Eternity (26 page)

Is this even just a holiday romance? God I’m too drunk for such deep conversations, even if they are only with myself!

Pushing open the front door I stagger into the house, “I’m home” I sing out, expecting Carlos to reply. Instead I get Marcus, cool, collected, hot Marcus.

“Hey!” he pops his head up from under a counter in the kitchen, “I was just looking for something to make for dinner, you hungry?”

“Famished!” I reply enthusiastically, dropping down onto the couch with gusto.

“Err, Kate, are you drunk?”

“Just a little, anyway I thought I should celebrate two brothers back together” I make it seem blasé.

“Very true. I’m about to have a glass of wine, would you like to join me?”

“I probably shouldn’t” I say, waving my hand about.

“Oh come on. One glass won’t hurt” by now he is standing in front of me, offering the already poured glass, “and besides, if you’re celebrating me and Carlos, don’t you think you should have at least one drink with us?”

“I guess that makes sense, just one though” that uneasy feeling is beginning to creep up through me. What is it about him? One minute he is addictively mesmerising and the next he’s making my skin crawl, right now all I want to do is get as far away from him as possible. “Where is Carlos?” I ask.

“He had some work to do, but he said it won’t take long, so he’ll be back soon.”

Thank god for that, I no longer care what mood he returns in, just as long as he’s here.

Marcus takes a seat, uncomfortably close to me and starts droning on about a piece of art he’s having commissioned, the sun set over the New York skyline, the view from his bedroom. “It’s just magical, I try and make sure I’m home most evenings just to sit and stare at this wonder God has created, I just loose myself in its beauty” yet another side of Marcus, the deep, art appreciating, God fearing side. I can’t keep up with his personality changes and this one is certainly not my favourite. Where he seems to want to be mystical and interesting, he is coming across as sleazy and gross.

“Would you like to see them?” oh shit, he has been talking this whole time, while I’ve been caught up in discomfort, I have no idea what it is he’s talking about.

“Err, sure” there is no way of me finding out what he’s on about without giving away the fact that I wasn’t listening, so all I can do now is go with the flow.

He jumps up and runs upstairs, returning shortly with a scrap book.

Sitting down next to me, even closer than before, he places the book on my lap. I gulp down the last of my wine and lean forward to place the glass on the table; Marcus winds his fingers around the stem, grazing my own and takes it from me, “take a look,” he says nodding towards the book, “I’ll refresh your glass”

As he moves to the kitchen, I carefully flick open the cover, it’s full of sketches, mostly charcoal but some painted ones; there are a range of subjects, birds, people, sunsets of course and they are surprisingly quite good.

“did you do all these?” I ask as he hands me back my wine glass, now full to the brim. I take a courteous sip, although my vision is starting to blur and I’m losing my grasp on hand eye co-ordination; if I don’t want to vomit all over his art, I should really stop drinking now.

“Yeah, they’re nothing really, I just try and capture the magnificence of the world around me. I don’t do it justice though” he’s fishing for a compliment, but in all fairness he deserves it, he has a definite skill with drawing.

“They are really good” I say thumbing through them.

As I go to turn a page, he places his hand over mine to stop me, “This one I especially love” he says about a pencil sketch of an old man playing checkers with a young girl. “it’s the stark comparison of old versus young, experience and naivety, that grabbed me, I must have spent hours trying to get it right, while they just kept on playing.” He smiles at the memory and finally releases my hand. I take another closer look at this sketch, so to seem as though I’m taking in its full splendour, before turning it over, it’s good, but I’m not all that interested. It’s like people showing you their holiday snaps, a couple are funny, or stunningly beautiful, but the rest are just boring.

Turning my attention to the last one I gasp; it’s a charcoal sketch of me! I’m sitting on the beach, looking out to sea, my hair blowing in the wind, a look on my face as though I’m deep in thought. He has captured me perfectly, even down to the slowly fading cut on my head.

“It’s amazing, although I wish you hadn’t put in the scar” I say, running my fingers over the charcoal rendition of it.

“That’s the most important part, it makes you wounded, vulnerable, yet searching for a resolve” he makes me sound far more mystical than I am, I don’t even remember sitting like this, let alone what was going through my mind at the time.

“When did you do this?”

“Yesterday, after I delivered your picnic, I caught a glimpse of you like this and I just couldn’t resist. There’s more to you than meets the eye Miss Mavers.” There he goes again, making Carlos’s words toxic as he breathes them onto the side of my face. His arm rests on the back of the sofa, behind me, while his face is millimetres away from touching mine. His fingers rest on his scrap book, but the palm of his hand sits, not so innocently on my thigh.

I want to stand, to distance myself from him, but I’m trapped. I watch him slowly close the book, his hand moving to my far leg and pulling it round so I’m facing him.

“What are you…”

“Ssshhh” he croons, placing his index finger to my lips. This is wrong, this is all kinds of wrong. I need to get out, but I can barely string together a sentence, let alone find the strength to co-ordinate my limbs, I knew I shouldn’t have drunk that wine. I feel sick and out of control, I’m mentally pleading for Carlos to come back and save me; Marcus has started stroking my hair, “You know when I first saw you, I knew I had to sketch you. Those dark soulful eyes told me a million things about you before you even opened your mouth.” He runs his thumb across my bottom lip and places his other hand at the base of my neck.

“Marcus, ple..”

“I need to touch you, you are my muse Kaitlin” he cuts me off, holding my face in place as I try to look away, “I know you want this” he whispers as his lips find mine, pressing onto them aggressively. I struggle, desperately trying to find the power to fight him off, but it’s futile; even when sober he would have more than enough force to subdue me, let alone now, when my muscles have turned to a useless jelly consistency and my head is spinning so savagely I barely know which way is up.

He perseveres, though I give him nothing; my lips are pursed shut, my hands are pushing against his chest with all my inebriated might and I’m doing my best to scream with my mouth closed. But still his wet lips are pushed against mine, his body is crushing down on me, holding me still, while his hands take full advantage everywhere else.

He stops as suddenly as he started, slowly removing himself from me, I stare at him, shocked at how at ease he seems, when I realise that he’s not looking back at me, but towards the door. Following his gaze I see Carlos stood in the doorway, every muscle tensed, teeth grinding, his eyes burning into me.

“Oh Carlos” I say reaching out to him, relieved that he’s come to my rescue, but instead of racing over and embracing me, kicking Marcus out simultaneously, he turns on his heel and storms away, slamming the door behind him.

“Dude, come on” Marcus shouts after him.

I can’t believe it, what just happened? Marcus got me drunk and practically tried to rape me, conveniently at a time when Carlos was sure to discover him and now he’s making out like it was mutual, what kind of sick game is he playing?

“What the fuck Marcus?” I still don’t think I have the physical strength for this fight, but I am capable of a vicious verbal attack.

“What? Someone had to show him what a money grabbing whore you are” he replies flatly.

“Money grabbing whore? Fuck you! I didn’t even know his family owned this place to begin with, I thought he just worked here” I scream back incensed by his accusation.

“That didn’t stop you flying about on our jet and moving yourself in here, did it” he hiss’s back at me.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, none of that was my idea, my husband..”

“Your husband? So you’re married as well? Ha! I did Carlos a favour showing him who you really are” by now he is inches from my face, spitting the words at me.

“Just fuck off, he knows about Jake. You however don’t have a clue, you disgust me!” I’m shaking with rage, in less than twenty four hours, he’s destroyed everything. I can’t find the words to convey just how fucked up he is.

I run for the door, yanking it open, tears streaming down my face.

“Where are you going?” he shouts.

“To find Carlos” I scream back, banging the door closed after me.

I search everywhere, the beach, the bar, all the winding paths around different apartment blocks, but I can’t find him anywhere.

It’s getting dark, the sun has slipped down beyond the horizon, covering everything with a dusky tone that mirrors my grey mood. I have to fix this, Carlos needs to know what his brother is doing; I’d bet money that this is what happened with his last girlfriend too.

I wander aimlessly around the resort for most of the night, silent tears kissing my cheeks, until there is nothing left inside me. This holiday has been doomed from the start, I’m bruised and broken in every imaginable way and it’s not even over yet. The way I figure I’ve got two choices, stay and attempt to re-kindle things with Carlos, only to then have to leave him again in seven days when I go home, or call the airline in the morning and change my flight; leave tomorrow and just run away from the whole sorry mess.

Even the thought of going home pulls at my heart, being away from Carlos now is killing me, let alone leaving the country. I decide to go back to the house, maybe he has had time to calm down and has returned, at least then I can speak to him and hopefully explain it all away.

Easing the front door open quietly, I step into the darkened room. I can make out Marcus’s silhouette at the breakfast bar; as I approach a smile stretches his lips, “Carlos has had all your stuff returned to your room” he smirks, chucking the key at me, “He doesn’t want to see you here again. If I were you I’d just go back to where you came from”

I guess the decision to stay or go has been taken out of my hands and it knocks the wind right out of me. It didn’t even cross my mind that he would react this way; I expected anger, sure, but to totally cut me out of his life like that and let Marcus deliver the blow! I don’t even have the energy to argue anymore; defeated I leave without a word.

As expected my old room is unchanged, my suitcase sits at the end of the bed as it did the first day I arrived, when I was filled with excitement and anticipation, only this time round I’m anything but. I’m too depressed to call right now, but as soon as I wake up I’m booking onto the first available flight home.

As exhausted as I feel, I can’t sleep; my mind is still reeling from everything that happened tonight. Opening the mini bar I peruse the contents, as much as I might like a stiff drink right now, I think alcohol has got me into enough trouble already tonight, so I settle for eating the entire contents of food instead. It’s mostly chocolate and a couple of pots of cashews, ideal comfort food.

I don’t even bother getting undressed, instead slip under the covers fully clothed with my chocolate hoard and watch the flickering images on the television screen as I devour the lot.

I wake around ten, either I didn’t fall asleep till late, or I was really tired as this is by far the latest I’ve slept in all holiday. Looking around my room it all comes hurtling back, the loss, the regrets, it breaks my heart all over again.

My hair is knotted and rough from going in the sea yesterday, but I can’t even bring myself to shower; all I want to do is cry and wallow in self-pity, how can something so special, unravel so easily? I allow myself another hour in bed, curled on my side, sobbing into the pillow, before dragging myself up.

I need to call the airline; picking up the phone I spend thirty minutes bartering with them, but the earliest flight they can get me on is not until tomorrow night. The man on the phone was as helpful as he could be, he advised that all the flights until then were fully booked, but if I wanted to come and sit at the airport then I could be on reserve incase a seat was cancelled. I said I’d think about it, but in reality I can’t bare the thought of sitting there, publicly crying all day and night.

I should speak to Carlos, if only to let him know I’m going, but he hasn’t called so I can only imagine that he has not changed his mind since last night.

I resolve to write him a letter, although I spend the first hour sitting with my pen poised over the paper, at a loss at what to say. Finally I manage to put it into words
–
My Dearest Carlos,

Firstly I am so sorry for what you saw, but please believe me when I say it truly was not what it looked like. Your brother forced himself on me after getting me drunk, which is when you walked in. He said after that he just did it to get rid of me because I didn’t deserve you.