She stood in the bathroom, looking into the mirror as tears and cold water dripped down her face. Scooping up some more icy wetness into her hands, she splashed her face again but the burning of her tears and humiliation was not relieved. Down the hall, she heard the sounds of her husband’s regular breathing as he slept on, unconcerned, unaware.
‘How could he DO this to me…again…?’she whispered to the stricken woman looking back at her from the mirror. Her chest was tight with still more tears unshed and her dark eyes were rimmed with red from the ones that had already fallen.
Closing the door, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and stared at herself. Still naked, as she had been under the covers when her husband came to bed, she whispered aloud:
“OK, lady, time for some truth. Let’s take an honest inventory.”
She wasn’t young any more, that was true. Neither was she old. Her body still had the hourglass figure of her girl hood – if perhaps not quite so thin. Her breasts were no longer pert and had lost some of their firmness, but they were still full and her nipples were well formed. Running her hands over her stomach, she acknowledged that the hard flat belly of her youth was a thing of the past, but she honestly couldn’t say that she was flabby. The dark patch of curls at the top of her thighs was still thick and softly curling.
Finally, she examined her face. She was pretty. She wouldn’t go so far as to say beautiful, but she was definitely attractive, with her large dark eyes, high cheekbones and short, wavy hair. When she smiled, she knew that it was a warm smile.
‘Then why doesn’t he want me?’ her heart wailed in silence.
Suddenly the home that they shared felt like it was about to cave in on her. The walls drew closer and she was having trouble breathing. All she could think was to get away! Blindly, she grabbed at the jeans and shirt that has been dropped on the floor a mere hour before, not bothering with bra or panties or even shoes and ran silently down the stairs, pausing only long enough to grab her car keys before fleeing that house, that man and the rejection she felt they both held for her.
She hadn’t had a plan when she left, she wasn’t even really thinking as she drove, but she found herself pulling up in front of Jack’s house. The entire street was dark – it was well past bedtime for most people – but a light burned in his study.
The same feelings that had driven her from her own home drew her to that welcoming light and the friend who lived within. Her hand was on the doorbell, ringing, before she even realized she had left the car. She heard his footsteps on the tile floor and felt, rather than saw, him peep through the window.
Seeing her, he opened the door immediately and drew her into his home.
“Li,” he said, his voice full of concern, scanning her attire and bare feet, pacing the cold tile floor. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Hearing the tender concern in Jack’s voice, she stopped and looked him square in the face. They’d known each other for years – forever, it seemed at times – and he’d always been there for her. Just like he was at 1 AM this warm spring night. Her panicked flight was halted at his doorstep and the tears suddenly began to flow again, uncontrolled. Although questions burned in his mind, Jack simply put his arm around her and led her into his study, sitting her down on the old leather couch. Stopping only to grab a clean snifter and pour a couple of fingers of brandy into it, he sat next to her on the couch.
“Drink this,” he told her, placing the glass in her hands, helping her lift it to her lips. Still shaking, she put the snifter to her mouth and drank the entire contents down in one gulp.
“Whoa…take it easy,” he warned her too late, but the liquor had produced the desired effect. Her uncontrolled sobs slowed to little hiccupping sounds as her head dropped to her chest.
“Lianne,” he said softly, taking her chin in his hand and lifting her face to look at him. “Please tell me what’s happened?” horrible images whirled around in his head as to what could have put her in such a state.
Their eyes met and there was something in hers that told him that this wasn’t the same woman he’d known since she was a girl. There was anger growing behind the tears, an anger that was veiled in hurt. Without a word, she sprang to her feet, standing before him. Arms akimbo, legs spread with bare feet firmly planted in the soft rug before his fireplace, she was a sight.
“Jack – you’re a man,” she began, her voice thick from all her crying, but he could hear the hard edge in it. So he bit back what would have been his usual quip and waited for her to ask him what men knew that she didn’t.
“What’s wrong with me? Am I so repulsive, so undesirable that even my own husband won’t touch me?”
It was probably the last thing he’d expected her to say. He’d been smitten by her, in one way or another, for most of his life and he was the last man on earth to tell her that there was something “wrong” with her. He didn’t know what her husband’s problem was, but looking at her, silhouetted in the firelight, with her shirt crookedly buttoned, her pale skin showing at her breasts and her hips, Jack did the only thing he could have done.
Standing in one fluid movement, he folded her into his arms and took her mouth as his own. She didn’t resist – she was too shocked – so he pressed the moment, moving slowly and softly against her lips, the tip of his tongue caressing the edges where her smile should have been.
He felt the progression in her mind and body. One moment there was no response and then the next, like the first pink rays of dawn there was a warming. Her arms, hanging limp at her sides in her surprise, began to lift towards him and he held his breath, waiting for her touch.
Her hands on his chest hesitated and then gently pushed him away.
Standing inches away from her, he could feel his heart pounding as they looked intently at one another.
