Against All Odds

Against All Odds

A story of lost love, coming of age, cheating, addiction, and trying to turn back time.

This is my first published work. It started out small and then just grew. Part One is a classic back story and plods along. However, there are 'easter eggs' that I had hard time cutting. I'm also versed enough to know that publishing in "Loving Wives" can require courage and fortitude. The pace of the upcoming chapters improves a lot. Armed with seemingly verbose enthusiasm, I am a novice gripped with trepidation. To write or not to write, that is the question. There are themes here that are difficult to navigate but that was part of the story. I'm open to feedback but hope the constructive stuff outweighs the haters that seem to flock to these types of stories. It's fiction after all.

I will publish Part Two and Three in consecutive days.

Marc

Part ONE

Dark Days

It was the end of everything for Melissa and me, the woman I'd wanted to be with for the rest of my life.

After another toss-and-turn night, complete with night sweats from the detox, trying to stay sober while crying into the darkness. I was praying for first light. The city was humid, and the loft's one air conditioner was no match for the heat that persisted into the night. There were no curtains on the massive line of windows that peered into the industrial east end of the city and the small bedroom window never caught a breeze. There was a time when I would be basking in the afterglow of another all-night love-making session. Her clothes were still on the open rail hanger, and some stacked on the floor.

I would have to box those up

, I thought.

As first light peaked in from the east, I got up, grabbed a towel to dry off and shuffled into the open area of the loft. I put on coffee, washed up and then sat at the dining table watching the sunrise. Even after no sleep, the beautiful reds and oranges melting against the azure sky were more rewarding to me than similar mornings being high and staying up all night. I sipped my coffee and pretended the rising sun would dry my tears.

I grabbed my phone and scanned to see if I had any texts from her. There was nothing. Some friends were checking in, but I wasn't ready to face anyone. I needed to figure my life out. I rubbed my eyes and then started a playlist we both loved; the loft was also my office studio. It was wired for sound and the speakers filled every inch. I sat there, drinking my coffee, trying to slow down and move forward at the same time. I missed her so much and hated her as well. I wanted to crack a beer or smoke a joint, but it was coffee for me this morning. I had to get my shit together.

The images still haunted me: the sounds I had heard while I stood frozen at the loft's door; the music that had been playing, only to merge with the obvious sex sounds coming from inside. I had been able to hear everything, and it had gutted me. I recalled being terrified and had quickly become nauseous as the lousy airplane food tried to return and announce my presence. My breathing had been loud in my ears that I was surprised they hadn't heard it. The hallway had been empty - my neighbors were asleep or still out on the town and I was thankful no one saw me frozen at the loft's door. I remember being in a slow-motion vortex; and what she was saying shattered me.

Anger was a faraway feeling I remember reaching for but could not grasp. As I try to sleep at night, what I heard loops in counterpoint to what I witnessed when I had quietly opened the door. How could I have been prepared for what I saw? This movie was on repeat - it was slowly driving me crazy, and I was desperate to continue drinking myself into oblivion, as I did the days following.

Two and a Half Years Ago

I met Melissa on a warm summer day at the Rocket, my favorite coffee bar. It was caffeine central for the east-end bike couriers and a melting pot of other patrons, primarily creatives searching for the spark, students, the cool upwardly mobile jet set that lived near bye and the not-so-mobile characters from the projects down the street. A strange brew of humans. It was the best place and my creative muse to people watch, ponder being in my early thirties and grasping a future away from my romantic notions of being a poet or month-to-month gigging musician. It seemed that other calling - of being able to sell ice to an Eskimo - was starting to pay off in interesting ways.

I sat down with my thick cup of gnarly jet-black brew; the steam looked as heavy as the giant mug they used for stay-in coffee. With a sigh and a smile, I blew on the boiling mixture, looked up, and there she was. The most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. I was mid-tilt and almost dropped the cup as I sputtered that first sip. She had these fantastic ringlets for curls, her sun-kissed brown hair was shining, and her eyes could have stopped me in my tracks. Her face was delicate but strong, like an Elvin princess from Tolkien's Silmarillion. The light from her phone was like a spotlight on a movie star. Then she laughed at something, and I gasped, noticing her oh-so-subtle lips and smile. I must have looked like an idiot as she glanced up with her hand covering her mouth as she caught me staring. Busted, I was relieved when she said to me, "Oh, I'm sorry, it was something funny and stupid on Instagram," to which I replied, "Nothing ever wrong with a beautiful woman laughing at anything," to which she blushed and went back to her phone.

I was horrified as I turned red, trying to take a sip of the boiling coffee and immediately spit it out all over my lap. She laughed and smiled. I was desperately trying to recover when she stood up. Her legs never ended; she was in high-heeled sandals, a tiny brown skirt and a tasteful tank top. My throat started to recover, but now it was dry as a bone.

She walked up to me and said, "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course." I stood up while she sat in the chair across from me.

"I'm Melissa."

"I'm David; it's a pleasure to meet you, Melissa."

"Not to be alarming or anything, but crickets are coming out of your shopping bag."

I looked down, and during my close brush with burning myself, I had stepped on my shopping bag. I had just come from the exotic pet store next door where I get crickets for my Beardie. "Oh shit," I said, trying to catch as many as possible. She was a trooper and caught a couple herself. Unfortunately, many escaped, and the Rocket's music had a cricket chorus for weeks. It was so bad - they switched to ambient music as the cricket sounds seemed to fade into it.

I don't know how I kept myself together; Melissa was charming, beautiful, and had a disarming smile. She was young but had wise eyes, I thought. Melissa listened patiently while I prattled on about 'beardies,' the collection of characters coming and going from the Rocket. She gave my meandering conversation her undivided attention before I woke up and remembered to ask her some questions. Finally, I asked her if this was her first time to the Rocket.

"Yes, my first time. I was next door, checking out the baby Ferrets. My mom loves them and was thinking of getting her one for her birthday," she said. "They were sold out, so I came here to get a coffee before going home."

"Ah, the ever-lovable slinky and devilish ferret. It Seems I like them, but they don't like me, or at least my ex-girlfriend's ferret hated me."

She nodded and smiled and knew there was a story there, but we saved that for another day. I found out she lived somewhat far away, just past the east end. It was extraordinary how easy it was to be with her. Even when we were silent, it felt right. So much so that it emboldened me to be brave and ask her what she was doing on Saturday night. I told her that I had some tickets for a band playing at the waterfront amphitheater and asked her if she would like to go. She didn't answer right away, like she was thinking about being busy or some other nice excuse, which made me blush and swallow, thinking I'd been too brave. I figured she was way younger than me and was hoping I didn't have the creepy older guy thing going on. God knows I was nervous and trying to be cool, but I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I had to fight the urge to bite my nails.

Then she smiled and said, "I would enjoy that, Dave; let me give you my phone number. Text me later and let me know when and where." With that, she said it was getting late, and should be getting home to her roommates.

I watched her walk out the door, those legs never-ending, and noticed how sexy her back was. Even though she was all legs, she had wider but delicate shoulders narrowing into a petite waist ending down at an ass that was small but not too small. It had that ideal lift some women get from the right high heels. As she was leaving, she looked back at me, totally catching me checking her out and gave me a smile that again made all the blood rush to my face. Then the door closed, and she was gone. I sat there, basically panting and blinking.

Mike, the barista, looked at me and said, "You can close your mouth now," with a smile and a wink that told me he knew how I felt.

I couldn't wait until Saturday night, recalling she didn't even ask what band was playing.

I waited an excruciating twenty-four hours before I texted Melissa. I asked how she was doing, thanked her for the most awesome conversation and asked if she was still into seeing some live music with me. To my delight, I got a reply almost instantly: "I was hoping you would text me; I thought you might go dark. And yes, I am looking forward to hanging with you and seeing some music."

My one-word reply left much to be desired as I just said, "Great!"

I offered to pick her up, but she was cool with getting there herself. I gave her a place to meet near the amphitheater, reminding her it was an outdoor thing, and I would have a blanket to sit on. Her reply came quickly, "See you there, Dave."

On the day of the concert, I was delirious with happiness and nerves and had a hundred internal conversations on how to play it cool. I looked at five pairs of jeans and ten shirts. Having not much to eat in the last two days, my stomach growled nervously. I was not a fatty, and I had a very athletic build, but I needed to be in better shape. The desk made me money, but the long hours and my love of good food and beer had me threatening 'dad bod' territory. I took two showers and still couldn't decide what to wear.

In the end, I chose faded jeans, a crisp white t-shirt, my docs and, in case it got cold, a classy light black sweater. I packed it in a small bag with my trusty amphitheater show blanket with some simple munchies in almonds and chocolate-covered raisins. I took quick look around and then left the now spotlessly clean loft. Well, at least as clean as my eclectic bric-a-brac style would allow. My studio gear dominated the main area, so there was little left but the bohemian furniture, a dining table and small loft kitchen. It was a simple but 'vibey' space. The twelve-foot all-wood ceilings and a massive panel of east-facing windows were spectacular at night, with the glow of the city illuminating the space; plus, I was a lighting nut. Nothing was cohesive, but the mood was balanced and perfect for the space. E

asy there, boy, you're getting ahead of yourself.

I left with tons of time to make it early and was worried when I arrived at the meeting spot with Melissa was already there. I looked at my watch; I was early, but so was she! She also wore jeans, a lovely and tight top, and a sweater wrapped around her waist. Her hair was down, and her glowing ringlets looked like she had her own personal invisible wind machine. This time, she had sandals on and no heels. She was still tall, but with my Docs on, she was at that perfect height shorter than I was. She smiled while looking nervous, which I found a bit funny because my hands were as damp as the dew on a summer morning. She surprised me with a big smile and a hug. The embrace lingered, and I instantly got hard and was worried it showed. Thank God for my concert bag, which I threw in front of me while we walked slowly to the event gates.

"You look awesome, Melissa," I said, "and I'm happy you wanted to come tonight. It's not my favorite band, but I know the drummer, so the tickets were comped."

"It's a wonderful night, and I love the lake, and any music but country will be fine," she replied.

I blinked in happiness as I respect good Country music, but it's not my favorite. I hope she liked electronic chill, dance and dubstep, as that was more my speed for late-night fun.

"So, who are we seeing tonight," said Melissa.

"It's the Betty Bright Band. Their music is a bit sleepy for me, but she can flat out sing and they're all heavy players. Even if it's not your thing, seeing them live is impressive! I even have backstage passes if you want to do that after the show," I was hoping that might impress her, but she just smiled, and we continued to walk slowly, savoring the approaching dusk and the lake starting to reflect the lights from the city. It was the perfect temperature, with very little wind and clear skies.

We sat on the blanket and took in the show. I could tell it was music neither of us resonated with, but the performance was world-class. Betty was a pure vocal diva, and there was no denying how professional the band was. I was so nervous, but at one point, our hands touched, and it was like electricity fired through my whole body, sending tingles everywhere. I was terrified it was obvious, but she was so cool. We casually started holding hands while the stars came out, the cool night air surrounded us, nudging us closer, and then I looked at her and said, "You're so beautiful, it's almost hard to breathe." Then it happened; the first kiss. There was an explosion inside me and was mortified that I got an instant erection so fast it hurt. I was praying she didn't notice; it would be so embarrassing. We slowly finished the kiss, and I opened my eyes, never wavering in our locked gaze. I was smitten. Holy shit, I was scared and ecstatic at the same time. Melissa blinked and seemed to catch herself and then looked away back at the band. I was dying inside that my kiss was that of a feeble teenage boy, blundering and desperate. My heart was pounding in time with the song being played. I was concerned she could hear it. I still had my erection, and I squirmed, trying to hide it. Oh, gawd!

Melissa at the Concert

I sat under the night sky and was buzzing from head to toe. I thought this guy was handsome and cute, built like a jock but with a small dad bod thing going on. He was still broad-shouldered and tall, but it was his blue-grey eyes that lit a fire in me. He also made me laugh, and he was so nervous when we first met it was completely charming. I had never thought of dating an older man, but I was excited when he asked me out. I couldn't explain it. There was no shortage of interested men my age, and a lot of them were drop-dead gorgeous, many with big dick energy that at times simply annoyed me. It always felt that the hotter they were, the more they expected me to be with them. Of course, I had slept with some of them to see if their energy matched reality, but in the end, not one of them could get me off. This was a curse I was starting to accept; orgasms were a solo affair, it seemed, even with the girlfriends I liked to play with.

I don't know why I was thinking this.

Earlier, when I was getting ready, I was surprised how nervous I was. My roommate Cathy was laughing at me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Mel? You just met this guy. Why are you so jumpy?"

"I don't know. I mean, maybe because he's a man and not a man-boy?" I replied. "He was just so handsome, and my 'witchy' thing is ringing bells."

"Well, maybe those bells are alarms because he's an old dude with issues," said Cathy. "How old is he anyways?"

"I have no clue, maybe thirty-something or maybe just an older twenty-eight or something?... I don't know, and does it matter?"

"Look, Hayseed, you're twenty-one, fucking hot, and half the guys coming into the store are buying bud just to talk to you," replied Cathy, "you can have your pick and Colin's friend Joey, you know that super cute guy with dreadlocks, is already in love with you, he's your age, and I've heard he's packing."

I looked at my friend and paused hearing this and grunted like Marge from the Simpsons, and said, "I'm not sure Colin hangs with anyone that isn't a stoner, and their idea of a date is a blunt, video games and Red Bull vodkas as foreplay," to change the subject I said "OK what about this?" as I put on a tight dress with a sweater pull-over and high heels. I thought it looked sexy as fuck, but Cathy grabbed a faded pair of jeans and a tank top she loved on me. She said it made my breasts look perfect. She added some strappy sandals and proclaimed, "Mel, you're going to an outdoor concert, not a cocktail party. Just wear your hair down and bring a sweater. There is not a man alive that will not adore you looking like that, and you're a country girl anyway, so this fits. The old dude will love it!"

"I hope so," I said, "I can't explain it, Cathy. There is just something about him."

"Well, maybe he's rich and will sweep you off your feet and be your new sugar daddy," said Cathy.

"Cathy, you know that shit does nothing for me. I don't need another sugar daddy. I don't care what a guy makes as long as he's real, honest and can make me laugh." I replied... "and packing," replied Cathy.

"Cathy, stop it, you're being a shit," I gasped, "fuck, I gotta go. I don't want to be late." The last thing I did was a line of coke in my room. Just a bump. I loved coke, and even though it was expensive, I was a lightweight 'pick me up' kinda girl. A quarter gram lasted me a long time. I knew I had a habit, but it was in control.

I sat on the east-end train, a bundle of nerves. They weren't bad ones; they were excited ones. Butterfly nerves. There was just something about Dave that made me tingle inside. On the one hand, it terrified me, and on the other, it excited me. I hoped he likes me. I didn't dress up but at least I wore some sexy underwear.

Was I going to sleep with him?

I had no clue if I should, even if I wanted to, but you just never know. I had been in the big city for a couple of years, bopping from place to place and job to job. Some jobs were not the best, and some jobs were pretty good, but working at Cathy's Skunky Bud Emporium has been a blast. I was making "other" money on the side but loved the store. Cathy enjoyed having me there, especially when she molested me in the back office. I had a weakness for dominant women, and Cathy was the boss in more ways than one. All things considered; I had a good time there. I worked hard and we played hard. I was curious about what having a "real" date with an older guy would be like.

I got to the meeting spot early and was pacing, trying not to look nervous when Dave arrived. He was dressed perfectly to match me. Cathy was right on the money. He was handsome in jeans and a white t-shirt with black Docs on. He carried a small knapsack and grinned from ear to ear as he walked up to me. He leaned in and gave me a quick hug, and OMG, did he ever smell good. It flared my nostrils, and the hair stood up on my arms.

Holy shit, what was he wearing?

I thought. It was fresh but not too strong, musky and loamy. It made me hold the hug longer. I could almost feel his heartbeat pounding against my breast. I was freaking out on the inside; wow, was I nervous.

Dave was a total gentleman. He bought some drinks and put the blanket down in a great spot. The sun was setting, the heat of the day was receding, and a cool breeze was coming off the lake. We chatted for a bit, and I discovered Dave was from a small town. I told him about Cathy, calling me "Hayseed" because I was from an even smaller town with farms stretching miles around it in all directions. He laughed, and we both chuckled about knowing the good and bad things about living in a rural setting. He had a pleasant voice, and his blue eyes seemed to turn grey green with the sunset, then back to blue as night came. His hair was thinning, and he grew it long to cover it up even though he didn't need to. I wondered what he would look like if he took the plunge and cropped it super short. I found bald men hot as hell, so I filed that thought into the "I don't care" department.