Rosangela woke to discover the sun peeking through the drawn blinds just behind the large bed. Her eyes were aimed upward, focused on the cracks of morning sunlight. Her eyes shifted down, caught glimpse of the infamous pulley bolted to the ceiling, a grin perked over her lips. Her eyes shifted to her right, no Victor Hardway.
Her eyes frowned then her nose wrinkled, caught whiff of food. Slowly she sat up, her eyes scanned the dim morning light lit room. She slightly grinned, she woke up in Victory Hardway's bed in his loft bedroom inside his apartment. Her grin faded as her eyes frowned with question.
She quietly mumbled a question to herself, "What are you doing?" her head shook as she slapped her hands over her face then she questioned herself again, "What do you think you're doing?"
Her hands dropped as her bottom pierced lip pouted.
An amazing three days with the author of her dreams and she was delivered into questioning everything that happened and why it happened.
For three years she basically reevaluated her life, changed herself into a woman she knew she was meant to be. She was never meant for the life of a meek little housewife which eventually ended her marriage.
She softly grumbled with frustration that seemed to grow from somewhere inside her that she once thought would never be located again. Her thoughts went to the revelations of the night before.
No, not the revelations that Victor Hardway was a genius when it came to giving her one mind blowing orgasm after another. But it was the revelation that there were emotions inside her that she thought had vanished when she took control of her life three years prior.
She twisted on her naked rear and brought her legs over the side of the bed, felt something brush against the side of her foot. She leaned forward and peered down at the torn plastic bag that previously suffocated her. A subtle smile crossed her lips but quickly vanished when she returned her focus elsewhere on more unsettling thoughts.
She rose up off the bed and quietly tiptoed around the bed, fetching both the corset and wrap dress off the floor. Briefly she paused, looked to the set up tripods. Again a brief smile but it again faded into concern.
Across the floor she moved as she redressed only in the wrap dress. She snuck towards the side table as the aroma of obvious breakfast continued to fill the apartment.
At the side table she fumbled about the drawers as quietly as possible, saw the open box of oven roasting bags which managed to perk another grin.
She blinked and rid herself of those fonder thoughts.
From a second row drawer she removed a pad of paper then snatched an ink pen from the same drawer. She pulled the cap with her teeth then took a deep breath in preparation to write.
Victor's voice greeted, "Good morning."
Rosangela startled, dropped the pen as the cap fell from her mouth, then darted her eyes to the top of the metal stairs that led onto the loft bedroom. Her eyes were wide as they looked at the author. She gasped, "Morning."
His eyes frowned then looked to the side table, immediately noticed the blank note pad and dropped pen. His eyes returned to her startled expression then he asked, "What are you doing?"
She quickly shook her head then denied, "Nothing."
His eyes narrowed with suspicion then he strolled up to her and looked to the note pad then back to her. He questioned, "Nothing?"
"Um," she mumbled in attempt to gather an excuse for the paper and pen he obviously noticed.
His head tilted, clearly read something amiss about her, then questioned her again, "Leaving?"
Again she mumbled, "Yeah," she bobbed her head, "Um, yeah, I gotta go."
His frown tensed with further suspicion then he inquired, "Why? I thought you had the day off."
Her head again bobbed and she said, "Yeah, I do but, um, I gotta do some errands." she nervously laughed, "You know, bills and all that good stuff."
He highly doubted her excuse but went along with it. He suggested, "Well, why not eat breakfast before you go."
She forced an awkward smile then declined, "That's great of ya but I really need to hand over my share of the rent to the returned roomies." her eyes deviated from his, purposely scanned the room for her shoes, "I'll come back later tonight or something."
She again laughed then pointed out her shoes. Quickly she scurried away from the side table and raced for the shoes.
She grabbed one shoe and explained, "Um, I made a decision." she stumbled a bit and grabbed the other shoe off the floor, "Tonight's your night."
She rose up with her shoes dangling from her hand then looked to him with a huge smile. She nodded in agreement of her statement, "Yeah, tonight's the night, Mr. Hardway." she held her smile though it felt as if it nearly hurt her face, "You get want you want."
He crossed his arms over his chest, his suspicions escalated seeing her awkward demeanor and hearing the nervousness in her tone. He said nothing.
She hated how he looked at her with his gorgeous eyes narrowed and the stern suspicion highlighting the intricate features of his face. She knew he sensed something more was going on with her and hated it. Her face truly started to hurt with how hard she tried to keep that smile across her lips.
He finally spoke and offered, "Let me drive you home." He turned for the stairs.
"No," she protested.
He stopped, slowly turned to the side and eyed her with question.
She nervously giggled then stated, "Thanks but I'll call a cab."
His lips tensed with a bit of frustration then he shook his head and, without a word, retreated down the stairs.
Her face twisted with her own frustration towards her damned behavior. She softly grumbled then headed for the stairs. Down the stairs her bare feet slapped against each metal step, she knew he was likely annoyed.
At the bottom of the stairs she watched him head towards the kitchen area. She loudly stated, "I'm sorry." across the living room section she scurried, paused to slip on her heels, "I'm just in a hurry, that's all."
He stepped behind the kitchen island and proceeded to pour himself a cup of coffee. Nonchalantly he commented, "That's fine." then he moved to the dining table sipping his coffee.
She froze near the dining table, watched him sit down and proceed to enjoy breakfast. Her shoulders slumped then she promised, "I'll be back around eight or so, okay."
He nodded without looking at her as he tucked forkful of omelet into his mouth.
She felt somewhat dissed by him. Her eyes frowned as they shifted back and forth with awkwardness. "Ah," she mumbled again, "Well, I'll..." she felt defeated by herself and the situation, "Okay, well, later."
She turned, limply lifted her arm and gave him a quick wave then headed in direction of the elevator.
His eyes finally looked as she walked away. His jaw slowly chewed as he watched her vanish beyond the brick wall.
He thought to himself, there was something very odd going on with his inspiration. Her constant demeanor switches were very distracting for his creativity. Though she claimed that evening he would finally get what he wanted, her demeanor stole any enthusiasm.
His eyes blinked, heard the elevator gate lift then lower. He knew she had planned to steal away without him knowing and likely was going to leave a letter behind as explanation.
He swallowed, listened to the elevator lower. His eyes looked to the array of paintings and he noted in thought, she was more complex than any of the others before her. Yet, she was the only ever to get as close as she had.
He set down the fork then rose from the table. Toward the wall of painted portraits he moved, his mind not where he knew it should be, his art. Her announcement that his time had come should be his focus but she was the focus.
Before the centered painting he stepped, his eyes shifted one direction then the other studying the several different women who had entered his life for one evening only then left without any further contact.
For three days his latest muse had been in his life, far longer than any other. And, that evening, the fourth day, would likely be last time she would be in his life.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes to the painted images of his past bound inspirations. Behind his closed eyes was the image of his current inspiration. Yes, she succeeded in changing his creative process but had she changed more than that?
His eyes opened but were aimed at the floor not the paintings. Slowly he turned, his eyes looked the direction she vanished. His jaw clenched and flexed.
Perhaps Rosangela wasn't the only one in that odd situation with underlining issues from the past.
Rosangela returned to her shared town house, it was empty for the roommates were at work. She never ran any errands, took a lengthy hot shower then sat in her bedroom with her head all over the damned place within her jumbled and concerning thoughts.
She would return to the author's apartment and fulfill their bargain. Yet, she was somewhat leery about returning. No, she wasn't with concerns about what Victor Hardway would do to achieve his complete creative release. She was concerned about the outcome when it came to an end.
On the edge of her bed she sat naked, her eyes glazed with thought as they stared blankly at the floor. Her hands were tucked between her thighs as she simply sat in complete silence with her thoughts. A somber expression coated every feature of her face. There was nearly a draining feeling that weighed down on her.
She was in a battle of sorts within her thoughts. There were questions why she felt the way she did.
For over a decade she was trapped within a loveless marriage covered by a mirage of happiness and fulfillment. She never hated her ex husband, just hated their marriage which lacked those many elements she truly desired but hid. And it wasn't until that one day when she stepped into a mainstream bookstore and roamed the long aisles that she discovered what her miniscule life lacked.
