Chapter 15: Missing some pieces
Martie tried to take me sightseeing through Trujillo, although the only sight that held particular interest for me was her with her clothes off. She showed me the stone lion statues outside the old mansion that served as the HQ for Trujillo's tourist police. We rode around in the Jeep, me following her directions. The city was bright and colorful at night, impressively showcasing their stark, striking exteriors. Like I said, impressive--but just not that interesting to me. I think she noticed after ninety minutes or so of cruising around town, taking in the sights. Don't get me wrong, the buildings looked nice and everything. But what was the point? I'd seen the impossibly tall spires of the Koraxian homeworld, the endless tunnels of the Cranions, dozens of planets, many alien cultures and species. Some old houses in a third-rate country may have been nice tourist destinations for your average globetrotter, but for me, all I could say was that they looked nice. Sure, I could appreciate the work that went into building them, knowing most of them were hundreds of years old and still standing in pristine condition. But my perspective, I suppose, had become more cynical and difficult to impress. My appreciation was more intellectual than visceral. Maybe this culture held excitement and wonder for someone like Martie, who'd never been out of her home country otherwise, but for me? Just more of the same. If you've seen one ancient culture, you've seen 'em all, right?
She told me more about herself while we drove around, how she grew up modestly, put herself through school, completed a pediatric residency in Baltimore, and eventually wound up here. She didn't share anything specifically probing or insightful--but neither did I. Still feeling around the edges of each other's personae, I guess. Neither wanting to offend the other or expose a vulnerability.
I decided if things were going to go anywhere, I had to be blunt. "I don't think we should go back to my place--I just started working here and don't exactly know what the rules are, as far as having guests goes. Are you staying nearby?"
She nodded. "I have a small apartment a few streets away." She directed me to it, I parked, we got out, climbed some stairs, she unlocked the door, and opened up into a quiet little room. It was roughly the size of my quarters aboard the Protector, which weren't huge. She had a couch, a TV, a bed, a kitchenette, a breakfast table, a couple closets, and a door that hinted the existence of a small bathroom. Not luxurious living by any means, but then she probably didn't get paid much for being here.
I removed my suit jacket and hung it on a nearby hook, watching her as she turned on a few lamps. She finally took a seat on her couch and patted the spot next to her. Well, I didn't need a lot of prompting. I took up the seat and wondered if I should try anything at that point, or let her move. She'd been fairly direct thus far, and I didn't want to discourage her by taking charge of the situation. But I feared if I didn't, nothing would happen, and dammit, I had a job to do. I had failed to get drunk, something I considered a prerequisite to getting laid, but the evening rolled along smoothly enough without the intoxication factor. I just didn't want to blow it.
She opted to go for some probing inquiries. "So, you told me about what you do now, but--and don't take this the wrong way--you look like someone who has quite a bit of history. You've been a bodyguard for, what, a couple weeks? What did you do before?"
I shrugged. "Military."
She leaned on her elbow against the back of the couch, her attention focused on me. "Yeah? What branch? See any action? Tell me about it."
"Yeah, I saw a lot of action over the years... mostly Navy-type stuff. Pretty much all the hot spots you've heard of, I've been there. Don't take it personally if I don't want to get into a lot of details. It's just not something I like to talk about." I hoped that would satisfy her curiosity without forcing me to make up a bunch of bullshit. Yeah, I'd joked about the "outer space" thing earlier, and she took it as such, but I wasn't anywhere near the point of telling her I was a cyborg spaceman from the future.
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, scooting a little closer to me. I felt the blood rushing to my face and suddenly realized why I always used alcohol for this. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten lucky. No doubt it was during a round of shore leave. But I pretty much spent those periods in a drunken haze, nailing anything with two legs, and maybe one or two things that had more. I couldn't tell you names or faces. Maybe how they smelled. I could sometimes remember that. But never much else. And here I was, fully alert, the Long Island iced tea having long since dissipated from my bloodstream, metabolized by my liver into harmlessness. Fully alert, sitting with this woman who clearly wanted something from me. The weirdest part, for me, was the realization that she held back for my sake, not hers. What ran through her mind at that moment? I didn't want to ask.
So, I kissed her. Just leaned forward and did it. It felt weird, doing that with all my nerves intact, no alcohol clouding my perception or loosening me up. The crutch had been kicked out from under me and I did my damnedest not to care. To her credit, she didn't yank away, even though I knew I was out of practice.
She slipped her right arm around the back of my neck, stroked it with her fingernails, making me shiver. God, when was the last time a woman made me shiver? I felt like a stupid teenager. The only other woman that came to mind was Marianne, the Admiral, that one night on Dock Plat. But that was one where I bet I filled in the blanks myself, fabricating nice memories of a night that was more likely very awkward and full of fumbling through an alcoholic stupor. This was different. Very different.
She was gentle, like I was one of her patients or something. She forced nothing. She moved no faster than I did, pushed back only with as much pressure as I initiated. She followed my lead even though I think she had a much better idea of what she was doing.
Nope, I wasn't what one would call an attentive lover. Not under the circumstances in which I typically got some. On shore leave, I always took a card with me, preloaded only with as many credits as I intended to spend, because I usually woke up to find last night's floozy long gone--and my money missing, too. I'd be lucky if I ever got their names, considering they hung out at spaceport bars with the explicit intention of fleecing the first poor sucker who'd buy 'em a drink or ten. I knew the game, and I played it. It got me off and it got me broke. Not much else. I knew it'd be difficult to break that thirty-year habit. I didn't know how absolutely clueless I'd feel in the process, though.
Maybe she realized my mind was elsewhere, lost in navel-gazing, because she stopped kissing me and pulled back, making eye contact. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," I stammered. Shit. I half expected her to tell me to leave. I wouldn't have blamed her.
She dragged her fingers through my hair, keeping her gaze focused. "Most of my patients can't tell me what's wrong with them, but I still notice. I've got a sense about it. And there's something wrong with you."
"Look, I swear I'm not sick. Really."
She shook her head. "I don't mean that. I mean you're... damaged, somehow."
"Gee, thanks."
"Why are you here with me, Robert?"
So, my first instinct was to smirk and pop off with, "Isn't it obvious?" Instead: "Because I like you." Vague and honest. I did like her, and not just because she was hot and likely to fuck me.
"I think there's more to it than that. Like you're making up for something."
"Do we really have to talk about this right now?"
"Not if you don't want to." She was still messing with my hair and it drove me crazy for some reason. I just wanted to throw her onto the bed and have at it. I didn't want to talk about pain or childhood or any of the bullshit the military shrinks wanted me to blab about all the time. I just wanted her, right there, right then.
I think she figured that out, because that's where we wound up. She didn't ask any more questions that night, and neither did I. The only sounds that came from either of us were the kind that would embarrassing in any other context. Our clothes were gone, her bed messed up more than once, and I got claw marks on my back. I don't think anyone ever stared into my eyes as much as she did. It was terrifying. It scared me to death, and I couldn't get enough of it.
We didn't fall asleep until the sun began to peek through her windows. And I remembered all of it. Even if I couldn't describe every moment, I could feel and sense it. If she never gave me anything else, at least I'd have that.
The only thing I feared as I drifted off was the possibility I might never see her again.
Chapter 15
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Chapter 15: Missing some
Martie tried to take me sightseeing through Trujillo, although the only sight that held particular interest for me was her with her clothes off. She showed me the stone lion statues outside the old mansion that served as the HQ for Trujillo's tourist police. We rode around in the Jeep, me following her directions. The city was bright and colorful at night, impressively showcasing their I assume you mean buildings? stark, striking exteriors. Like I said, impressive--but just not that interesting to me. I think she noticed after ninety minutes or so of cruising around town, taking in the sights. Don't get me wrong, the buildings looked nice and everything. But what was the point? I'd seen the impossibly tall spires of the Koraxian homeworld, the endless tunnels of the Cranions, dozens of planets, many alien cultures and species. Some old houses in a third-rate country may have been nice tourist destinations for your average globetrotter, but for me, all I could say was that they looked nice. Sure, I could appreciate the work that went into building them, knowing most of them were hundreds of years old and still standing in pristine condition. But my perspective, I suppose, had become more cynical and difficult to impress. My appreciation was more intellectual than visceral. Maybe this culture held excitement and wonder for someone like Martie, who'd never been out of her home country otherwise, but for me? Just more of the same. If you've seen one ancient culture, you've seen 'em all, right?
She told me more about herself while we drove around, how she grew up modestly, put herself through school, completed a pediatric residency in Baltimore, and eventually wound up here. She didn't share anything specifically probing or insightful--but neither did I. Still feeling around the edges of each other's personae, I guess. Neither wanting to offend the other or expose a vulnerability.
I decided if things were going to go anywhere, I had to be blunt. "I don't think we should go back to my place--I just started working here and don't exactly know what the rules are, as far as having guests goes. Are you staying nearby?"
She nodded. "I have a small apartment a few streets away." She directed me to it, I parked, we got out, climbed some stairs, she unlocked the door, and opened up into a quiet little room. It was roughly the size of my quarters aboard the Protector, which weren't huge. She had a couch, a TV, a bed, a kitchenette, a breakfast table, a couple closets, and a door that hinted the existence of a small bathroom. Not luxurious living by any means, but then she probably didn't get paid much for being here.
I removed my suit jacket and hung it on a nearby hook, watching her as she turned on a few lamps. She finally took a seat on her couch and patted the spot next to her. Well, I didn't need a lot of prompting. I took up the seat and wondered if I should try anything at that point, or let her move. She'd been fairly direct thus far, and I didn't want to discourage her by taking charge of the situation. But I feared if I didn't, nothing would happen, and dammit, I had a job to do. I had failed to get drunk, something I considered a prerequisite to getting laid, but the evening rolled along smoothly enough without the intoxication factor. I just didn't want to blow it.
She opted to go for some probing inquiries. "So, you told me about what you do now, but--and don't take this the wrong way--you look like someone who has quite a bit of history. You've been a bodyguard for, what, a couple weeks? What did you do before?"
I shrugged. "Military."
She leaned on her elbow against the back of the couch, her attention focused on me. "Yeah? What branch? See any action? Tell me about it."
"Yeah, I saw a lot of action over the years... mostly Navy-type stuff. Pretty much all the hot spots you've heard of, I've been there. Don't take it personally if I don't want to get into a lot of details. It's just not something I like to talk about." I hoped that would satisfy her curiosity without forcing me to make up a bunch of bullshit. Yeah, I'd joked about the "outer space" thing earlier, and she took it as such, but I wasn't anywhere near the point of telling her I was a cyborg spaceman from the future.
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, scooting a little closer to me. I felt the blood rushing to my face and suddenly realized why I always used alcohol for this. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten lucky. No doubt it was during a round of shore leave. But I pretty much spent those periods in a drunken haze, nailing anything with two legs, and maybe one or two things that had more. *Snerk* I couldn't tell you names or faces. Maybe how they smelled. I could sometimes remember that. But never much else. And here I was, fully alert, the Long Island iced tea having long since dissipated from my bloodstream, metabolized by my liver into harmlessness. Fully alert, sitting with this woman who clearly wanted something from me. The weirdest part, for me, was the realization that she held back for my sake, not hers. What ran through her mind at that moment? I didn't want to ask.
So, I kissed her. Just leaned forward and did it. It felt weird, doing that with all my nerves intact, no alcohol clouding my perception or loosening me up. The crutch had been kicked out from under me and I did my damnedest not to care. To her credit, she didn't yank away, even though I knew I was out of practice.
She slipped her right arm around the back of my neck, stroked it with her fingernails, making me shiver. God, when was the last time a woman made me shiver? I felt like a stupid teenager. The only other woman that came to mind was Marianne, the Admiral, that one night on Dock Plat. But that was one where I bet I filled in the blanks myself, fabricating nice memories of a night that was more likely very awkward and full of fumbling through an alcoholic stupor. This was different. Very different.
She was gentle, like I was one of her patients or something. She forced nothing. She moved no faster than I did, pushed back only with as much pressure as I initiated. She followed my lead even though I think she had a much better idea of what she was doing.
Nope, I wasn't what one would call an attentive lover. Not under the circumstances in which I typically got some. On shore leave, I always took a card with me, preloaded only with as many credits as I intended to spend, because I usually woke up to find last night's floozy long gone--and my money missing, too. I'd be lucky if I ever got their names, considering they hung out at spaceport bars with the explicit intention of fleecing the first poor sucker who'd buy 'em a drink or ten. I knew the game, and I played it. It got me off and it got me broke. Not much else. I knew it'd be difficult to break that thirty-year habit. I didn't know how absolutely clueless I'd feel in the process, though.
Maybe she realized my mind was elsewhere, lost in navel-gazing, because she stopped kissing me and pulled back, making eye contact. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," I stammered. Shit. I half expected her to tell me to leave. I wouldn't have blamed her.
She dragged her fingers through my hair, keeping her gaze focused. "Most of my patients can't tell me what's wrong with them, but I still notice. I've got a sense about it. And there's something wrong with you."
"Look, I swear I'm not sick. Really."
She shook her head. "I don't mean that. I mean you're... damaged, somehow."
"Gee, thanks."
"Why are you here with me, Robert?"
So, my first instinct was to smirk and pop off with, "Isn't it obvious?" Instead: "Because I like you." Vague and honest. I did like her, and not just because she was hot and likely to fuck me.
"I think there's more to it than that. Like you're making up for something."
"Do we really have to talk about this right now?"
"Not if you don't want to." She was still messing with my hair and it drove me crazy for some reason. I just wanted to throw her onto the bed and have at it. I didn't want to talk about pain or childhood or any of the bullshit the military shrinks wanted me to blab about all the time. I just wanted her, right there, right then.
I think she figured that out, because that's where we wound up. She didn't ask any more questions that night, and neither did I. The only sounds that came from either of us were the kind that would embarrassing in any other context. Our clothes were gone, her bed messed up more than once, and I got claw marks on my back. I don't think anyone ever stared into my eyes as much as she did. It was terrifying. It scared me to death, and I couldn't get enough of it.
We didn't fall asleep until the sun began to peek through her windows. And I remembered all of it. Even if I couldn't describe every moment, I could feel and sense it. If she never gave me anything else, at least I'd have that.
The only thing I feared as I drifted off was the possibility I might never see her again.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, Maxie!