In this room, my silent guest always held the ultimate power. Yet, he did nothing untoward. Unlike the bastard who didn’t heed the wordstop. The one I needed to be saved from last time. Whenhesaved me. Used that power to protect me.
What makes him different? How can he hold so much control and choose not to abuse it? Why can’t the man I’m expected to pledge my life to tomorrow be more like him? Like my silent guest?
The man who, within my nonsensical stories, heard the deepest secrets of my soul.
“Do you think a good person can still be considered ‘good’ if they have done a terrible thing?” I whisper. “An unforgivable thing? And… And they don’t regret it?”
As usual, I pause for a reaction, for a response. I thought…maybe, this time. But my silent guest remains silent. As stoic as he always is. Now, though, the stillness feels heavy in the room. Deafening.
“Someone…died, because of me,” I continue. “And…I thought I’d be racked with guilt. But I’m not. I tried to feel remorseful, but I…don’t. Instead, I’m grateful.”
Every word out of my mouth feels like poison. Scalds my lips. Drenches me in shame. For not feeling the way I believe I should. It’s horrific. But it’s the truth.
“They died so someone I love could live. They also died because I was hurting.”
A choice.
Theirs. Mine. His.
“Everyone isn’t either completely good or bad.” I’m speaking mostly to myself now. “No one is entirely chaste or sinful. We all make choices, I guess.”
Perhaps that’s the punishment for mine. Being forced to marry the man responsible for my greatest solace.
I wish I could forget about that.
“Ones we may need to learn to live with.”
Minutes or, maybe, hours pass—I’m not really sure—as we simply sit side by side, with my cheek pressed against my silent guest’s upper arm. I’m afraid that if I move or say anything, the strange spell between us will be broken. It feels right, this sense of calm that envelops me just being near him. The tranquility is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced with another person.
My entire life, I’ve remained vigilant, on alert, always expecting something bad to happen. Watching out for the next obstacle that will need to be overcome, the next problem to be solved. But not tonight. Something tells me that, whatever may happen in the here and now, my silent companion will take care of it. Somehow. Just as he took care of so many things in my life with his little presents. The book. The tickets. The teacup. The black cumin. And in between, with his quiet support, he took care of me.
A smile tugs on my lips as I think of that. After being connected to the criminal world for so many years, I’ve come to expect that each new person I meet will be bad in some way. Their deeds, their attitude, their indifference. Seeing Adriano Ruffo’s true colors had sort of cemented that belief. But my silent guest has reminded me it isn’t true for all. There are decent people in this world. People who care.
I tilt my head up, staring blindly at where I expect my silent guest’s face to be. God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to see him. See his eyes. Know what he looks like. Just the briefest glimpse. Because…despite everything I’ve tried, I can only picture my silent guest as Adriano Ruffo. The only man whose likeness is etched into my mind. And I need that to end. The two of them are nothing alike.
Carefully, I reach out until my hand lands on soft wool. My heart rate is spiking, and my nerves are all over the place as I drag my trembling fingertips along his sturdy forearm, then higher. I was right. He’s really tall. His arm is long; the anterior muscles bulge under his jacket, straining the fabric that’s covering them. His biceps might be thicker than my thigh.
Slowly, inch by tiniest inch, my fingers glide over the seams on his lapels and up to the column of his neck. Fear grips me that any moment now, my exploration will be stopped.
“Do you ever want to just disappear? Or, for a little while, become someone else?” I ask with a voice that sounds a bit shaky. My fingers, meanwhile, advance along the line of his strong jaw. “To escape reality, the people, basically everyone and everything you know?”
A touch. On the edge of my chin. Knuckles, caressing my skin.
A nearly inaudible, growled reply breaks the silence. “Yes.”
I freeze, unable to draw air. For what feels like eons, we stay unmoving, my fingers on his warm skin just under his ear, while his hand must be only a hair’s breadth away from my face. I can feel the heat of it. The barely-there brush of his thumb on my bottom lip.
My insides are twisted with all kinds of anxiety. Excitement. Trepidation. A buzz builds in my chest, like an electric energy. It courses through me in a slow wave, intensifying with each breath I take.
I bite my lower lip while my hand ventures further, snaking around his neck. My fingers rake through the hair at his nape. Once. Twice. Again. And again. I can’t stop.
A slightly calloused palm cups my face, nearly engulfing it completely. His hand is huge, but his touch is so, so gentle. It makes me doubt it’s actually there. But it’s enough to make that pulsing current in my body spike and transform into a rapid high voltage. It zips through me as if seeking an escape. Demanding. Demanding contact. I find myself leaning forward, my chin tilted up. Closer. Closer to him.
Hard, determined lips slam to mine, stealing the breath from my lungs with their ferocity. The kiss is brutal, devastating. It consumes and destroys. It’s not simply a kiss. It’s a takeover. His lips move against mine with rough, ruinous precision. Hungry. Angry. His mouth is merciless, obliterating my last fragile thought.
There’s fury behind his kiss.
My arms rush to wind around his neck, fingers once more threading through that wonderful hair as I surrender to the kiss. Heat ignites low in my stomach, quickly rising through my bloodstream. I feel it everywhere. In the sharp pull of my lungs, straining for air. In the violent stutter of my pulse. In the molten weakness spreading through my limbs and making me melt. Every part of my body is suddenly awake, hypersensitive, desperate. My skin seems too tight, my blood too hot, my thoughts stripped bare and left useless. There is only him. My silent guest. His hands on my face and the crushing press of his mouth. Making me feel. Making me need…
