||Chapter XIII: "You."||

Under the late blue velvet night, it was silent except the crickets that praised the night. The balcony night air blew nipping at the naked skin of her shoulders and hands, that couldn't be protected by the sheet. The sheet she had wrapped in the haste of getting away from a sleeping Raymond.

Sex was a biological function.

What happened between her and Raymond wasn't sex, no, it had gone beyond the physical process. If anything, it felt more like a claiming process, as if he had claimed her soul. Even now, hours after his last touch, her body still hummed.

And it wasn't good.

Abigail held the cigarette in the flame of lighter whilst cupping her hand around to aid the lighting, she inhaled. She put the lighter near the wooden ash tray on the parapet and took strong, but brief drags, hollowing her cheeks. You see, the key trick of smoking your worry in thin air is the delicate balance of inhaling with sufficient vigour, while not sucking down so much that you collapse in a choking fit.

Her throat burned with the smoke, her lungs wrapped in a warm blanket of smoke. In the nicotine rush, she was overwhelmed by a sense of calmness. Abigail pulled away a burning cigarette from her mouth and letting go of the smoke. It disappeared into thin air in deep contrast of dark night, only her guilt and disgust didn't disappear in thin air with it, as she desired. Still, she continued, hoping for it, innocently.

Abigail loved the warm feeling of the rough paper between her knuckles, the taste on her lips the feeling of the smoke in her lungs and going out through her lips and nostrils as she exhaled. It was warm, comforting, pleasant, calming, the head-rush of dizziness, very much like standing up too quickly.

In her early teens, Abigail was thought, that as a woman, we are made of paper; we are collapsible paper doll— easily crumpled. Today she learned that as women, we are worth lives secretly wrapped in lace and cotton panties. A woman, who has lost her honour, imagines that she cannot fall lower, and as recovering her former station, it is impossible, no exertion can wash the stains away. Losing thus every spur, and having no other means; prostitution becomes her only refuge, for 'Marrying a man for his money is kind of Prostitution'.

'You see, my child,' Adel had once told a twelve year old Abigail. 'Repeating the same word again and again, it loses its meaning. For instance, 'homework' homework homework homework homework homework homework homeark homeark homark homark. See?'

Today Abigail felt thankful like never before. Just like 'Prostitute'

Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute, prostitute, prostitute, prostitute, protitute, protitute, prtute, prtute.

See?

Abigail's chest felt like a windshield and her heart was a baseball bat, ramming again and again... regrets this, regret this, regret this, Regret. This.

"Ms. Dunhill?" A sleep-deprived voice demanded her attention. Her eyes widened as if a thief caught with hands in the cookie jar.

"Shit."

She quickly crushed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, just next to a small used bud. In a sudden panic wave, with a quick motion, she pushed the ashtray and the lighter of the parapet, knowing very well that her secret was well hidden in the garden bushes below her balcony until she retrieved them safely later on. Then forced exhales through the nose and mouth as well, hoping to get rid of the smoke smell.

"Ms. Dunhill?" the voice was sharper, but not as alert.

"Come—" Abigail cleared her throat. "Coming!" in few strides, she reached the French-doors, before opening the doors and walking in she took in a deep breath, preparing her own self. Words like acid scalding her heart echoed in her head.

'God, what have you done?'

Snake-like venomous thoughts stopped her breathing; while on autopilot her feet continued on the journey towards the be, near Raymond.

"What time is it?" Raymond sounded ready to go back to sleep. She stood at the very edge of the bed, on the other side, away from Raymond.

In the poorly lit room, Abigail squinted to catch the blurry digital image of time on the digital clock placed above the side table. Her face had drawn a blank, "Four-thirty-five."

'What now? Back in his arm?'

She gulped the rising bile that stank of guilt in tons.

'Will you slip back in the same arm which once held that filth slag in a lovely embrace?'

"Hmm."

'How many nights had they spent together, naked, sweaty selves in each other's arms?'

"Well?" her trance broke and looked at the bed. Raymond still lay on his side—facing her, eyes— tired and half-open. His rather firm and angry gunmetal blue eyes looked peaceful today, in the dimly lit room.

"Get in here." It was then she noticed he had raised the quilt and had made some place for her.

'How many weekends spent together? Or weekdays? Days? Nights?'

Without an ounce of protest, she eased out of the sheet and into his arms. All this time, his tired eyes followed her movements but there was no lust in them; just a simple desire to warm her up.

'How many passionate looks had they shared?'

His face found a place in the crook of her neck, warm air fanned her biting cold neck, her freezing soul blessed him for the warmth provided by his arms, and for allowing her to rob his body heat. Raymond shifted, aligning his chest against her back, his arm rested on her stomach. His rough and warm palm roamed causally on her stomach in a rhythmic pattern. She tensed her back, contracted her every muscle. But Raymond continued. Calmly waiting for her to accept his gesture.

This is what couples do. Not sluts, whores or prostitutes, right?

It was a raging turmoil within her. Should she accept the gesture or not. Was this right?

'Yes, not prostitutes.' A small, fragile voice whispered.

Raymond's hand moved over her skin lazily, trailing down her stomach and below her belly button. Dare she admit, the gesture was ... affectionate? It soothed her guilt, it felt right. Abigail relaxed, very slowly and eased against his chest, enjoying the feel of his skin. At that Raymond hummed contently. Abigail closed her eyes.

It was something about the way she felt was new, with her petite stature against his broad and firmed one, there was still hardness, a strength about him that eased her. Abigail was quick to label it— a sense of protection. A rudimentary sense of belongingness. It was the laziest and the steady thump of the energy in her soul that confirmed it. There were no restless buzzing dots of energy like they were usually when he was near. The way Raymond was holding her made him appear less 'arseholeistic' in her head, but hardly vulnerable.

"You smell... different like..." She held her breath, if he made any ill comments about it, put aside the new feeling, she'd break his nose. He took in a deep breath, more like sniffing her.

"... like cheap cigarettes."

And you smell like me.

"How many have you smoked?"

"One."

"Hmm." She waited and waited for his unnecessary comment, but none came. She relaxed again and he continued his rhythmic movement. His splayed hand moved from her stomach to her under her bellybutton and back again. She reeled and relaxed in his embrace. His long nose traced her relaxed shoulder, leaving gentle kisses in the wake. As the time lapsed they continued to lie together. Her eyes were closed as she enjoined the moment. The non-sexual embrace was cut short when she realized Raymond's hand moved high up, up, up... to her breasts.

And embarrassingly, the coil of desire in her belly started tightening on its own accord, as her body responded to Raymond's touch. Her nipples perked up in anticipation.

There was something rewarding about the way he coiled around her.

His lips had long stilled on her shoulder and she could feel him smile as her body responded back to his desires, positively. She could feel the energy coming back to life, almost purring back to pleasure. Abigail could also feel his excitement and it had her slipping into a sexual abyss. Again.

Abigail held her breath, biting her bottom lips, torn between her taunting conscience and the beginning of an exciting rush of desire.

She could only lie immobilized by the shock of the intensity of the sensation rocking her as Raymond thumbed her nipples purposefully. His mouth began the assault on her shoulder with new vigour. Raymond rolled his hips against her ass.

Abigail rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, holding back a moan. It was getting heated and thus the atmosphere was lust laden. The restless dots of energy buzzed through her soul. On instinct, she, too, rolled her hips, trying to create more friction between her bare bottom and him. Raymond stilled and as she continued her grinding he hissed in her ear as if it were painful.

"Ms. Dunhill!"

"Um-hmm" was the very innocent reply he got, and he groaned again. He was awed by the way she moved her body, so confident and the way she ground against him, he wanted her again. The desire was maddening and the intensity had knocked him down. His hand moved from her stomach to her hips, digits digging into her soft skin.

She pressed herself against his back loving the way his bare skin felt against her.

"W-What are you doin'?"

"I-I don't know..."She whispered back.

"I want you, now!" Raymond hissed and his hand slipped down south. A coil in her stomach coiled up tighter. "I want to do you again and..."

A voice sharp heckled at her. 'What are you doing?' And she froze. 'You are going to let him call the shots?' Her heart sank deep down.

"Raymond." He didn't stop even after her warning. His hands, with a one track mind, reached their target.

"Raymond!" She quickly grabbed his wrist. "No!"

"What?" his voice raised a few octaves all at once.

"I said no!" He pulled away from and distanced himself from her. He was angry, and just her luck, he probably furious.

Her heart thudded,

'What have you done? If he sells the company!'

"Please don't be mad—"

"Mad? I'm furious! " his heavy breathing along with hers echoed. She tensed her body and screwed her eyes shut and kept lying on her side not want to meet his manic eyes.

"I-I... Umm.. I'm sore from yesterday." She squealed out. Her heart was beating twice the speed, what if true to his words, he really was an abuser? She contracted her body, screwed her eyes shut and shrank herself in the mattress as much as she could. And waited, a minute turned into two and two into four but nothing happened.

She dared slowly open her eyes and blinked once, twice, thrice.

"Oh," it was the tiniest whisper on his part, soon it was silence again.

A very long, disturbing silence; as if an obedient slave had refused the master and the master was speechlessly bewildered. Her heart still thudded painfully against her breast bone. For the longest time nothing happened, neither of them moved nor made a noise. After greatest courage, she slowly blinked open her eyes. Her heart beats drummed her ears but her breathing had barely managed normalcy; she cradled her hands against her breast bone. A tear leaked and then another followed. Her eyes roamed her side of the room vicariously, in a dazed stare her eyes landed on the clock on the nightstand.

5:31 A.M

Abigail blinked, zeroed eyes.

5:32 A.M

Head vs Heart.

5:33 A.M

In her head, she really wanted show him her true colour and in all its glory kick Raymond out.

5:34 A.M

In her heart, she wanted Raymond to say 'Sorry.' And or someone, just any one of her offenders to apologize. To say I'm just sorry, not really knowing what exactly for. She —

"...Friends?"

"Huh?" she looked over her shoulder and from the corner of her eyes.

"Your friends? I've never seen or heard of any."

"Huh?" Abigail slowly turned to face Raymond. Raymond lay on the other side of the bed the quilt covering him.

"I've never seen—"

"No, I heard you the first time, " she told him. "What are you doing?"

"I—I was just...you know...the- I have...." Abigail raised a questioning brow. "...I don't know. Do you have any?" Raymond sighed.

"Two are married and work as software engineers. And the other two are playing Dora the explorer." Abigail smile, a sweet but a sad one.

"Can I ask you a question?" "You can ask me, too." Both spoke simultaneously. They kept silent for a while.

"What is the craziest thing you have ever done?" Abigail breathed out softly.

"Agreed to marry you."

"Oh,"

"Yeah, oh." The brief slight curve of Raymond's lips could have been mistaken as something as trivial as an involuntary twitch. "So Ms. Dunhill, any embarrassing talents?"

"I could burp in a row."

"Surely a fine lady like you wouldn't d—" there was a yapping silence between them, where a stunned Raymond, stared at Abigail.

"Ms. Dunhill, did you just burp—"

"Maybe," she shrugged with a sly smile.

"But—" her giggles stopped him.

"Enough, my turn, if you were granted two wishes, what would you ask for?"

"Hmmm, that's a tough one." Raymond looked up at Abigail and smiled kindly. "Ummm, maybe go on a lifelong vacation to South Korea... or maybe Norway?"

"South Korea or Norway? Interesting. And?"

"Relieve your heart of pain."

"What!"

"You are hurting."

"Oh, you don't say!" Raymond could easily detect her getting upset and the ensuing anger, and raised a solitary brow at her raise of an octave and her attitude.

"Bummer you don't believe me. Denial is the—"

"I'm not in denial!" Abigail was agitated to a level beyond return. He didn't get to talk about pain!

"Oh, you—"

"Sod off!"

"Miss. Dunhill you really have to learn to be respectful. And it will do you good—" Respectful? Oh, I'll teach him respect!

"No, it will do you good to shut your mouth, Mr. Sawyer! What would you know of pain? "

"Yeah, you're right. What would I know of pain, I mean I'm not a human, but an outer space mammoth, right? And in your opinion I should be fucking myself with a dry cactus, and not do you?" The one-side curve on his devilish face eased her soul.

"Yes, you should."

"Oh, Ms. Dunhill I—"

"Zip it! It's my turn." Raymond surrendered.

"Have you ever bullied someone?"

"Why would you ask something like that?"

"Because Mr. Sawyer, you look like the kind."

"What kind?"

"Let's just say you have some dominating traits... Which some.... may not really.....ummm...tolerate."

"Well, that's assuring, to say the least."

"So... have you?"

"No, Ms. Dunhill, I have not bullied anyone. But surprise me, have you?"

"Maybe?" Raymond looked amused, though he tried keeping a straight face.

"Well, who is this poor unfortunate soul?"

"Tom Karter. Kinda typical math nerd, bullied by the popular girl." She smiled revisiting the old days. "May I add, very cute, very sexy, and polite and he stuttered a lot."

"And you managed to bully such a kind soul?"

"Mind you he was my crush! But he never really looked at me that way."

"I wonder why." Abigail rolled her eyes at Raymond.

"He was my first kiss. Totally ...weird, it was in the math class, it's weird because..." if Abigail had paid attention she would have realized how Raymond had unnaturally stiffened and how white, hot jealousy charred his soul. ".... I had bullied him into kissing me." as he turned back to her words, he couldn't stop himself.

"My turn, Did you like it?"

"I mean... what were we...umm 15 or 16....it was good." 

But it was nothing compared to when we kiss.

Jealousy hissed in his ears. Clawing his skin. Who is he?

"Where is he now?" what he really wanted to know: Are you still in touch with him? Do you rather kiss him?

"Remember my two married software engineer friends? He kind of had an eye for my other friend and I ended up being a catalyst."

"You overdid your turn." Abigail frowned. "So considering everyone has a price, what is yours?"

"You." He said in a heartbeat.

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