George changed.
Carla doesn't know when it happened, how or even where, but he has. He's not the same man she fell in love with five years ago.
Lando's the one who noticed first, the thought whispered to her when George had plucked the wine out of...
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My body shudders as I sob, another wave of sickness hitting me as I lean over the toilet. Lando is shushing me softly, his hand running soothing circles on my back as I continue to throw up. I don't know how much it's helping. Each time I think the contents of my stomach are gone it provides more, the anxiety that's rushing through me making every single thing feel a million times worse than it did the moment before.
Even when I'm done the tears don't stop, Lando passes me mouthwash and tissues before flushing the loo on my behalf all without so much of a word. I just sit, on the floor of the bathroom, my bare chest in my hands as a way to hide from him. It's not like I need to, by now he's seen everything anyway. I just wish there was a way to better hide the shame I'm feeling. "Please take my t shirt Carla." Lando begs for the third time since I perched myself here on the floor of the en-suite. His voice is frustrated but resigned and exhausted, no doubt his mind jumping through hoops the exact same way mine is. My head shakes so violently it makes my mind spin.
"I can't." Is all I stutter out, in answer repeating my words for the third time. Pulling one of his shirts over my head would feel like too much evidence. Or maybe too much of a reminder. I can still feel Lando's touch burning on my skin, I think having his clothes wrapped around me might kill me. It's too much of a reminder of what we did. What we've done. Lando just mutters something to himself before handing me a glass of water. The nausea hits me with the sight, it's the same glass that was still in his hands when I threw myself at him last night.
The whole thing is coming to me in flashes, I remember every moment but I wish I didn't. The way I begged for Lando after throwing myself on him, the way he obliged with so little restraint, gripping me and making sounds that I don't think anyone has ever made from my light touch. I can still feel how his lips felt against mine, burning hot, like molten lava with his touch poured all over me, each brush of his fingers like sparks. Voices echoed in my mind the whole time, I knew it was wrong. The whole time I was aware of what was happening and I knew it was wrong but that didn't stop me from encouraging Lando. It didn't stop me from whispering his name as his fingers and mouth explored every exposed inch of me.
Lando just knew what to say, he knew what I needed to hear and he was so...perfect in a way that George hasn't been for a little over a year.
The thought makes my lip wobble once more as I push the glass of water away from me with a violence that makes the liquid spill from the edges. The movement catches Lando's attention, the whole time I've been staring into space he's alternated between pacing his room here flexing his hands and watching me with concern. His eyes only widen a little when I push myself from the floor, roughly moving through the small room in search of my dress and underwear.
My hands are trembling as I reach for the dress from the floor. The soft glittering material knocking me sick as I gather it in my hands, pulling it back over my head. The whole thing feels like a joke, there's irony in it somewhere. I made the dress entirely for George's eyes and in the end he didn't even see it. In the end I took it off entirely for someone else's pleasure. "This..." I begin with a shake of my head so minuscule it couldn't have even be seen. "This never happened." I say quietly, the words almost leaving me as a whisper no matter how determined they are.
