Page 13 of Lady Sings the Blues

4.

Mark

I can hear her leave the bathroom. Just as she asked, I left the blankets on the sofa. What she can’t know is how fast I had to be to get them out there before she finished dressing for bed because I had to be in here, in my room, before I ran into her again.

Don’t want her? What I wouldn’t give to have her lying next to me tonight. But my thoughts turned nefarious the minute, no, the second my lips touched hers through that car window.

And it shouldn’t matter. We’re both consenting adults. But as she’s really the only woman I’ve thought about for the past seven years, there can be no mistakes. No jumping the gun. The only way to keep her seems to be keepin’ her at arm’s length for now.

She needs to fall for me, but more than that, she needs to trust me again. Five years ago, I let her down. And it ain’t like I don’t know the shit the townsfolk say. A hundred and one reasons we shouldn’t be together, and they all have to do with Logan. When she finds out our truth, her loveforme, her trustinme, will be the only thing standing between her and me and heartache.

The hardest part, lying awake listening to the squeaking sofa springs as she no doubt flips and shuffles front to back, trying to get comfortable. And I know that has to do with me too. I’ve slept on that sofa. It’s more than comfortable, it’s a brown chenille cloud.

I’ll get no sleep until she gets sleep and in order to expedite the process, I totally slap my plan in the face and go out to the living room to tuck her in.

When she opens her eyes pinning me with all the emotion building between us which at the moment consists of lust, along with maybe something a bit stronger, coupled with a healthy dose of confusion and sadness, well, I shove my plan down the stairs and climb in behind her to press my back against the back of the sofa so I’m resting on my side. One arm tucked under her neck, the other draped around her waist tucking her in so snug against me, I might actually be breathing for her. Both our heads rest on the pillow.

She uses no words, but the ‘What are we doing?’ look showing all over her face has me kick my plan when it’s down, kissing her temple. Her nose. Each cheek. Then lightly brush my lips against hers. Yep. I’m a glutton for damn punishment.

When she opens her mouth about ready to break the quiet, I use my eyes to shush her and let her know,‘It’ll be alright.’

A slight head nod, and her eyes close. It’s startin’. She trusts me enough to sleep. Hell yeah, she does. I call that a small victory, and I’ll take all ‘a those I can get.

I know I followed her in sleep for a few hours, but no matter how comfortable she had me, snuggled so closely together, the fact is my couch ain’t made for two adult bodies to sleep on. My back rests against the back cushion. My hand, my arm and even leg have kept her from spillin’ onto the floor.

So as hard as it is, I extract myself from her warmth and roll her so she lays safely, rolling onto her side. Elise, she’s something else to watch in her sleep. So beautiful. So innocent. Knees tucked up to her chest. Hands tucked under her chin.

I sit on the arm of the recliner next to the sofa just watchin’ her breathe. There are two choices here. The one where I climb on top of her, bringing us both some needed comfort for a while or go for what’s behind door number two. As I’ve told myself so many times why the first choice can’t happen yet, I extract myself further this time from the painful situation, opting for a shower to escape every thought and feeling rearing to explode from me.

When I leave the bathroom showered and dressed for the day, just tying my damp hair back, a noise catches my ear from outside. More thananoise, a couple ‘a noises. First, glass shatters and second, tires squeal.

I’m out the door barefoot and seeing red. The car and people are gone when I get out to the driveway and stop, pressing my palms against my forehead.What the hell? Who the hell?

Then there’s a soft gasp behind me, and I know it’s Elise. I know she sees what I see, her car—tires slashed, windshield shattered and disgusting words spray painted in choppy yellow lettering so the whole neighborhood can see them set against the midnight blue of her coupe: Slut. Whore. Traitor.

I turn, capturing her in my arms, trying to shield her from the sight. Although she sags into me, she refuses to look away.

“I’m not a whore,” she whispers against my shoulder.

“Let’s go inside, darlin’.”

“I’m not a whore, Mark,” she says again. As if she thinks I would believe—come on Elise, how could you think that of me?

“I know, darlin’. I know.”

She lets me lead her back inside. Within minutes the police have arrived.

Tommy Doyle takes our statements. We’ve been friends for years, graduated together. Upon seeing him,shit,I’d been worried he’d spill my secret. But Tommy was a good friend then and continues to prove himself a good friend now.

Elise sits on the sofa wrapped with the blanket from last night around her shoulders, shaking with the weight of everything which has gone down the past couple of days.

“Was sorry to hear about your dad, Miss Elise.” Tommy squats down next to her, placing his hand along the ridge of her shoulder. “This was the last thing you needed.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

God, I hate how beaten down she sounds.

“Girl, we partied together in high school. I could never hate you.”

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