Free Falling Page 22

  I angle my head up, wishing I could discern what’s in her mind. Her eyes still have that same sad, worried expression they had before.

  As I find myself trying to guess her thoughts, my whole body locks up. “It’s you, isn’t it? You don’t want to keep it? And you also want to break up with me, for good, but you’re not finding the words or the courage, is that it?”

  My words are bitter and she comes down immediately. We’re both on our knees facing each other.

  “No!”

  “No what? You want the baby, but there’s no us. You still want to be with me, but having this baby right now is not an option?”

  “What? No, of course not! And I do want to be with you too. God, I missed you so much. I missed your good morning kisses and our late talks at night. I missed your sometimes sweet, sometimes crazy sexy texts in the middle of the day. I missed your smile, the sound of your laughs, your arms around me and your hands all over me. I missed everything... but if you step back and think straight, this is so not the right time!”

  “Apparently, it never is.”

  “And besides, how many times do you think I’ve fantasised about this moment, telling my partner we were going to be parents? I’ve always imagined it so much different...”

  “Different how? Not with someone who loves you and wants to love our baby more than life itself?”

  “We wouldn’t be in the middle of a sort of time-out situation, for starters. And maybe I’d surprise you with a pair of baby socks. Or with a tiny t-shirt with some cute ‘my dad rocks’ line. Or I’d take a picture of the test and set it as the background image on your computer, that’d be cool! Or I’d give you a baby-on-board sign for your car, or I’d just park in an expectant mothers’ spot and break the news! I don’t know, something we could laugh at, later on, something memorable.”

  “Memorable? I’m on my knees, in a kitchen—not my kitchen! Hopefully, those two will spare me the embarrassment of coming here to check what’s going on—and I’m crying like a boy. Do you think I’ll ever forget this moment?”

  She holds my face in her hands. “But first I wanted to be sure this is what you really want, to be with me, and I also–”

  “But I do! And besides, that’s how life is: it does not always go according to plan. So what? We adjust!”

  “And I also needed to be sure I’m ready to trust someone else again, without doubt constantly nagging at me, without fearing all the time that sooner rather than later I’d end up alone because you either can’t take us seriously or you’d run away at the first problem or–”

  “You were the one who ran away at the first problem, Olivia, not me,” I tell her a bit harshly. “I’m the one who was left alone. Waiting.”

  “I’m so sorry.” There’s a pained expression on her face when she lowers her gaze. “And I was so afraid you’d freak out about this whole thing and walk away... And I wasn’t even sure if you’d be still waiting for me. I thought maybe you were already fed up with it and had decided to forget about us and move on with your life and–”

  And nothing. I lock my lips against hers.

  Granted, life can be rough and a challenge sometimes, and I’m sure there must be at least about a hundred ways to screw it up. I could even easily become a pro on that, but giving up too soon on us wasn’t going to be one of them.

  In one swift movement, I pull her up, sit her on the countertop and cover her flushed face with gentle kisses. Her eyelids, her temples, the freckled bridge of her nose. And I kiss her again, softly at first, then deeper and harder when she parts her lips and lets out a little sigh that ripples through me. It’s my name she’s breathing out.

  And it’s warm and tastes of her, her mouth, and I savour it eagerly, almost desperately. Because I miss feeling her lips on mine, her tongue moving against mine, her hands combing through my hair and pulling me closer. I miss her touch. Her smell. I missed it all. Every single night and day we’ve been apart.

  My hold on her tightens and I pull her against me. She leans her body even closer and locks her legs around my hips, filling that last inch that separated us. My eyes are burning into hers as my hands move up and down her back and then slide forward to outline the fullness of her breasts—which feel so different now.

  Jesus. I think the last glimmer of rational thought is about to desert me.

  I bend to capture her lips again and ask her between shallow breaths, “For the love of God, can I take you home now?”

  She stops moving her lips beneath mine and pulls me back gently. “You really meant it? You want… to do this?” She rests her hand on her belly. “You want to be there, at the birth?”

  “Of course! I’m no wuss.”

  That’s not entirely true. In fact, the idea is pretty mind-blowing and it gives me chills, but sure, I’m going to be there. Somehow. One way or another.

  “Promise?”

  “I do.”

  “But there’s something else. And it’s really important and you have to know about it... before we embark on this together.”

  What now? You’ve been with some other bloke in the meantime? Please. Keep it to yourself, sweep it under the rug, wherever, I don’t care. The idea makes my blood boil and my stomach churn, I don’t want to know.

  “What? What possibly could make me change my mind about us? That we can’t have sex in the next... year?”

  Christ! I was kidding.

  “Oh no. We’ll be having lots of sex! I mean, like, looots of it! If there’s a moment it really kicks into high gear is now, so I’m counting on your full support on that.” She giggles, a nervous giggle.

  I nod, silently, as a feeling of relief slowly floods through me.

  She jerks her chin towards the image. “Look at it again.”

  Okay. I sit on the stool and lean forward, supporting my elbows on the granite surface and looking at it carefully.

  There’re Olivia’s name and the exam date on it. 28/Oct/2015. And a few numbers and letters I have no idea what they are. Measurements, probably. Then there are all these shades. White. Black. Grey. The normal thing, I guess. No. Nothing. I see nothing.

  I shrug, staring back at her.

  She smiles.

  We’re both looking down at the image again when she begins to draw something that resembles the infinity symbol with her finger. Always following the contour of the darker shades on the image. Again and again. One ring slightly bigger than the other.

  ∞

  I lock my eyes on her and feel like I’m the ultimate idiot because I truly don’t get it. “What? We’re bonded forever?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No?”

  Her index finger stops tracing that continuous line and begins to swing like a pendulum of one of those wall clocks, from one ring to the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack.

  Oh. Fuck. Me.

  Two little dots.

  34 You’re beautiful

  “Oh, Brian...” A shallow moan escapes from her throat the moment she leans forward and flattens her hands on my chest. I’m certain she can feel how wildly my heartbeat is thudding against her fingers.

  I let my eyes linger for a little while on her face, the beautiful face that has invaded my thoughts and tormented me these past months. On the closed eyelids and slightly parted lips. On the soft skin of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone and the firm breasts that sway with the swivelling movement of her hips. On the perfect curve of her waist.

  It’s insane.

  I lift my torso from the improvised bed and sit, to take her head in my hands and stifle her gasps with my mouth. It’s a long, deep kiss, filled with passion and raw need and she shivers with desire as my arms tighten around her.

  We need to stop for a moment to catch our breaths.

  I wrap my arms around her and my hand travels up the length of her back until it reaches the nape of her neck. I grab it firmly and leave a wet trail of kisses down her neck and collarbone—she sighs and arches
slightly back—and then further down to her breasts, to her hard nipples, and take it all in, each inarticulate gasp that vibrates right through me, the hot breath and softness of her mouth, the feel of her kisses, the taste of her salty-sweet skin, and the scent of her body, which fits right into mine. So perfectly.

  “What do you want? Tell me.” I ask with a hoarse voice, my teeth grazing her chin.

  I know what I want. I want her. And I want her to want me, as badly as I want her. Because she owns me. She always has.

  “You. I want you,” she breathes out against my neck, sending ripples of warmth through my body, leaving me completely undone.

  My lips find hers again and our tongues play with each other, shamelessly, as she continues to straddle me to the same tantalising rhythm, that same perfect cadence, the warm dampness between her thighs making my mind race and my heart hammer like mad.

  I can’t stop touching her. My hands are all over everywhere, her face, her lips, the messy hair, travelling up and down her back. And I try to pull her even closer, if that’s even possible, because I need to feel her and I want her to feel what she’s doing to me. I’m completely lost in her, drowning in her, entranced by the feeling of my skin sliding against hers, and of our bodies entirely absorbed in each other.

  I hold her in place and feel her full breasts pressed against my chest. I nibble her neck again and she bends down to murmur something indistinct into my mouth as she writhes within my arms against me.

  I love you? Was that it?

  We are completely immersed in each other as pleasure slams hard through our bodies, each thrust another crashing wave, each breath growing more and more ragged as we drift closer to the edge. My hands keep stroking her back until they follow slowly to her waist, and then her hips, which I hold firmly, to slam down my body with urgent, furious movements.

  The pace quickens and our gazes lock. It’s so intense it’s almost startling.

  And she lets go and I watch her losing control. How she lets her eyelids flutter shut, how she bites her lower lip, twists her body and arches her back in an uncontrollable motion, to then return to me.

  Our foreheads are touching, our voices gasping, our breathing mixing along the relentless frenzied moving of our bodies when a tingly, warm feeling begins to sweep through me too. My breath hitches and my muscles clench and my body convulses to the sounds of a deep hoarse groan that bursts out and echoes in the silent room.

  I draw back and look at her. Half-lidded eyes, still breathing heavily, her chest is heaving up and down rapidly, her skin damp and red from the scraping of my stubble.

  It could make my heart stop, the sight of her. It’s the most beautiful and mind-blowing thing I’ve seen.

  I brush a finger along her flushed cheek and hold her hand. Our fingers interlace and I bring them up to kiss her knuckles. And then I hold her. Tightly. Until our breathing is steady.

  God, I love her. I love her from the core of my heart.

  *

  The faint light entering through the living-room window wakes me and I turn to check on Olivia. She’s still asleep, her hair scattered over the pillow, her features so quiet and relaxed, her breath so soft and even.

  I peek under the blanket and can’t contain a small chuckle. Yes, we’re still naked. Last night we didn’t make it to the bedroom, in fact, we barely made it out of the lift, and even the short ride back to my flat was a mess.

  A mess of the awesome kind.

  I look around and grin inwardly again. We ended up sleeping on the floor, among another good mess of duvets and blankets. In front of the fireplace.

  That was nice, really nice.

  Carefully I brush back a stray strand of hair and feel tempted to caress her face, to softly brush her lips, her cheeks and down her neck and even further down, to tease her until she wakes up. But I won’t, I’m going to let her sleep. Instead, I prop myself up on one arm and keep looking at her, the realisation dawning on me that I can’t go without it anymore, without watching her smile, playing with her hair, stroking her face, laughing with her, swapping stories at night after the end of a long day...

  And soon we’re going to be four. That’s a whole lot of stories to swap!

  This woman came into my life a tornado and turned it upside down, into a crazy, heart-stopping, roller-coaster ride. But now she’s here, finally, and it feels right, it feels good, like a tight hug and a warm blanket on a cold night. As if I had finally found my safe harbour, ‘I can’t think of a perfecter way to word it.’ Eminem. Great philosopher.

  Bloody hell! We’ve got to go.

  The brunch thing at my sister’s. I’d almost forgotten about it.

  I quickly get up, turn on the music, not too loud, and leave three post-it notes next to her, on my pillow:

  ‘You’re beautiful. Luv u.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re home.’

  ‘Waiting for you. In the shower →’

  35 A tiny flicker of a smile

  Oh.Dear.God.

  A knot has just gone scraping up my throat and down my stomach. I slouch on the sofa and pull Olivia to me, to embrace her, as if by doing so I could protect her from any of that.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that? You really have no idea what you’re in for, do you?” my sister asks, her eyes darting from one side to the other, from my oh-mother-of-god face to Olivia’s, which, for some reason I can’t understand, is far more relaxed and amused than mine.

  I look around and force my mind to go somewhere else. I need to erase from my head those quite detailed descriptions of how she gave birth to her kids or I won’t ever come near a delivery room.

  Casting a look outside, through the living-room window, I watch my father. He’s in the back garden playing football with Josh. He hasn’t been doing very well this past week, he really looks worn out.

  Where in the hell is Mark?

  Inside, Emma is sitting on the baby playmat, quietly flipping through some cloth book. One of the twins has crawled out of it and sneaked behind the stool cushion, where she’s about to tear one of Emma’s dolls apart.

  Before the symphony of high-pitched screams begins, I decide I’d better look for an escape route. “Going to stretch my legs outside a bit. I think I need some fresh air.”

  Sue throws me a sit-your-ass-back-down glare. “Why? Am I scaring you, little brother?” And she giggles, the wicked witch. “Look, I might as well start to give you the not so glamorous truth. It hurts now, but when shit gets real maybe you won’t feel like I did: willing to jab a fork into my own eye and pissed off because no one warned me about it... Oh well, they did—but I only heard them, I didn’t listen.”

  I swallow back a curse and squeeze Olivia’s hand. “We could always hide into some cave and come back in a year or so, you know that, don’t you?”

  It’s amazing. You tell people you’re expecting and, all of a sudden, they all become experts and have a bunch of advice to give you. Except that, my sister kind of is, I mean, an expert. She’s a graduate breeding machine but, honestly, right now I’d prefer a pleasant lie to the ugly truth. She’s scaring the shit out of me with her nightmare stories. And she knows that, she’s doing it on purpose, just to get on my nerves.

  “Sweetie, labour is the easy part. What comes next is what will freak you out, that’s what will make you pray to the Lord above and beg Him to make it pass. Just you wait,” she says it dryly, her tone almost a menace, followed by what seems a sort of witchy chuckle.

  Olivia leans her head against my shoulder. “She’s only messing with you, you silly.”

  No, she isn’t. It’s all true, I know it.

  I take a steadying breath.

  “So you pop them out, come home thinking it’s all like you read in the books, smooth and easy, but guess what? It’s not. Just for starters, think about what’s going on down south! No, it’s not nice: your hoo-hoo will be all bruised, stitched and sore. You can’t walk, you can’t stand, you can’t sit. Nada. How fun is that?”<
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  My body goes rigid. Shit. “Sue? Are we done here?”

  She ignores me completely. “But no worries. After a couple of weeks that part should be okay! But the rest is not: your boobs are humongous—and not the sexy-fun kind of huge! Rather the about-to-explode sort and it hurts as fuck.

  “And if you’re lucky, you’ll look like you’re only six months pregnant. Watch out, some blithering idiot may actually ask you when you’re due. ‘Sod off!’ will come to your mind, and you should just say it.

  “And then it’s like a cursed dreadmill! Breastfeed. Burp. Diaper. Back to the crib. Cry. Soothe. Start all over again. Times two—never forget that! Day and night. Night and day. That’s how it’s going to be.” Her lips pull into a grin. “But don’t you worry, nature is a wonderful thing: you won’t be able to sleep one single hour straight, so after a while, you’ll be a total zombie, so dizzy and light-headed you won’t feel a thing.”

  I rub a hand down my face, scrubbing the stubble on my chin. “You about done?”

  “And breastfeeding? Hell no, it’s not as wonderful as everyone makes it out to be. Not when your cracked nipples are bleeding. But don’t stress out too much either—if you feed them with a bottle, they may still get into Oxford anyway.” Sue lets out a gurgled laugh. “So after a couple of months of wiping butts, looking like shit, surviving on a couple of hours of broken sleep, and thanking God there’s coffee, you’ll look at yourself in the mirror and you start questioning yourself what possible good reason is there for you not to run away from all that. Smacking my brother hard in the head may also cross your mind—after all, he was the fuckin’ bastard who got you into this situation in the first place!”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose before looking up at her. “Can I go now?”

  “And that’s it! They’ll basically suck the life out of you! But,” she continues, “somehow you’ll manage to flip the survival mode switch and one day, out of the clear blue sky, you wake up all groggy and, Oh.My.Goodness, it’s seven in the morning and they actually let you sleep. And you rush and trip over everything, fearing something isn’t right.