Fiendish Play (11 page)

Mommy kissed my head. “It’s not us I’m worried about...I’m certain we can make a happy life for him...but the way he thinks sometimes...I mean he gets smarter every day...I just think his mind will eventually unlock that memory, all on its own.” Mommy sighed. She then held both my hands in her own. “His hands are shaking. Shaking.” She closed her fingers over mine. “See, they remember. They won’t forget.” She looked up at Daddy. “And how can we possibly protect James...from himself?”

{9}

Every artist has a process when they create. For me, it’s working in the middle of the night in nothing but my boxers, covered in wood shavings, tools in hand, and music blaring. The music helps drown out the rest of the world around me and focus on my creative thoughts. It doesn’t seem like a productive way to get things done, but it’s the right formula for me. The music prevents the other thoughts from taking control when I’m focusing on my creative spirit. So I guess you can say that the look on Marcus’ face when he charged into the third bedroom, which was now my workspace, at 2am the following weekend, was something that was both surprise and a ‘
what the fuck?
’ kind of expression. I knew that because it was the first thing he said.

“What the fuck?” Marcus blared, looking from me to the wood pieces scattered around the room, next to some steel piping. I was in the process of making the foundation of my sculpture. I had spent the last week doing this, night after night...sanding, shaving, carving — repeat.

He laughed before commenting again. “So
this
is how artists work hey.” Both his hands pointing around the room with a somewhat bemused look on his face.

“Can I help you?” I asked him as I turned down my music. I didn’t care that he had walked in the way he did, it was the time of night that had me asking questions.

Marcus rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the bright lights. “Man, I’d wish you would have told me that you were going to be getting booty calls in the middle of the night. I mean I don’t mind answering the door to a girl like that...but I only got home a couple hours ago...and I’ve got class at nine...”

It took me a few seconds to register what he said, and even then, I was still confused. “Huh? What are you talking about?” I said as the wood dust swirled around us like mist. Perhaps he had come home drunk and was now sleepwalking. That seemed like a reasonable explanation; especially given he had actually mistaken my room for his own during the week when he had come home drunk as a skunk and crawled into my bed. He even screamed like a banshee when he tried to spoon me thinking I was one of his many girls. I laughed at him for days, and he made me swear that we would never talk about the ‘
incident
’ ever again, but it was looking like this was going to be another one of those nights.

“Marcus...” I cleared my throat, “Are we going to have to talk about boundaries again? Look, my name is James. J. A. M. E. S. James. Not Rebecca, not Cecile, not Alexandra...James. When you were in my bed the other night...”

“HUSH! You promised me you would never talk about the
incident
again.” He had said ‘incident’ like it was burning his tongue. The word sounding like a hiss. He even lowered his voice, thinking that our voices could magically carry out of the room and spread around campus. His reaction was ridiculous, but funny all the same.

I couldn’t stop myself laughing, even if I wanted to. “But...” I tried to say, choking down a snicker.

“Never. Ever. Again. Alright.” Marcus’ palms were over his ears, stopping me from saying anymore about it. He waited a minute before he removed his hands, doing it slowly like he was making sure it was safe. “And this isn’t a drunken hallucination this time...
James
. I’m talking about the gorgeous brunette sitting in our lounge waiting for you. I mean, she’s not normally the type of girl I go for, but damn, I’d make an exception if
she
showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night.”

His tone of voice was clear, and the color around the irises of his eyes were white. Both factors told me he was lucid and being serious. Yet I was still questioning his state of mind. “Look Marcus, I don’t have any idea who you’re refer...” The door Marcus had come in from creaked open, and Anais slipped in, standing just behind where Marcus stood. Marcus looked directly at me with that cheese-ball grin I’d gotten used to seeing so frequently since moving in.

“Sorry...I could hear you both talking from the lounge,” Anais said in a low voice. Her head was hung low like she was unable to look me in the eye.

“See,” Marcus said pointing to Anais proudly. “I told you. She’s real.”

The three of us stood in a circle, silent and waiting to see what would happen next. I couldn’t believe Anais was here, in my apartment, in the middle of the night. I had no idea what was going on, but she continued to avoid my questioning eyes.

She was wearing a white shirtdress that was cinched at the waist with a tan belt. I couldn’t help but think about the night she was half-naked in my room. Anais was in a white see-through top and shorts. She seemed to always be wearing white, and had this angelic aura that surrounded the air around her. This natural innocence she seemed to possess was very alluring, to say the least. But as to why she was now in my room at some ungodly hour after another week of no contact was very unusual.

“Sooooo...” Marcus chimed in, breaking the weird tension between all our bodies. “I’ll just leave you two to...ahhh...” Marcus cleared his throat, “chat then.” I could see his body shift up and down in laughter as he exited the room and closed the door, leaving Anais standing opposite from me and my almost naked body.

Her eyes moved from my eyes and down to my chest. Slowly, very slowly. Like she was drinking me in. She was still silent as she stared at my chest in some kind of trance-like state. It was extremely hot to see her look like she wanted to devour me, but I couldn’t let the way her eyes were eating me up distract me from this obviously uncharacteristic move on her behalf. For some reason I didn’t imagine Anais as the type of girl to appear on a guy’s doorstep in the middle of the night. There was definitely more to this.

“What are you doing here Anais? In the middle of the night? Because you made yourself pretty clear at the dinner about us just being friends...and given how we can’t even talk or seen each other, I’m not sure we’re even that.”

She stepped closer, still staring at my body, but her eyes dropped even lower to where my boxers hung below my waist. “Uhhh, is this...how you work?” she said softly, moving towards me like she was in a slow motion. “All...naked...and sweaty?” She swallowed, sounding hot and bothered. “And your body...is very...ummm...” Her voice trailed off.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I put a shirt on?” I asked walking over to the other side of a room where I had thrown a T-shirt onto the floor.

“NO!” her voice yelled at me. It echoed in the small space, stopping me from walking and spinning me right back around to face her.

I wanted to laugh. But I didn’t. I was enjoying her objectification. It was turning me on the longer she kept her eyes plastered on my skin. “Fine. I’ll stay naked then.” A cute smile touched her lips. “Just for you.”

More silence grew between us again, like she didn’t know how to start talking. I had to break the tension. It was getting unbearable, even for me. There was only so much self-control I could manage given the way her eyes roamed over me like she wanted to explore.

“You didn’t answer my question Anais. What are you doing here?”

“You were right James. Everything you said about me making my own future, making my own choices. You were right. And I don’t want Deacon. At. All. I despise him. So...I broke it off.”

“You mean you’re not
betrothed
anymore?” I couldn’t help but use the same out of date word she had thrown at me at the invitational dinner.

“No. I’m not.”

I could easily admit that even though she had brushed me off at the dinner, it didn’t stop me thinking about her every day since we met. I had thought about the smell of her skin and had imagined having her underneath me and on top. And I knew it wasn’t one-sided. From the night in my room to hiding in that wardrobe, our encounters were more than just that. They were moments. The type of moments that are memorable. Unforgettable. But I wasn’t sure they were enough for her to go against this world she was in. She seemed adamant at keeping me far away from whatever it was she was mixed up with. But now she was here, on her own free will, in the middle of the night. Something was either wrong...or had changed...or both.

“Just like that?” I said, knowing I sounded like I doubted her. I didn’t want to look like I didn’t believe her, but honestly, it all seemed so dubious.

“Yes. Just like that. And I don’t want to talk about what happened either,” she said abruptly, like it was never going to be open for discussion.

I had to wonder how she was let go of that commitment so easily. Was it really true? Did she suddenly find the strength to go against her parents? Against the society she told me had hold of her. Something told me it was not that easy — that she didn’t just walk out of her secret society responsibility and into my room. But if she was rebelling and trying to find a way out, I wanted to help her any way I could. I would be her support. I wouldn’t let her fall. I would protect her because...well...I wanted to. It was that simple. It was the only truth I knew when I saw her face, felt her eyes look into me and down into a place I wasn’t sure was real until now. Yes, I wanted to believe in what she was saying even if it was a lie.

She looked over at the wooden foundation I was carving. The big block of wood being shaped and was taking form. She glided over to the other side of the room and started touching and rubbing her fingers along the sanded piece of wood, avoiding my stare that still needed answers to my questions.

“What’s your thesis piece called?” she asked, changing the subject completely.

Her question made me smile. And for good reason too. “It’s called...
La jeune fille qui a grandi dans mon coeur.”

“Oh you speak French.” Her eyes widened in glee. “But of course you do...coming from France and all. How silly of me. Ummm...but what does that mean?”

I walked over to where she stood with her hand on the wood, and leaned in closer to her face, so her cheeks could feel my warm breath. “In English it means…‘the girl who grew in my heart.’”

“Oh. That’s...really...wow.” A rosy hue appeared on her cheeks like I knew it would. She walked around the foundation, studying the details of what I had begun to carve. “And this girl...do I know her?” She was trying so hard to sound casual and nonchalant, like the answer wouldn’t mean anything to her. But I knew it did.

“Maybe you do,” I said coyly to her back. “Or...maybe you don’t.”

Playing with Anais was fun. The mystery made her bite her lip, like she was worried. But hell, she had nothing to worry about. It was all for her. Because of her. Meant for her.

“Say something more to me please...in French.” She eyed me with a different look now, something greedier and wanting. I liked this shy kind of assertiveness. A lot.

“Alright then.” I stepped closer to her so I could whisper into her ear. She leaned back and turned her head so she could watch me curiously. I pulled her long brown hair away from her ear.

“
Vous faites mon coeur bat plus vite
,” I breathed against her neck. She shivered at the sound of the words. French is really a beautiful language. I did know of its effect on women. I wasn’t oblivious to its charm. I knew of its romance...its sensuality...its charisma. But there is a right time to use it and a wrong to use the language like it’s poetry to woo your way into the arms of another.

She turned her head so she could see my eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said...” Getting closer and putting both hands on her hips as I moved close to her ear again. “That you make my heart beat faster.”

Her body tensed up and I saw a smile curl up from her lips. Yes, this was my moment.

“Oh.” Her mouth made the ‘o’ face and she touched her cheek like she did the first time in my bedroom when I saw her blush. I stepped around to look at her face to face.

“You know, you shouldn’t hide your face like that Anais.”

She swallowed. “Why’s that?”

“Cause...
Tu es la plus
belle fille que j'ai jamais vu. Vous ne devriez jamais cacher votre beauté
.”

She sucked in another quick breath hearing the accent roll off my tongue. Her breathing getting faster. “What does that mean?”

“That you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You should never hide your beauty.” I paused. “Is that...cheesy?”

Her eyes gleamed brighter and she shook her head. “No, no, no...not when it’s said in French.”

I moved fast, holding her waist, my head leaning on hers so we were nose to nose, drawing her towards me. “How about this then...
Puis-je vous embrasser
?”

She tried to slow her breathing but it only continued to accelerate. She waited, knowing I was about to tell her what I had said. I cupped her milky white cheek, my finger grazing the edge of her lips.

“I said...can I kiss you?”

Without saying a word, Anais leapt at me, taking me and my lips by complete surprise. She devoured my mouth, holding on and pulling my body against hers with such force and passion I almost couldn’t believe it was the same girl. I moaned because I could feel her intensity and was responding with the same electric pull. She pushed me back onto my work desk, my tools scattering and falling onto the floor. The banging sounds echoing in our ears. She straddled my hips, but at the same time, not breaking the connection with our mouths. She just kissed and kissed me. Not wanting to stop or let go. It felt like she let her body become free to move and mold as she had always wanted. It was alive with sexual energy and I couldn’t help but pull her hips harder on top of me as she rode me through our clothes. She was wild, out of control — free. When it was clear she needed oxygen, she broke free from my lips, taking a deep lifesaving breath of air, but her eyes only screamed to mine that she wanted more. A lot more.