Lustful Memoirs
By: Gina - gina@basic-nstynct.com
Chapter Thirty EightI entered the main room readying myself to pack, when the sound of banging resonated in my ears. My head quickly turned to the door. I knew who stood on the other side. If I stared long enough, I could almost see him. He would be dressed in casual, athletic clothes. His hair a golden brown mass of curls, probably covered by a bandana, a baseball cap, or his infamous bucket cap that had seen better days. His deep blue eyes would be gleaming, his mouth, surrounded by those full, sensual lips, pulled into that famous Timberlake crooked grin, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. The grin that made girls hearts miss a beat, and was probably single-handedly responsible for half of their album sales. His long, muscular frame would be leaning against the door jam as he waited for me to answer. The mere image he created in my mind caused me to tremble. For moments I stood, allowing myself to see him in my mind, but not wanting to see him in front of me. Not knowing what his reaction would be to me, or my reaction to him. The week and a half I had spent with them, I had learned that his behavior was unpredictable. I wasn’t sure which of his demeanors I would encounter once the thick wood slab no longer separated us. Would he be cold and callous, or warm and inviting? Would the questions that I was sure burned in his eyes, smolder me right to ash? Could I face him? Did I want to? My body shook with indecision, wanting so badly to open the door and invite him but so afraid to do so. For long moments only two sounds could be heard around me. The throbbing pulse in my temple as the blood rushed to my brain, doing it’s best to help with the decision making, and the banging as his hand met the wooden door, yet again, announcing that he still stood there and waited for me. Finally his voice broke the rhythm of the two sounds, as he beckoned me, soft and soothing, saying my name, loud enough that I could hear it, yet low enough that I’m sure it went unnoticed by the rest of the house.
"I know you are in there." He said, his persistence not fading. "Blake, open the door, or else I’ll have to come in the hard way again. And almost killing myself twice in one day doesn’t seem appealing."
As the words left his lips, the image of his legs dangling over the balcony once again burned in my mind causing me to laugh. It was this image that propelled me to the door. I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay under control as I faced him, as I removed the wooden barrier.
Just as I had predicted, he was unpredictable. None of the reactions I had thought would grace his face were revealed. He casually leaned against the door jam, his teeth revealed, the light dancing in the deep blue depths of his eyes. A red baseball cap covered his curls. A dark blue shirt, the words Abercrombie and Fitch stitched in red in the center, hung loosely. Baggy jeans covered his legs, leading to the red and blue Nikes gracing his feet. At first glance, he was the epitome of a nineteen-year-old boy, until a look into his eyes revealed that he was no child. It was those eyes that held me captive for several moments, trying to read the thoughts that were hidden in the cobalt depths. They were unreadable; he was unreadable. The questioning look I expected was absent. Realizing that his face revealed no secrets as to what I was about to encounter, I was forced to look away from him, the walls of my inner sanctuary shaking. I stumbled slightly as the emotions threatened to pour, he didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t let on. He took the small space now between the entrance of the room and myself, as his invitation. He bounced over the threshold, the small grin adorning his face stretched into a full smile, revealing even more perfect teeth.
I turned and shut the door. Reminding myself that with every passing moment I was one step closer to returning to the sanctity and solace of my home, of my well-contrived world, I turned toward him. I set my face into a smile, and was determined that I would get through talking with him without crying like a blubbering idiot and without revealing any of my deeply suppressed demons.
He cocked his head to the left, his eyes moving over my body, starting at my feet and raising until our eyes met. Even with his deep stare, I could not gage what emotions were boiling inside of him, or what thoughts he had. I was surprised to not find desire in his eyes as I had so many times before. I didn’t wish to question him, for one question uttered from my lips could be taken as granted permission. Permission for him to plunge into the sea of questions and curiosities I’m sure burned from within, so I waited, observing him, for him to take the first step down the road of conversation, a lead that I could only hope I was strong enough to follow. Minutes passed in silence, as he organized his thoughts and I prepared myself for the words that were about to enter the space between us.
He took a deep breath, I, in turn, filled my own lungs with air. He exhaled, relaxing, I did not. As his mouth opened for the falling of the first words, I leaned my back against the closed door, needing all the strength and support I could muster.
"Blake," he said my name with ease, his eyes burning through me, "we missed the mall. It’s closed. But I still need to go get some stuff. There’s a 24 hours department store about 15 minutes from here. I thought that if you still had to do some shopping, you wouldn’t mind keeping me company."
I’m sure that the shock that radiated through my body was apparent in my facial expressions, though he made no indication that he noticed. Of all the millions of words contained in the English language, those he had spoken were not the ones I expected. Confusion settled through me, as the knowledge that he didn’t appear to be interested in my earlier breakdown lingered in my mind. I have no words to explain the feeling, a twist between regret and relief, if such an emotion exists. He stood before me nonchalantly, as though there could have been no more natural question for him to ask. My heart yelled at me, yelled at him. My heart begged, ‘Ask me, Justin, please ask?’ Then I could go to him, collapse in his arms, tell him how I felt, thank him for rescuing me, tell him everything that I had bottled up for so long. Yet he stood, the question that he had proposed lingering in the air between us, awaiting an answer? It was not the question I wanted him to ask, it did not allow me the freedom that my heart so longed for. My mind berated me, how could I even entertain the thought, for even a mere moment. His apathy gave me the opportunity to escape. He wasn’t interested in my prior breakdown, for that and only that, I should be thankful. His questions would lead to the falling of the carefully built walls, allowing him entrance beyond their protected barriers. How could I be so naïve? My mind continued to rage, reminding me over and over of the hurt caused by allowing people close. My head began to shout with the pains of a coming headache as the internal battle raged. I struggled to think of appropriate actions, the right answer to his question. The raging storm simmered inside, threatening to boil up through me and spill from my eyes. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, my mind winning the battle, not wanting to show him anything that would give him entry into my haven. I knew the walls had begun to crack, but I had to maintain their strength, to get away from him, quickly so that I could apply the spackle. I chose my words carefully, as I returned my gaze to his awaiting eyes, every syllable intending to get him to leave my room, and my life.
"Justin, I’m not going to be able to accompany you to the store." I looked directly at him as the words left my lips. My tone was professional, unemotional, just as my brain had intended though my heart bled.
"Okay, Blake," he began, obviously confused by my reaction to him and by my words. "You mentioned earlier that you needed some things for the tour. I hadn’t realized that you had taken care of that."
"Justin, I guess I should tell you, though no one is yet aware. I won’t be accompanying the group on tour. There are some things that are preventing me from travelling right now. I must return home. Marie is aware of the situation and I plan on telling Johnny first thing in the morning. Marie is sending a replacement as we speak, I assure you that there isn’t going to be any problems, things should continue as they have been seamlessly."
He looked at me, his face contorted as if he had just been punched in the stomach, he quickly erased it, his face easing back to it’s neutral stance, yet his body remained tense, his posture no longer relaxed. I watched him as his eyes darted to the balcony and then back to me, actually to my feet, to the same spot he had occupied when he held me only a few hours before. I could tell that he was remembering the events of the day, my crying and now my need to hurriedly leave. His eyes raised to meet mine, concern now etching in his deep blue depths. He was putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Only he didn’t know it was the wrong puzzle.
"Is everything okay? Your family okay? Anything I can do?" His words were stuttered. If he only knew how much he had already done. Once again I wanted to tell him, once again my mind won. But I couldn’t mislead him, make him worry.
"It’s nothing like that Justin, but thank you for your offer. Everything is fine, I just have to take care of some stuff."
"When will you be back?" His voice maintaining its aloofness, his eyes betraying him, I could see within the depths his hope that I would return, his regret that I was leaving. I could see him holding fast to his neutral expression, hiding his inner self from me as I so desperately tried to hide myself from him. It was those eyes alone that almost made me go to him, to wrap my arms around him, to feel his arms wrap around me, to feel safe in his protective embrace. It would only be temporary, my thoughts reminded me, and with a deep breath, I began to speak, preserving the professional tone, and the protective barriers between us.
"Justin, I won’t be coming back. The replacement will be permanent, I’m sure she will satisfy your needs as I have tried to do."
His face covered with a blank stare, he bit at his lower lip, something he did often while thinking. He looked around the room. I watched him as he carefully chose his next words. He took a deep breath.
"Well, you have to do, what you have to do. But, I for one will be sorry to see you go. I’ve grown to like you."
"Really," his honesty shocking me, shaking me, knocking my defenses down. I felt the tears sting at the back of my eyes as his words rang in my ears, repeating and repeating. Never before, in the five years since my father’s departure, had any one said or done anything to make me feel wanted or needed. My leaving was often met with a wave of the hand and a good riddance. In a matter of one sentence, the man standing before me, this man, the one who was so cold, so conceited, so, to quote JC, "uncaring," yet so remarkably kind and considerate, so tender and compassionate. This man, Justin, relayed more emotion to me then anyone had ever cared to do, since the day my life changed forever. He truthfully didn’t want me to go, I could see the sincerity etch in the ice coldness of his blue eyes. I turned from him, putting space between us as I entered further into the room, removing myself from the door, and walking toward the bed. He watched every movement, every nuance of motion, I could feel his eyes burn into me. I lowered myself to the bed, taking several deep breaths, my hands grasping the soft material of the comforter, my internal battle continued to rage, my mind still winning, for now.
I finally found my voice, hoping to change the mood, to lighten the tension. "Actually, Justin, I thought you’d be more then happy to see me go. I thought you hated me."
My attempt at humor failed, miserably. "I never hated you Blake. There are people in this world that I hate," he paused, his voice leaving him for a moment, before he stared out into space and continued, "but you aren’t on that list. Well, you weren’t...until now."
"What do you mean, until now?" My face contorted with confusion.
"I hate you for leaving." He stated, I think regretfully. "You know, now I’ll have to break someone else in." He tried to recover, still not wanting to expose all of his feelings, but it was too late. I saw the sorrow cover his face as he spoke the words. He then turned away from me, I couldn’t make out his facial expressions any longer, but his body slumped, his shoulders tensed, it was obvious he was uncomfortable and upset, due to the emotions he was feeling and the thoughts that he shared.
The tears once again burned, I was overcome. But in that instant, I knew without a waver of uncertainty, that I had to keep the boundaries up. I was leaving, that I was sure of, giving into the emotions I had and allowing him in, would only hurt him. He had done so much for me without even realizing it, and in that moment I knew that I couldn’t cause him any more pain. I pushed the tears aside, I rolled my head from left to right, easing the tension built up in my neck. I rose from the bed.
"Thank you, Justin." I said the words, hoping that he could hear the full meaning behind them. Searching his face gave me no indication that he did. I continued still, "My replacement will take good care of you, just don’t give her such a hard time."
He forced a smile at my words, I knew full well that they did nothing to explain to him the reasons for my departure or to tell him what he truly meant to me. I couldn’t allow him to know the full extent of what he had done for me, he had made me feel wanted, needed, in some way loved. I would never forget him for that, he would be inside my heart, and I would think of him often. In the short time he had spent in my room, he gave me the courage to do what I knew needed to be done, I had to break free from the path my life was travelling, and start to make my own. So that the next time someone uttered the word that shattered my insides, I would know that it wasn’t true.
"So when are you leaving." His voice was calm, tender, all of his emotions pushed back into the place where he hid them.
"I haven’t booked a flight yet. I have to talk to Johnny in the morning, it’s too late to do that tonight, and I guess I have to call a travel agent or something. I want to leave right after I talk to Johnny, if possible.
His bottom lip held tightly between his ivory teeth, I knew he was deep in thought.
"I’ll get your tickets." He stated, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. Though I had to try.
"Justin, that’s not necessary. I’ll call the travel agent first thing tomorrow." I said, hoping my tone was as authoritative as his, but knowing that my argument was pointless, for at that moment, short of sharing my emotions with him, I would have given him the moon if he asked for it.
"Blake, don’t tell me what is necessary and what is not. If you call a travel agent you’re going to pay an arm and a leg. Just tell me where you want to fly, and I’ll get you a damn ticket." He commanded, extinguishing any thought of further discussion.
"LA," I whispered, watching him as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial number. I watched him intently wondering who he was calling, what he was going to tell them. I listened carefully to his conversation.
"Hey, Melinda, It’s J." Then silence as he waited for the other person to respond. "Everything’s good, yeah we’re looking forward to it. I need a favor." Another pause. "I need you to check flight availability to LA for sometime early tomorrow afternoon...At one, perfect...No, Melinda, one way," his voice strained, "for Blake Harrington."
He pressed end after muttering a plethora of thank you’s and a good bye, see you soon. He then looked at me, a smile creeping over his features.
"Thank you, Justin, for everything." I once again stressed the thank you, wanting so badly for him to know what his actions that day meant to me. As the smile continued to dance on his lips, panic filled me. "What are you smiling about?" I asked, afraid of his answer, hoping that he would turn around and walk out the door, but knowing that he was not going to.
"It’s your last night in Orlando." He said, his voice even. "I was thinking that maybe we could go out."
No, yes, no, yes, another battle. "Justin, I have a lot to do, pack and things like that, I don’t think that’s such a good idea."
His face set in determination. "Blake, when have you ever known me to take no for an answer? Have you not learned that I get everything I want?" The conceit, that I now knew was playful, echoed in his words. How was I ever going to say no?
"Get changed, you can’t eat ice cream in that. I’ll meet you back here in a half an hour. Please don’t lock the door, cause you know I’ll get in," his smile widened, "and don’t keep me waiting. You know how I hate that."
"Okay," I replied meekly, my mind had won many battles over the course of our conversation, but obviously my heart had won the war.