Love Untold

Love Untold: Chapter 8

Love Untold: Chapter 8

Chrissie turned away from the doorway of the dining room with a fist in her mouth to stifle her sob.  She’d been on her way into the kitchen when she heard her sister and him talking.  Anything for Chrissie...

Those words rang and echoed back and forth inside her mind as she fled to the bedroom again.  Throwing herself on the bed and grabbing the nearest pillow to hug to her middle, holding her stomach against the clenching pain and terrible disorientation that settled inside her, she rocked slowly back and forth.  She’d always been the levelheaded sister.  She just needed to calm down and think this through.  Whenever a problem got in her way, instead of diving head first like Dena had a tendency to do, Chrissie always took a step back and looked at things from all angles.

That’s what she should do here.  Just breathe and think, breathe and think...

But his voice bombarded her, and she couldn’t shake the fierce and possessive tone she overheard at the hospital...the anger at her denials this morning...and now this sad, heartbroken vow, ”Anything for Chrissie”

She didn’t know this man, and he spoke of her as though she was the greatest thing since hot fudge sundaes.  How could she have forgotten someone who obviously cared so much for her?  

Since emerging from the bathtub, she sniffed his cologne from the cabinet in the bathroom, hoping that would pique her memory.  She knew the scent because it seemed popular with many men, but that was it.  Nothing else crossed her mind.  Then she rummaged through her chest of drawers for her Lazy Day outfit, a pair of cotton gym shorts and a Sam-I-Am t-shirt from her college years.  Her hand froze as she touched a pair of man’s boxer shorts.  The soft, knit kind in a dark grey.  And that got her to thinking about the other side of being married...the sex side.

The same panicky sensations from earlier that morning threatened to bubble out of her, but she clamped down on her jaw and forced it away.  She couldn’t lose it again.  That kind of weakness from earlier...that kind of helplessness...  It wasn’t her.  Chrissie Hill got mad and pissed off and threw things, but she never surrendered her anchor to her sanity.  She had to soothe her mind, breathe deeply, think rationally, take it all one step at a time.  Having a mental breakdown would not help her in any way.  Calm, control, logical...

It wasn’t working.  She wanted to laugh.  She wanted to cry.  A hysterical, giggling sob broke through, and she slapped her hands over her mouth, holding it all inside.

She must have slept with him...he was her husband, so of course they had sex before, but wouldn’t she remember something like that?  She distinctly recalled every sexual encounter in her life.  Not that she had all that many to remember, but how petty could she really be if she didn’t remember the man she’d shared a bed with for the past year?

Chrissie had to get out of the bedroom then, forcing courage into her body, forcing a cool, reserved expression on her face.  They were in the kitchen, talking about her, she was sure...and she’d been correct.  “Anything for Chrissie.”  But now she was back, unable to face the man in talking to her sister, talking about her, speaking so adoringly and fervently about her.  This couldn’t be real.  He couldn’t feel those things about her.  She was a control-freak, and she held no illusions about it.  Deep down, she knew that was the reason Joe up and left four years ago.  She had to be in control.  She needed organization and cleanliness and order...

Losing one’s memory didn’t exactly fit that bill.

Chrissie buried her face in the pillow, holding tightly to her orientation in a world she suddenly wasn’t familiar with.  The pillow smelled like him.  She smiled slightly...but then she jumped off the bed with a start, flinging the pillow away.

Oh, God!  He did share this bed with her!  Chrissie eyed the bedding as though it was a viper ready to strike at her.  A rush of sound filled her ears.  The checked quilt seemed to open up, inviting her to crawl under it’s secure warmth.  She shook her head.  No!  Her pulse spiked, and her breathing shortened.  Her head swayed for a moment with her body.  Oh, God!  Don’t pass out!  Control, Chrissie!  It’s just a bed.

Not just a bed, not just a bed, not just a bed...an emblem...a badge...a representation of a nuptials she never spoke...a life she didn’t know...

He was going to slide into the bed with her tonight...he was going to touch her...this man she didn’t know...this man who’d touched her a thousand times before, but she didn’t recall any of them...she was married!  She was married to him!  

Chrissie Willard...Chrissie Willard...  No!  Chrissie Hill!  I’m Chrystal Eden Hill...thirty years old...sister to Dena...daughter of Dolly and Daniel Hill...

Yes!  Married...married to a man named Race...Race...Race...

Come to me...

With a muffled cry, she ripped off the quilt and rumpled it in a ball...it, too, smelled like him...she felt the scent burn into her skin, scalding her with it...pain shot down her arms...the quilt flew from her arms, landing on the bed again, teasing her, telling her she couldn’t escape...There is no escape...This isn’t a dream...This is real, and this is your life now...Come here...Accept me...Accept him...

Dizziness swamped her.  Married...married...married...  The bed twirled in her vision, a swirling mass of color...blues, greens, whites...she backed away from it...it stomped closer to her, mocking her still...the pillows like white fangs reaching out for her...she stumbled backward into her closet, tripping on her shoes, grasping at anything that would hold her to this earth.  This is your life, Chrissie...it’s not a dream...it’s not a nightmare...you are married...you are not you anymore...  Clothes ripped off hangers, piling on top of her, strangling her, wrapping around her throat, pulling tight.  Race Willard...Chrissie Willard...married...one year...gone...  She fought them off, scrambling away...backing into a dark corner between the wall and the shoe rack in the back of the closet.

Married!  Married!  Married!  

No, no, no, no...not married...not married...her memory wasn’t gone...

”Anything for Chrissie”

”That’s my wife!”

”You -- are -- my -- wife!”

...pictures...photos...letters...a marriage certificate...obvious memory loss...Chrissie...Chrissie...Race...Chrissie!

She closed her eyes...no, no, no...darkness...colors...a tangy, masculine scent...Italy...Japan...

“He needs you...”

“...fall in love all over again...”

“I kissed him....And I enjoyed it...”

The wedding gown lay at her feet, a white mass of satin material, inching toward her, crawling up her legs, wrapping around her waist and chest, pushing the air out of her lungs...she gasped for breath, wanting to scream but not having the oxygen to do so...her throat closed up, her heart bounced against her ribcage, her head thundered a symphony of drums and bells...she kicked at the gown, pushed at it, clawed at it...it tightened...a ripping, popping sound echoed in the small space as a garment she’d never worn attempted to choke the life out of her...

Chrissie opened her mouth, sucked in a deep breath and screamed.

*****

Race put the last grilled fillet on a plate and turned off the grill as a shrieking sound pierced the air.  Chrissie!

Battling to get through the back door along with Dena, he received a jab of her elbow and had to run behind her toward the bedroom.  “Chrissie?!” they called together, and Dena scowled at him, saying, “I’ll deal with this!  You’ll just scare her!”

He ignored his sister-in-law and scanned the room for his wife.  The bed held a wad of sheets, pillows and quilt, but Chrissie wasn’t in it.  The bathroom was empty as well.  A muted wail moaned out from the closet.  Dena flipped on the light.

Chrissie sat huddled around her knees in the very back, mouth gaping open, eyes wide with fear, seeing nothing, color completely gone from her cheeks.  Dena reached her first, crouching down slowly and stretching a hand forward.  

“Chrissie?  Honey?” Dena said in a soft voice.  “It’s okay...I’m here...You’re going to be fine...”

Chrissie didn’t see her sister, and Race noticed that she shook with terror and her pupils were dilated, staring down at the floor where her wedding gown lay in a tangled heap.  A tear sliced through the beaded bodice as though she tried to rip it up with her bare hands.  

Jesus!  He was losing her!  She tried to shred her wedding dress!

He grabbed the gown and threw it outside the closet, but Chrissie still stared into nothing.  Dena was making calming sounds, uttering soothing words, gently touching Chrissie’s hands and arms to coax her back to reality.  

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked as he pushed his sister-in-law aside.  Dena pushed him back, away from Chrissie.

“She’s in shock,” Dena hissed.  “And you’re not making it any better.”

“Neither are you,” he said hotly, and shoved Dena to the other side of the closet.  He knelt down in front of his wife, studying her intensely.  Her eyes flickered for a brief moment, but it was enough.  She wasn’t completely gone.  

Dena growled at him as she righted herself.  “Patience, you jerk.”

“Fuck patience” Race retorted, despite all her talk about anti-inflammatory copulation, or whatever she’d been preaching at him earlier, and surprising himself with the statement more than Dena.  Her jaw creaked open like a cod out of water as though she couldn’t believe he said that.  Race barely believed it himself.  As a competitive athlete, the occasional raunchy curse word had been ingrained in him from the start.  Chrissie hated that about him, and quickly squelched that habit within in days of meeting him.

Neither sister approved of that kind of language, claiming it was unnecessary and low-class.  Dena gaped at him, turning red with anger, and to his immense relief, he saw that Chrissie heard him say it, and he was ironically overjoyed.  Her eyes blinked.  Then hardened as they focused on him.

Race couldn’t help himself.  He grinned, almost crying because she came back to him.

“Excuse me?” Chrissie said after a solid minute of glaring at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily.  “I shouldn’t have said it...are you okay?”

He reached out to touch her, but she shrank away further into the corner, almost clawing up the wall to get away from him.  

“See?” Dena grumped, “I told you!”

“Shut up, Dena.”  Race sat back on his heels, feeling very tired all of a sudden.  Chrissie still hated him.  She still didn’t want to believe in the two of them.  Dena tried to get over to Chrissie, but he moved to block her.  

“You’re scaring her!” she whispered in his ear.  He didn’t move.  He wasn’t that kind of guy.

Chrissie’s eyes widened to three times their size as he scooted toward her.  Dena hissed at him again, but he wasn’t going to just go away.  He remembered Chrissie telling Dena earlier as he listened through the bedroom door that Chrissie enjoyed kissing him this morning.  He remembered her fighting him, but as soon as his lips latched onto hers, she melted in his arms and even moaned a little.  Would that work now?  Could a simple kiss -- well...he was a damned better kisser than just simple -- would it get her to fall into his arms again?  Make her see that he loved her and truly didn’t want to hurt her?

What else did he have to lose?

Race stood up slowly.  Both sisters watched him warily.  He smiled gently at his wife and grasped her elbows.  Immediately, she began screeching and thrashing.  Dena tried to shake him loose, but he had to try.  Kissing his wife had always been the best part of his marriage.  He could do it all day long without coming up for air.

“Stop it!” Dena shouted at him.  “You’re hurting her!”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he murmured, hoping like hell that he didn’t hurt her.  Race pressed Chrissie into the corner, clothes hanging around them, making it difficult for either woman to untangle him from his wife’s arms.  He held her legs down with his own by bending slightly at the knee and flattening them against the wall.  Chrissie’s head whipped side to side, and he had a difficult time connecting their mouths without letting go of her arms.  

But he managed.  And as soon as he captured her mouth, he held on for the ride.  Chrissie screamed at him and bit him, drawing blood, but he didn’t let go.  The fight slowly drained out of her, and when he felt safe to do so, he carefully released her pinned body.  His hands came up to cup her face as he deepened the kiss.  Dena stopped yelling at him...and Chrissie shuddered once before she plunged her tongue into his mouth, kissing him back with gusto.

Her hands latched onto his neck, embracing him tightly.  Race’s arms went around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and she held onto him, diving into his very soul through this kiss.  

God, help him!  This was as close to forcing himself on a woman as he’d ever been.  And he hated himself for assaulting Chrissie’s trust this way, but his wife was kissing him, more deeply, more powerfully, more zealously than she’d ever done before in the two years he’d known her, so he tried not to feel too bad about it.

Patience had its time and place.  It should have had a stronghold here and now, yet he knew she needed this.  She needed to know that there was something special between them, and she did marry him, and she’d done it with reason...a very good reason.  Because their relationship had always been built on two things -- a strong love for one another and a combustible physical attraction.  

Chrissie might have extinguished his habit of obscene cursing...but after that first time he made love to her, he managed to expunge her idea of calm lovemaking.  She’d been addicted to him and their sex life since then as much as he’d been obsessed with her.

Kissing her had always been the match to her fuse.  She lit up with a bold grin every time.  He would be patient with her, and he would plan for the worse, but right here, right now, they both needed each other...they both needed to feel that passion course through them again...even if it went no further than a not-so-simple kiss.

*****

(This story is a finalist for the Non-Teen category of the 2011 Watty's.  Vote and support if you love it.)