Disclaimers:
Mine, all mine. Female loving, hating, and all that's in between. I'm sorry for the prolonged delay for this chapter, but I hope it was at least worth the wait. If you liked it, let me know. If you didn't, let me know that too...but gently...I'm a fragile writer ;)
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The next morning, I woke up with a silly grin on my face. I stretched lightly and searched for my companion. Deep down I dreaded the morning after, knowing things wouldn't be as simple as they were last night, but I was ready and willing to face the new day head on, whatever it may bring. I couldn't even imagine how wrong I could possibly be. Jeanie, whom I had spent the night making glorious love to, was standing at the end of the bed holding her diary in her left hand, pointing it accusingly in my direction. Her expression was different. I had never seen her look so cold as she had in that specific moment.
I did the only thing I could do. I gulped. Hard.
"'Morning honey." I said with a strangely squeaky voice that didn't quite seem like my own.
Jeanie's frown deepened as she threw the diary toward me, making it land with a soft plop on my sheet clad stomach. "Care to explain?" She said in a barely controlled voice as she continued to gaze intently in my direction.
I resisted the urge to cringe, holding her gaze. "Umm..." I shrugged, looking down at the leather bound notebook. Picking it up carefully, I looked at it from top to bottom, from back to front, and then laid it back down. "What is this?" Did I mention I was really bad at acting? Well, at that moment I would have given just about anything for a drop of talent.
Her eyes narrowed to such a frightening degree that they almost looked closed. Her blood was boiling, that much was obvious and I realized that I never ever wanted to be a target for her anger again. That is, if she ever spoke to me again after this day. With a menacing growl, she whispered through clenched teeth, "Though you try your best to act like it, not even you can be that stupid!"
This time I actually did cringe. I opened my mouth for a moment, to say something, but when nothing came out I made a great imitation of a fish before snapping my trap shut. Thinking about her words as she hurriedly made her way around the room, gathering her belongings, I frowned, "Hey, I resent that." My words fell on deaf ears as she silently got dressed, arranged her wild hair and prepared to storm out of my house. Looking at her going from one corner of the room to another and back, she reminded me of the Tazmanian devil. One heck of a temper those two had. My breath caught in my throat, making me choke when she glared at me, as though sensing my wayward thoughts and my irresistible instinct to chuckle. The chuckle got choked down, and I quickly scrambled out of bed myself. I couldn't let her leave like that. Not only was she the best sex I'd ever had, she was my best friend, and I think...well, I don't know what I think, but I knew I couldn't let her leave. She was already on her way out of my bedroom, when I got entangled in the bed sheets and crashed down on the floor with a loud thump.
I heard her footsteps pause for a moment, and then her sweet voice ring through the house, "Did you hurt yourself?"
Joy leaped through my chest at the kind question. There must still be a chance. She must still care for me...somewhere deep down. "Yeah, I fell and hit my head," I answered pathetically. My head was actually beginning to throb and a caress from her would have done wonders.
"Good!" She yelled, and I could hear her footsteps gaining speed again.
I groaned as I got up and went after her. I guess that caring part of hers is buried really deep down. I reached the living room just in time to see her open the front door. Before I could stop her, she slammed the door shut in my face. I stumbled back and only by sheer luck I managed to level myself on my feet.
How could a morning that should have been troubled by completely different issues had gone so wrong? I was miserable; my head ached, my heart ached, and my libido...well, that was actually recuperating quite nicely after last night. I simply couldn't help the lecherous grin that spread across my face. Groaning, I slumped against the door, moaning in pain when I hit my head in exactly the same spot I had hit it earlier. Luckily for me, I didn't need a well functioning head in my line of work.
Well, I was alone again. Back to my lonesome self, in a huge house that constantly reminded me of Jeanie. "Might as well start gathering a bunch of stray cats.." I mumbled to myself.
I spent the rest of the day moaning my pitiful state, thinking about things and how they had gone so terribly wrong and trying to think up a way to get Jeanie back. I knew she would probably not answer my calls for at least a few days and I decided to let her cool down for a bit before trying my luck. My bed seemed so empty now that she was gone, and I didn't care how much of a cliché that sounded. I write fiction, damn it! Two women...two writers...sheesh...what have I gotten myself into?
What have I done really? I tried to think rationally. I didn't kill her favorite cat, I didn't commit a terrible and heinous crime...all I did was read her journal from when she was a kid! What was so wrong with that? Well there was the fact that I didn't tell her, and kind of hid her diary from her. And maybe I should have told her about it before we had sex...I'm sure we would have laughed and laughed about it for hours. I covered my face with my hands, shaking my head back and forth like a demented puppet.
Finally, I sighed in defeat. It had turned dark and I needed the rest. I was physically and emotionally exhausted and the preparation for tomorrow was starting to take its toll. I didn't plan on just letting her go. At least not that easily. And I had to have my strength with me after her temper display of today. She was a feisty one, and I liked it. Call me a masochist, but I enjoy a little spice in my life. Now I wonder, did she take her diary with her?
After actually spending an hour of searching for that diary, and coming up with nothing, I finally fell into a restless sleep. I kept dreaming of that scene over and over again, and every time I saw Jeanie's face it would get scarier. At first, she only had a pair of fangs, but then she actually grew horns and a tail. I won't even tell you to what image of her I woke up. Was my unconscious trying to tell me something?
The following morning I tried to get my house and my head back in working order. I tried calling Jeanie a couple of times, but always got her answering machine. After leaving a pathetically sappy message, I decided to try my hand at some writing. Since this whole Jeanie episode began, I had stopped writing, finding myself constantly preoccupied with something else; once it was her hair, then it would be her nose, lips, eyes, and several other anatomical parts that I enjoyed studying. It was truly torture. She was finally mine, after all this time, and then this happens. Me and my hiding skills. I couldn't even do that properly. I'm surprised I found my way around her body. That same lecherous grin appeared. Oh yeah, and I would find it again and again, if I have anything to do with it.
So after taking a round trip down the gutter and gathering some material for my new novel, I sat down to write. Here I was, in front of my computer, writing program all ready to go, and nothing. Absolutely nothing! I put my hands on the keyboard, and even tried simulating the sound of typing, but to no avail. My brain was...dead. That was it...I was brain dead. I had finally gone and done it. Thinking the same system of repairs would work on my head like it did on my computer, I started slapping its side. But nothing worked. Eventually, I stopped, taking my head in my hands, rubbing the sore spot. It was all Jeanie's fault. She had sucked all my creativity out of me. I was a barren wasteland because of HER!
Picking up the phone, I decided to let my tormentor know the result of her actions. She had probably had all of this planned, trying to drive me insane. When the machine picked up, I said furiously, "I can't write anymore! Are you happy now? You've stolen my lifeblood, my career, my life!" Overdramatic? You bet your ass! Then I hung up. If she was so intent on torturing me, then I would give her a taste of her own medicine. I would call her so many times until she would pick up just so she wouldn't have to hear my recorded voice anymore.
From that moment on, I called her every few minutes, leaving weird messages after every single beep. She will get tired of this soon enough. I just knew it. Besides, I had nothing better to do so might as well use my time productively. After a while even I was starting to go a little crazy...imagine that. My messages became stalker like, and I snickered at the thought. She already thinks I'm a crazed stalker, the least I can do is substantiate her assumption.
"Jeanie? Are you there?" That was my 30th message.
"Jeanie? Pick up." My 40th.
"Jeanie? Jeanie? I know you're there." 50th. At that point, I'll admit, I may have gone a tiny bit over board. She wasn't answering and I probably was freaking her out so badly that she would never return my calls again. So I stopped. And then I sat in front of the phone waiting. You see the kind of life writers lead? Now do you understand why most of them go cookoo before the age of 40? Well, it seemed that I was right on my way.
It took two more days but that phone call finally came. She called. And she was screaming so loudly that I practically threw the receiver on the floor when I first picked up. I let her exhaust herself for a bit before I even attempted to join in on her monologue. "Jeanie?" I asked tentatively.
"Yes, who else would it be, you nutcase? How could you leave 100 messages on my answering machine? Are you crazy? I was gone for a couple of days just to come back to that! What is wrong with you?"
I cringed and bit my lip in thought...oops. How could I have known that she wasn't home? I automatically assumed she was giving me the silent treatment and not answering my calls. And I'm the crazy one?
"I only left about 50 messages," was my pathetically sounding response. "Can I see you?" If there is one thing you can say about me is that I'm at least persistent. I might be crazy, but I'm crazily persistent.
I could almost see Jeanie's face as there was suddenly silence. She was probably looking at the receiver in her hand with an incredulous expression, trying to figure out how the heck she got entangled with someone like me. "No!" She screamed and hung up.
I pursed my lips in thought, "Well, we've made a little progress. She's cracking." I smiled smugly and went back to my computer, giving writing another try.
The words actually began to flow onto the screen, but they were slow in coming and not wonderfully poetic, but at least I was writing again. It was a re-entry into the world of the living, and I couldn't wait to see Jeanie again. I wondered, for the thousandth time, if she might lend me her diary from time to time once we've made up. I chuckled at the crazy thought. Maybe I could get her to read it to me. I spent the rest of the day writing with a silly, face splitting grin curling my lips. Can you say, clueless?
After three days of fluent writing, my hopes were back up in the sky. I had called Jeanie from time to time but other than yelling at me some unintelligible words, I barely got a chance to put a word in before she hung up. As the days went by, her screams toned down and I even got to slip a word or two in before she hung up. We were getting somewhere and I couldn't wait to take her in my arms again. Feel that soft skin gliding against my own. That ravenous tongue delving into my depths, making me dizzy with desire. I couldn't wait to hear her moan and gasp into my ear as I took her body higher than it's ever gone before. My dreams were plagued with the image of her. Her image, this time, was of her true form, an angel in stark nudity, waiting for me to stake my claim.
Our last call actually resembled a dialogue. She let me speak for a moment or two before she cut me off. Gathering my courage, I eventually managed to slip a few last words in, "Can I see you?"
There was silence on the line and then her voice, the soft one I had missed so much, returned. "You can do whatever you want." Then she hung up.
Luckily, I'm a woman. If I were a guy, he would have probably misinterpreted her answer and let her mull things over for a while longer, while unbeknownst to him, she would have mulled a cruel break up during that time period. Me, I knew my way around hints. Well, no, I sucked at them actually, but I knew that it was a loud and clear invitation, and I was more than ready to face the storm. I had no idea how true those words would ring.
Dressing in my best clothes, a pair of pants and a t-shirt – I'm a struggling artist, keep your criticism to yourself – I bought a long stemmed red rose and drove to her place. My heart was floating in my chest with happiness. We would finally be able to continue from where we had stopped, before the "diary" incident. I could feel my mouth begin to water. Stretching and cringing at the cracking of a few bones, I got out of the car and went to ring her doorbell. How things have changed, how tables have turned kept running through my mind. Shaking my head of any thoughts, I placed a large smile on my face when I heard her turn the lock.
When the door opened, she took a quick glance at me, and then turned her back and moved back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Licking my top lip, I blinked and stared, "Okay..." I stretched the word out, and then made my way inside.
