Girl After Dark (22 page)

He’s gone. Gone for good. And it’s all my fault.

His words are still ringing in my head:

How can I believe you?

Esme was right, I don’t know you at all.

Get out.

Here I am on my bed, eyes puffy from crying, laptop open in front of me. And I’m staring at Skyscanner – at the next available one-way flight from New York back to London.

I’ve got the money. I’ve got my passport. I’ve even packed my holdall. I could just jump on a plane and forget everything. I mean, I’ve done it before, haven’t I?

When things got tough in London, I ran away from my problems. And it worked, didn’t it, for a while, at least? I suppose when it comes down to it, well, I’m just a coward.

With an involuntary move of my arm, I reach up to my neck, my fingertips once again grazing the brushed silver of the locket and key charm hanging there.

Carson
.

But this time around, I realise, things are different. When I sat on that plane, just a few short weeks ago, from New York to London, crying my eyes out, unable to see the future, I had been betrayed and let down by
somebody else
. But now? This isn’t somebody else, setting out to ruin my life. No. This time, I’ve brought this all upon myself — and I need to face the consequences.

I slam the laptop shut decisively.

I’m not going to run away from my problems anymore. This time, I’m going to stay right here and face the music.

I get up from the bed and walk over to the mirror, then stand staring at myself head-on, wondering who I even
am
anymore.

Am I just plain old Melissa?

Am I Vintage Honey?

Am I Girl After Dark?

Am I the girl that Carson thought I was — the girl he fell for in the first place?

And you know what? For the first time, I kind of feel like I’m
all
those girls at the same time, like they’re all different parts of me, and it’s as if this sudden clarity comes over me as I realise just what I’ve got to do next.

I’ve got to tell the truth for once.

So I return to my bed, sit down, and turn on my laptop once more.

Then I take a deep breath, click open Girl After Dark, and begin to type …

§

Girl After Dark: An Apology

When I began this journey, I promised you, my dear readers, complete and total honesty. But I’ve not quite lived up to that promise. And for that I can only apologise. I hope you all understand what I am about to tell you, and why I did what I did. When it began, this blog was supposed to be a journey of sexual discovery. A previously inhibited, naive, buttoned-up and prim girl, on the thrills of finding herself in a different bed every night. And that’s how it was at first. It was exciting. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed my adventures. But what really took me by surprise? It was you guys. I was overwhelmed by your response. By your kind words of encouragement. By your honesty. And by the way you opened up to your own fantasies, too.

What this was never supposed to be was a “Girl Meets Boy” fairy story. I never in a million years expected that while writing this blog, I would be swept off my feet by my very own Prince Charming.

Dear readers, he was perfect. Everything a girl could wish for. The kind of man you only find in Mills & Boon romances. He was handsome, kind, caring. Yes, he was rich, but more importantly he was idealistic. He trusted me - he looked deep into my eyes and asked me to go on a journey with him, just the two of us, to see where this wild romance might take us.

And I abused that trust.

I threw it all away.

I threw it all away because I was drunk on your friendship, dear readers. You see, when my Prince Charming asked me to be exclusive, I told him ‘Yes’ in a heartbeat. But I also told him that the blog -
this
blog - was over.

And it was over, in a way.

I was no longer meeting up with new people every night for my adventures. But I was having the most amazing sex of my life. So I distorted the truth a little. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that the last few entries on my blog have been more Creative Writing than honest fact, and the very last one was total fiction.

So, goodbye, dear readers. I’m sorry to say that this is how Girl After Dark ends - much sooner than I’d hoped, but I know you understand that I can no longer continue.

And with my last lines, I would like to make a personal plea, to one reader in particular:

Dear Prince_C,

I, who knew more than anyone else how shattering it can feel when someone betrays your trust, did just that to you with this blog, with my words.

It was completely unforgivable and I hope that in time you can at least come to understand why I acted so thoughtlessly. But please know that in one way at least, I remained true to you - my body was yours alone ever since we agreed to be exclusive. But I should have kept my fantasies private too.

I love you and I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

I started this blog to go on a sexual adventure, but instead I found love. And I threw it away.

Prince_C, I’m so sorry.

I love you,

Girl After Dark

As I type the last words, I can’t stop the tears that begin to fall from my eyes and roll down my cheeks.

I hit ‘Create Post’, the tears falling faster and faster.

There’s no holding back any longer. I throw myself back on the bed and give in to the tidal wave of emotion that hits me with full force, as I weep and weep and weep.

§

When I finally pull myself together again and look at the clock, I’m surprised to find a whole
hour
has zoomed by while I’ve been flat-out sobbing on my bed.

I pad through to the little en-suite bathroom and splash some cold water on my face, then stare hard at myself in the little circular mirror above the sink and ponder: What next?

I know I should be grateful for all the things I do still have. I mean, I
love
living in this city, I’m here with my dad, I’m making friends, and I’ve actually found what I want to do next in my life: Creative Writing.

But at the same time, that very same love of fiction has cost me true love.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping, my eyes stinging, my hair standing out at crazy angles, then turn and walk sadly back through to my bedroom.

Wait a minute ...

I can hear the sound of my cell phone buzzing crazily with new notifications, and my mind automatically flashes back to that horrible morning my striptease video first went online: having to face that wall of hatred. So I’m kind of steeling myself for something similar as I gingerly pick up my phone.

As I guessed, there are hundreds
of new comments.

But they’re not
quite
what I was expecting:

Jenny_After_Dusk
: Oh Girlfriend! Love is all any of us are looking for! You’ve *got* to chase your Prince Charming. There’s no way he can read your words and not forgive you!! We forgive you. Good luck. Xxxxx

CupcakeXO
: Personally, I don’t GAF whether or not you made it up. I just love your writing. Have you ever thought about writing novels? I for one would love to read them!

Penny_J
: I agree. But pls pls pls carry on the blog too! I just NEED to know whether or not you get Prince_C back again!!!

I’m overwhelmed. There’s tons more, too, and nearly all of them are saying the same thing. Of course, there’s one or two that aren’t impressed. But overall? Everyone’s actually on my side for once.

And then, in my inbox, I see there’s an email from Katy.

Hey,

Are you free? I REALLY need to Skype with you ASAP. I’ve got a really weird question I need to ask you. When are you free? Please make it soon.

Katy xxx

I wonder what on earth she could want, and I know I should reply to her email straight away, but I can’t deal with it right now. There’s just too much going on. I promise I’m going to tell Katy everything, but I need to clear my head before I do so, and I know just the thing.

 

Walking. It always does the trick. I’m pacing furiously towards Prospect Park, and then just as I reach it — finally becoming enveloped by the beauty and greenery, the sounds of the traffic melting away into silence — I feel my pace begin to slow, too, as I finally begin to unwind and relax a little.

I sit down on a bench, and despite everything I find myself feeling cautiously optimistic. After all, I really expected all my readers to hate me. To turn on me, just like Vintage Honey’s fans did, back when they found out that she wasn’t exactly what they wanted her to be.

But these guys? Girl After Dark’s readers? They completely forgave me for what I did. Even better than that, they understood.

And they had advice for me. They didn’t want me to give up. They said I had to fight for True Love.

And here on this bench, I resolve to do that.

I won’t let them down a second time.

But as grateful as I am for their forgiveness and support, it’s not going to help me win back Carson. I’ve got to do that all on my own.

I’m going to do everything I can. And if that means camp out outside his apartment, or visit him every day at work for a month — one way or another I’m going to make him talk to me again.

Because that’s what he did, isn’t it? He fought for me. He wouldn’t let me go. And now it’s my turn.

As I head back to Dad’s apartment, I’ve got a kind of spring back in my step. I’m feeling determined and strong.

I’m going to reply to Katy’s email, too. I need to tell her everything, and it would be great to get her opinion. I mean, she knows me better than anyone, right?

But before I can head up the stairs to my room, in fact the very moment I set foot inside the apartment, I head Dad calling me from the kitchen.

“Honey Bee? There’s a letter here for you!”

I stroll through, puzzled, and when he hands it to me, I realise that it doesn’t have an address or a postal mark on the envelope. This letter must have been delivered by hand while I was out.

“It just dropped through the letterbox,” Dad adds, obviously also intrigued. I can tell he’s hanging around hoping I’ll open it in front of him.

But he’s gonna be disappointed. I simply kiss him my thanks on the cheek, then turn and race back up to my room, the letter clutched to my chest, my heart pounding …

I sit on my bed and then with shaky hands I tear it open.

I need it to be from him, and I’m hoping for pages and pages, but instead there’s just a single little note inside, just one simple line of beautiful handwriting:

Midnight tonight. You’ll know where.

I recognise his handwriting and my heart sings.

He’s come back to me.

But
where
? Midnight …

Because I
don’t
know where, I think, panicked, my head spinning, my heart sinking once again.

Am I going to lose him all over again, just because I can’t think where the right place is right now?!

Is it the park?

Is it where we had coffee with my dad?

Is it
his
place?

My mind races back through all the places we’d been together and none of them seem quite right.

And I’m still despairing when my phone buzzes again. More new comments on my blog are pouring in, thick and fast.

I scan through them until, like a beacon flashing out in the darkness, I see his name:

Prince_C:
There’s a certain place in Central Park,

Where I once took a girl
before
dark,

If by this exclusive spot she waits,

I promise I won’t make her late. 

And below his message, there are replies, too, from my many other readers, hoping that I know the answer and even offering some possible suggestions. But I don’t need any help with this riddle.

Don’t worry, readers
, I type excitedly in the comments box,
I’ve got this
.

§

It’s ten seconds to midnight, and I’m watching the time counting down on the display of my phone. I’m standing just meters away from the bench where we so reluctantly said goodbye that time, the time Carson told me he wanted us to be exclusive. But the bench is empty. He’s not here.

Ten, nine, eight …

I begin to walk towards it, wondering if perhaps I’ve got it wrong. Misunderstood his riddle. After all, where is he? I though he said he wouldn’t ‘make me late’?

Seven, six, five …

Another few steps towards the still-empty bench. I can feel my heart pounding now, as I wonder where he is.

Four, three …

And I’ve only just reached the bench when I see his distinctive silhouette emerging from the shadows opposite me.

Two, one …

We both arrive at the bench at exactly the same time and my heart leaps. We don’t even speak. We just look at each other. I stare into his big greeny-grey eyes, feeling myself melt once more, and I know just from looking at him that all is forgiven.

Before I even know what’s happening, we’re kissing. I feel his lips against my own, his tongue slipping into my mouth, his hands in my hair and I kiss him back passionately, feverishly, so glad to have him back again.

“I forgive you, of course I forgive you,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek. “Even before I read your last post, I think I knew deep down that you wouldn’t really have done anything like that to me ...”

“I was so stupid,” I reply. “I can’t believe I nearly threw it all away. I just got so carried away with my blog … After being forced to lose it before, I didn’t want to lose it again. But now I realise there are more important things. Like
this
. Like you.”

We both sit down on the bench and look out over the calm water of the lake. It’s so beautiful here at night. It’s a mild evening, although I don’t think I’d notice even if it were cold.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he says. “But you’re such a good writer, Melissa! It was so believable! I think that’s why I thought it had really happened. You’re talented, you just need a different
outlet
for that talent …”

“Fingers crossed I get onto that Creative Writing course at NYU then,” I say with a smile, “before I screw anything else up.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about it,” he replies. “You’re really talented, you know?”

“Woah,” I laugh, “those things are pretty competitive and the standard is
so
high. I’d be lucky to be accepted.”

“You’re a lucky person, Melissa,” he says. “But it’s really not about luck, it’s about talent, and you have that in spades. Besides, you’re definitely ready to focus your creative writing energies elsewhere.”

I laugh and blush, but at the same time I feel so glad that he can joke about this already, that he’s not making a big deal out of what happened. 

“Good,” I reply. “Because I do feel passionately about this.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “Because I need to be with someone who’s just as focused and career-driven as I am. You’ve hardly been in this city for any length of time, and you’ve already found something you love. I’m so proud of you. I meant what I said, the last time we were here. I want us to be exclusive. I want you to be my girlfriend. Officially. And if you feel the same way, I’m going to tell Esme that we’re together. I don’t care what she thinks.”

“Carson!” I gasp. “Official? You mean like
Facebook
official?”

At this he laughs, takes my hand, then pulls me to my feet.

“I mean official like …” he begins. And then he turns away from me and shouts across the quiet stillness of the lake: “I LOVE MELISSA LANE AND I WANT ALL OF NEW YORK TO KNOW IT!”

As his words reverberate across the park, he turns back to me, takes both my hands and looks deep into my eyes. His eyes are smiling, glittering with excitement.

He moves his face towards mine slowly.

First the tip of his nose touches the tip of my nose. Then our foreheads. His hands move to my cheeks, cupping my face in his palms.

“I mean it,” he whispers. “I love you.”

And I’ve never been happier than when I finally speak the words out loud: “I love you too, Carson,” I say.

Ever so gently, ever so softly, his lips graze mine, and my eyes close as his hands move up through my hair and I give myself over to his kiss. But it’s not enough. The more I have of him, the more I want, and I can tell he’s growing hungrier and hungrier too.

Our hands begin to explore each other’s bodies as our kisses become more and more passionate.

“That scene in the park,” he whispers, pulling away from me for a moment. “The one you wrote? Let’s make that real.”

Before I can reply, he’s lifted me right off my feet, his lips pushing against mine once more, and I moan into his mouth as I wrap my legs around him, my clit beginning to throb as I myself against that hot, hard bulge in his pants.

I feel his hands move to my buttocks, helping me grind even harder against him, and he’s groaning too, softly, both of us working ourselves into a frenzy now, my legs and arms wrapped tight around him.

He walks us back a little way off the path and deep into the darkness of the bushes, even though we seem to be the only two here in the park so late.

And as he pushes me up against the cool bark of a nearby tree, his tongue pushing urgently into my mouth, my fingers are tugging madly at his belt, too, wanting to free him, wanting so desperately to feel him inside me.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever needed you so much,” he murmurs between kisses, as I grind myself against him, my whole body trembling with excitement and electricity.

And I gasp as he sharply tugs my knickers to once side, the cool night air flashing against my burning, throbbing sex, before, just a moment later, I feel the hot head of his couch touch against my opening.

There’s a delicious pause.

“Please, Carson,” I murmur, knowing he’s teasing me now. “I need it. Please …”

He sucks on my bottom lip, pinning it between his teeth as he slowly enters me, filling me right up, stretching me so damn wide, and I moan: a low, long, animal moan, my lip still caught tight between his teeth.

And like that, he’s fucking me: hard, fast and urgent.

He’s driving himself into me, each fresh thrust causing me to moan into his mouth, and I can feel my own pleasure building and cresting within me.

God, I’m about to come — this feels so fucking
good
— when he stops, all of a sudden freezing, pressing his hand tight over my mouth, my body trembling, his cock still so deep inside me.

And that’s when I hear them: laughing, joking voices, coming our way up the path just a few metres away from us. They must be a group of late night revelers, maybe three or four of them, a mixture of guys and girls, probably about our own age from the sound of them, and as they approach, I realise with a shiver that the have
no idea
that we’re here, nestled away like this in the bushes just a few metres away from them, and somehow this thought makes the whole thing even
more
exciting.

I’m right on the brink now, my body shivering and trembling, Carson’s hand pressed tight over my mouth, his cock still hard and deep inside me, as the group walk right towards us unawares.

And just as they’re passing us, Carson rocks his hips, so slowly yet purposefully, his thick cock sliding even further within me, pushing me right over the edge.

I gasp as I come, my mouth still stifled by his hand, and a moment later I feel him pump his warmth into me too, both of us coming so hard yet silent, our bodies enveloped by the darkness, the whole thing so much hotter and more intense than any fiction I could imagine …