Sitting up I wince at the painful twinge in my back, looking around the room.
Where is he?
Getting out slowly, I flex my toes against the embossed rug, feeling the slightly scratchy woven wool against my feet. I pad to the bathroom to relieve myself and to check my hair. It's not too bad, so I run a brush through it and then wash my face and brush my teeth.
Seeing the slight shadow of the bruise on my jaw has finally faded to not be noticeable, I just brush my eyebrows out and put a very light coat of mascara on, leaving my face bare and then head to my bag of clothes. Needing to feel something soft and comforting against me today, I put on a slightly loose calf-length mocha colored dress.
The material is soft and flows over my curves just right, and I can't help but hope that he likes what he sees when I say good morning.
Jesus, I feel kind of like a whore. Why do I care what this man thinks of me? Furthermore, how am I having these feelings of attraction while I'm grieving? My eyes widen as it clicks into place. I'm fucking trauma bonding with this man. I have to be. No one catches feelings this quickly. Do they?
Now, I'm more desperate than ever to get myself into counseling. I have too much to navigate. My daddy issues, the miscarriage, my abusive relationship, and now whatever this is that's budding to life between Alex and me.
Biting my lip, I ponder for a moment. Have I been wearing blinders during my grief, and I'm just making myself think he's attracted to me? I'm so confused.
I turn to the doorway, pausing at the sight of a white pair of slippers placed in front of the door. Directly in front, so I had no chance of missing them. Something blossoms in my heart at the prospect of him thinking about something so simple, and I slide my feet into them before exiting the room, making my way downstairs to find him.
Pausing halfway down the stairs, I grasp the iron and glass railing and feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I hear haunting instrumental music come from the lounge near the foyer. The music gets slightly louder with my descent and the passion of the melody, and my ears prick curiously.
My mouth drops at the next note, and my flesh breaks out in goosebumps as I suddenly hear what sounds like a woman trilling passionately for several tense seconds.
I step off the bottom of the stairwell and turn into the the foyer when I see him. My heart begins to thud in my chest.
He's sitting in a plain wooden chair, dressed in all black with his sleeves pushed up his forearms. He's donned a very nice button-up shirt with the first couple buttons open, revealing his smooth chest, and he's surprisingly barefoot. I swallow hard, feeling tendrils of desire settle deep in my belly at how handsome he is. How insanelytalentedhe is.
How incredibly at peace he looks with his body curved over a dark, wooden cello, playing a song about a man's longing to fall in love.
Placing my hand to my chest, I feel my heart skip a beat as I watch him almostlovinglycaress the strings as he sways with his instrument. His eyes are closed, completely lost in the music as his fingers tremble on the strings, drawing out the beautiful,almosthumansounding notes that had made my hair stand up on the back of my neck on the stairway.
I've never heard anything this beautiful before. Because what Alexander offers as he sits there, unaware I'm watching, is a gift. Something raw, innocent, and true. Something rarely seen in the theater. This is pain, a longing for hope. A wish in musical form.
Too bad there's not a star anywhere around here, I'd be wishing on it right about now.
Staying silent, because I don't want to disturb this trance he's in, I take a few steps in the room; nevertheless, despite how quiet I tried to be, his eyes suddenly snap open to meet mine. I freeze. The startling blue irises pierce straight through to the center of me, keeping me in place with one foot stretched out as he plays without missing a single note. I stay completely still even as my body catches on fire from the inside out.
Split open, we stare at each other for long moments as he continues to play, and he hits a note so perfect, sobeautiful,that my lips part in surprise as I inhale a shaky breath. No part of us is physically touching, but I've never had a moment with anyone this intimate before. Something passes between us in this instant. Something I can't decipher before he closes his eyes again, bowing his head over his instrument, and continues on.
Losing himself once again.
My heart flutters as I observe. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, the cello disappears, and I imagine a woman straddling his lap. That’s how he looks as he crouches over his instrument… as if he's caressing a lover instead of wood and strings. And I become sad.
What I wouldn’t give for someone to hold me like that.
