Closed Doors and a Guitar Pick - Sen Cal Kapimi

Unfinished Business (II)

...CONTINUED FROM PART 1

(thoughts in italics bold; spoken in bold)

Serkan took Eda to his new home where he had already moved, the home which he had started building for Eda, the house of the ill fated doctor who had fallen in love with his neighbor. Unknown to her, he had brought her in the guise of bouncing ideas off her for a client, but in reality he wanted to make it ready for her, in the hope of a distant future. That distant future seemed impossible then as they had said goodbyes in the balcony then; And now it seemed even more impossible, he sighed. He knew that no one knew about this house so he had a few hours he could take care of her before she was fully conscious and of course would angrily leave him yet again.

The house was half set up and only the rooms at the top level were ready. The master bedroom was setup just as she had imagined that long past day. He knew it was sheer damn sentimentalism to have moved into this house, especially after breaking up with her, but he wanted to be at a place which for some strange reason felt like contained a part of her too.

Now he carried her up the stairs, laid her on the bed. She was still groggy and immediately put her head on the pillow and went to sleep. He opened the French windows to air the room and then came to cover her with a comforter. He noticed her jumpsuit was torn at the waist and a bruise at her rib cage was turning blue and purple. He rummaged for a loose shirt in the closet and and came back with a pair of scissors and salve with a dressing. He waited for a moment to see if there was a chance of her waking up so she could take off her dress herself, but seeing she was fast asleep, he gingerly drew the zipper down the front. Her curvaceous breasts encased in lacey lingerie spilled over and her flat midriff and the womanly dip at the waist, drew his eyes irresistibly. Shakily, he drew a breath, willing himself not to be aroused just at sight. He cut away the sleeves, carefully dislodging the dress from under her sleeping form. It was hard to just touch her and stay away. He wondered in his mind how his fingers knew her curves, her body so well despite really being together only a few times; as if his fingers had memorized each rise and swell and the angles of each dip and the distance of each span. How was this hunger that gnawed at him incessantly be appeased? Maybe at some time in the future it would become an anonymous hunger again, as it had been in the past

Serkan had dated Selin for years and slept with her on and off regularly, but it had almost been routine, like their work, following a time-table. If they went out to dinner, they normally went to her home. And once done, he would make an excuse to leave her and head home. It wasn't that she displeased her, it was just that he liked coming home, alone, enjoyed a walk around, watched the stars, read a bit and falling asleep alone. He hated sharing his space with anyone and a live-in girl-friend seemed too much for him. That very inability to have her around for long periods of time, became the reason he never proposed marriage to her, even though he knew she waited for him. He had tried at times, tried very hard, to be a passionate lover for Selin, but somehow the moment he saw her, even if she was in bed with him, even if it was just after an orgasm, he felt compelled to talk about company matters. He felt a heel when he did it, but at times after sex all he could think of was how to get her help to solve this problem or that. It wasn't as if he disliked her, on the contrary he enjoyed her passion about work and her insights, liked heading out to business dinners and inviting the curious and envious gaze of men; but he felt no longing for her; never did he find himself reaching out for her hand, never did he feel compelled to prolong a hug, never did he find himself fantasizing about Selin even in the early heady days when he imagined himself in love with her. He had become convinced that sex was a bodily function and probably stories and songs written about making love were just describing an imaginary feeling, only designed to sell products. Whatever it was, he hadn't experienced magic, so he treated sex as just that, sex..not, making love.