Part 2: I Used to Love Her
I was
disconnected from reality. I knew her
hand was gripping mine; our fingers were laced tighter than brand-new
shoestrings. I knew it but I couldn’t
feel it. I could barely muster a smile,
much less words to speak. I’ve never
been one for conversation; I’m an academic, a nerd, a geek, and a
bibliophile…and I prefer my books, journals, and tomes to inane chatter. My secret, secret passion is fanfiction and
while it is nothing to be ashamed of, I took steps to maintain a great distance
between my work and my clandestine pastime.
I’m not a fanfic author, but I am a prolific reader and a member of
several communities. By Fate’s hand, I
met my favorite fanfiction author by accident and three weeks later, I
literally could not live without her.
You plan
your life out by degrees, adjusting when change forces you to, but you never expect a cataclysm
to occur when you’re close to calling it a career. That’s what she was: a cyclone, a typhoon, a
hurricane, a tsunami…a 10 on the Richter scale, my own personal Atlantis. Brielle came into my life and within days, I
couldn’t imagine how I’d managed to even breathe without her. It wasn’t physical; it wasn’t even remotely
that. There were others who wanted her,
men of appropriate means and station who made plays for her, who were very
overt in their romantic overtures, and she was inert to all of it. I watched her shoot them down repeatedly and
I wondered if she even realized she was breaking so many hearts.
From a
distance, I sensed the grip on my hand tighten when the wife of a colleague
spoke to me. The fog in my brain clouded
her words. I swallowed, trying to
comprehend her, and couldn’t even salvage enough saliva to speak. All I could do was nod, and soon she was
gone.
Brielle’s
nom de plume was NightRain747, and she had over thirty different fanfics spread
throughout cyberspace. I’d read all of
them many times before knowing who she was; I was one of her most stalwart fans
and considered myself her Constant Reader.
NightRain wrote dark, seductive stories with a blessedly bloody
edge. She was definitely an acquired
taste; her fics were polarizing and sparked many debates in online writing
communities and forums…and I, under the prosaic pseudonym of ChemProf1846,
defended her decision to write whatever she wanted to with every fiber of my
being. I overheard her talking about
Hannibal Lecter to a colleague who made mention of the new TV show, and there
were certain phrases she used that reverberated in my deep, dark fanfic-loving
soul. I had a mental hard-on for her
from that moment on.
I saw her in
another room, sitting in the window, wrapped in a shawl. She was looking at the mimosa trees and my
heart wanted to rip itself from my chest and go to her. I didn’t know if my expression changed when
my eyes landed on her, but my instinct was to say her name and get to her as
fast as possible. I knew that I could
not, if for nothing else but the viselike grip on my left hand. She had an earthy allure; a realistic beauty
that took absolutely no effort. I knew this
firsthand; having woken up beside her and spent eternal minutes gazing at her
sleeping face. Her hair was an explosion
of soft coily curls and I loved seeing it flattened on one side when she woke
up. I watched her perform morning
ablutions without a thought as to the empty bed I left in another house, in
another city.
Being with Brielle
was life to me; life I’d long since thought was laid to rest. No—being with her was a new life for me. She made me
feel like a man again. She made me
believe there was more; that I could have more and be more. Brielle’s desire
for me made absolutely no sense to me, because I was everything her appropriate
suitors were not. I had to pop pills to
please her and go out of my way to keep up…but I did and did my best. Don’t ask me how, because there is no logical
way a woman like her should have been satisfied with a man like me, in spite of
my failures. The moment I put my arms
around her, I was lost in the amber elegance of her eyes and the softness of
her voluptuous body. When we kissed, I
felt her own desire for me surge forth and God Himself could not have kept me
away from her. I have never been so
affected by a woman, ever…not even by my wife of 39 years, who I have known
since childhood and who I have loved all of my life.
I snapped
back to reality and pulled my hand away from Justine’s, who’d been holding on
to it for dear life. My fingers were
numb. She glanced at me; there was that
look in her eyes and I mumbled something about getting something to drink. There was a decent turnout; the house was
full of guests milling about, and Brielle’s best friend, Natalie, was the
consummate hostess. Brielle wasn’t one
for social gatherings; that was one of many things we had in common.
I love Brielle. I love her with everything I have, with all
that I’ve got. With her, there is heat,
there is a strong connection, and there is the hope of a non-banal existence
for however many years I have left. It
is not that I don’t love Justine; she is the mother of my four beautiful
children. It is not that there is no
place for her in my life; 39+ years simply cannot be ignored or wiped away,
even with the explosive passion and insane love that I have for Brielle. But I have lived with the former and could
not live without the latter…at least not anymore.
I see her
sitting in that room all by herself in spite of there being a crowd of people
nearby, and all I want to do is go to her, talk to her, touch her, taste her, and
make love to her. I want to kiss her all
over, bury my face in her throat, smother myself with her scent, press against
her, and intertwine my legs with her majestic, flawless gams. I want to be with her, in her, lost in the
vortex that demands the hearts and claims the souls of men too weak to
withstand its power. In spite of every
rule of etiquette that dictated I remain by my wife’s side, I found myself
slicing through the crowd, ignoring their greetings, headed towards the safe
harbor that was Brielle Hunter.
I used to
love her. I still love her.
I remember
the day…you used to love me
He really loves this woman. I can feel. Hell, even I love Brielle too.
ReplyDeleteThis is getting deep. He's going actually leave his wife, isn't he?
ReplyDeleteBeeootiful! I'm so glad you're writing again. This is stunning.
ReplyDelete