Syd pov
I wake up with a crick in my neck and a throb between my legs, my mind working overtime as memories flood in. The feel of his hands and mouth all over my body, the taste of him on my tongue. The way he played my body like a piano... swept me away, to far away places where wedding planning, work and all of life's difficulties cease to exist, replaced by only sensation and pleasure.
"Syd! Syd! Wake up. What happened to you? They're all still downstairs eating dessert, I'm here to check on you. I said you probably crashed out as you've been working so hard finalising all the arrangements for tomorrow" Laura tells me while rubbing my thigh through the bed sheets. Only then do I remember my current state of undress, can detect the heady scent of sex in the air, and of course, I notice my incredible birds nest hair in the mirror opposite me.
"So, talk!" She orders in her most authoritative police officers voice. If I was a criminal in her interview room I'd be scared, but the smirk on her face and playful slap of my bum tell me she is just being my friend.
I begin attempting to smooth my hair as I speak. "I can't lie Laura. It was amazing! I had the most fantastic night. He is something else, honestly! So, was he right? Am I only in lust? He said that if I fell into bed with him I couldn't be in love. To prove my love for Yanni I had to resist his charms and deny myself, to not succumb to temptation, but I failed. He was so seductive, like Lucifer himself. I felt like Eve in the Garden of Eden, unable to resist, compelled to partake of that temptation. I can't marry Yanni Laura. I can't be a good wife. I can't resist temptation. I'm a useless slut, unable to refuse sex when offered to me. He deserves so much more than I am" I wail while pointlessly pulling the sheet up to conceal my shameless hussy body from her eyes, she's seen it all before.
"Stop that, right now! Dr Daisy would string you up if she heard you now. What has she told you about that self deprecation? You ARENT a slut, you are his everything Syd, you know that. He loves you, and you love him. You're supposed to be together. He is so patient and understanding, doing everything you ask of him to help you through this, even when he doesn't agree with your methods" she finishes in a scolding but gentle tone.
Things changed between me and Yanni 6 weeks after returning to Australia. I threw myself fully into finishing the biography, Yanni and the boys were straight back into the studio to catch up with the recording of their latest album and Eloise immersed herself in work immediately, working overtime to smooth things over with all 5:EX sponsors, promising free extras as recompense for their losses, and thanks for their patience and continuing faith in the guys.
Noah was charged in London with conspiracy to kidnap charges for his part in placing me in Harry's dangerous grasp but was bailed with special circumstances, namely, being allowed to return to Australia while awaiting trial so he could continue to fulfill his commitments to the album recording.
Things were very difficult between us all for the first week, Yanni flatly refusing to talk to or even look at Noah, forgiveness a long way off, if ever possible. He refused to travel with him, recorded his vocals separately from the others and spent the rest of his time at work locked in his studio. I felt for Noah. I kept telling Yanni that he had no idea how manipulative Harry was. I understood that. I had told Noah I forgave him for what he did. I was sad that I would probably never fully trust him again, but I was prepared to work on our relationship, for the sake of all our friends, as was he.
Yanni was having none of it, vowing to never speak to Noah again, cutting him off completely. That was the first indication that something was wrong between us. I felt that if I was prepared to work with Noah then surely he could too, after all, they'd been family to each other for 20 years.
I'd been having twice weekly online sessions with Dr Daisy to help me process all the changes to my reality, my loss of identity profound. Without the fear I didn't recognise myself. If I didn't know who I was, how could Yanni? I was full of doubt about our relationship and it's validity. Was I really myself? Is the Sydney he knows the real me, or just the tainted and damaged husk left after my life of hell with Harry? Would he still care for me if we found I was different now?
The visit to Harry took a while to organise, Ferdi filing all the necessary paperwork requesting a visit with Harry as soon as we arrived back in Australia, but the wheels of the UK justice system do turn ever so slowly, and Harry had to agree to the visit too.
I was stunned when I received a visitors order for 2 weeks later. What caught my attention immediately was the number of visitors given permission to visit. Two. Harry had agreed to allow Yanni to our meeting too! I was immediately suspicious. He always has a motive for everything he does, and it always benefits him.
We fly over to the UK 3 days before our meeting at the prison, one to recover from the jet lag, one for shopping and sight seeing, and then d-day.
On day two we wake up in the early hours full of energy. Lots of nervous energy and tension swirl around us and we give in in the only way that we seem to be able to now. We fuck!
Hard, Fast, Passionate and rough!
Both of us using the other to relieve ourselves of the feelings we have about tomorrows meeting. Our fears, anxieties and pain fuelling our bodies, our need for the other all consuming, a raging forest fire engulfing everything but us and the transcendent joy we are experiencing in each other.
Sex, making love, fucking!
Are they really three different things? Can they be so easily categorised and separated? I always believed so, but since "that night" at Harry's we seem to have used sex as a replacement for any other form of intimacy.
No conversations.
We fuck!
No hugs and tender kisses.
We fuck!
No answers to questions asked.
We fuck!
We share nothing but our bodies anymore and I'm confused by my feelings. I know I love him, but feel unable to talk to him about anything, or tell him how I feel.
I don't understand why, but pray that after I confront Harry, freeing me from his hold over me I can work on that bright future and leave him and his darkness behind me.
We fuck for a third time, this time with me bent over the small couch in the room while Yanni rams himself violently into me, his fingertips digging into the soft pale flesh of my neck, pulling me up and back onto him, my eyes watering and head swimming as the lack of oxygen begins to have an effect on me while he relentlessly pounds me, my hips burning with pain, the unyielding assault on my pussy causing friction burns on my delicate skin. For a split second I consider safe-wording, but feel that will make him believe I don't trust him. I don't want him to ever feel that way, so allow him to continue to take what he needs from me. I love when he is rough and dominant, but I usually feel the love between us. That's missing right now. I'm terrified that what I can feel from him now is resentment, and maybe even hatred?
We spend a pleasant day with me acting as tour guide for Yanni, taking him to some of my favourite attractions, and my favourite restaurant too.
As the daylight fades into the darkness of night we find ourselves in the pub that happens to be in the next street from my home, and I can't help but feel I need to go there. I haven't been there for so long, and my last memories of my beautiful home aren't nice ones.
I know Yanni will argue if I tell him, so I suggest a walk around the block to burn off some of the calories from all the junk we'd spent the day snacking on before we get a taxi back to the hotel, and he agrees. We step outside and find it is raining and I pray that it doesn't cause him to suggest we don't walk so I guide us in the direction of my home, our steps in perfect synchronisation, our heels striking the same rhythm as they hit the hard wet pavement beneath our feet.
Yanni pauses beside me and I turn to look at him, finding his face screwed up into a mask of puzzlement. He has realised where we are, his face asking a thousand silent questions.
I turn away from him and resume my pace and hear him jogging to catch up with me.
"Why Syd? Why would you want to go back there, after everything that happened? Please, let's just go back to the hotel and get some sleep ready for tomorrow. Please?" He pleads, catching me by the elbow and spinning me 180 degrees to face him.
His eyes are boring into mine, his brow low, his bottom lip pushed forward in a semi pout, his entire being imploring me to turn and walk away... but I can't.
I continue to walk, and after a brief pause his heels again begin to strike the pavement behind me, and I hear muttering and curse words which stop as soon as I come to a halt outside my front door.
"Do you want me to come in with you or wait out here!?" he asks gently. I wonder if he really wants to, or is just offering out of courtesy? This doubt filling me is exhausting. Second guessing everything, analysing every word and gesture for signs that we are ok, evidence that he does love me..... that what we have is real. I decide to give him an out and reply that I'd love for him to come in with me, but that I understand if he can't bring himself to. I know what he saw when we were last here was traumatic for him, so won't push him. We all heal in different ways and at different rates, and healing only comes when you realise yourself that you need help. Yanni isn't there yet. Anger, fear and hatred are his fuel right now and there is so much of that it seems there is no room inside him for anything else.
I'll support him when the time is right for him to have some therapy again, perhaps even going to couples therapy to discuss it together in a safe environment, one where we agree to listen to the others words and thoughts in their entirety before uttering a word, hopefully not requiring the mediator to play referee between us.
He grabs my hand and squeezes my fingers softly in his as we approach the lock box and retrieve a spare key from inside it, turning it in the lock and gingerly pushing the door open.
I don't really know what I was expecting, but not what I find.
A little surprisingly to me there is no taped outline of a body. Some of my beautiful wood floor has been pulled up and taken away. Black smudges cover almost every surface presumably where they've been dusted for fingerprints, the scene chaotic, personal papers not deemed relevant litter the floor, cupboards have been emptied and all my mugs are growing mould in my sink. Clearly there have been a lot of tea breaks here recently!
Stepping inside I get an immense feeling of unease and instinctively grip Yannis arm for support. I've never seen anyone in so much pain and also trying to become a strong alpha male, to be brave and confront his demons.
I remove my coat and and after placing it over the dining chair I move to the kitchen and open the cupboard containing my coffee pods and set the machine to make us each an oat milk cappuccino.
Once the water is at temperature the machine pierces the capsules and allows the water to run freely through the coffee grounds, the enticing aroma of fresh coffee filling my nostrils and soothing my nerves, calming my racing thoughts.
Once the coffees are placed on the table I head upstairs and Yanni follows behind. My home looks like it's been burgled, furniture in disarray, the seats of my leather couch slashed open, drawers emptied and the contents scattered across the rooms signifying how messy my life is, both physically and metaphorically.
As I survey the damage I make a decision. I will love it here again.