Lucas
If I can recall correctly, no woman has ever left me aching. Never.
Again, I had a first with Brittany. The first time a woman left while making out.
I wouldn't be so bothered if I didn't see the look on her face. It was like she was disgusted by the kiss, me and everything I represented. My head swelled with so much thinking about what I did wrong.
She didn't refuse me when I held her hand. Neither did she voice disapproval when I touched our lips together. By the moans, she was enjoying herself.
Until she ran away from me.
At least, I know the reason why she left this time around and I even tried going after her but like before, she disappeared. I was too forward, I should have asked for contact or tried to rekindle a friendship before any action with her. Well, it was not my fault that she looked hot.
Brittany had grown, there was fat and muscle in the right places and I was not blind to the changes. The puzzling part of the incident was how I felt after. She left me all those years ago and she left me in the restaurant. Yet, I felt guilty.
There was this urgent need to apologize to her. I did not even understand what I wanted to apologise for, it definitely wasn't the kiss. I did not regret the kiss and to be honest with myself, I would welcome a repeat.
At the office, everything was going well except when you count the constant interruptions of thoughts about Brittany. My mind ran through scenarios of what would have happened if the waiter had not interrupted us. I particularly like one scenario; the one where my hands roamed all her bare curves, where she didn't have to be silent about her whimpers.
In that scenario, we were not in the booth of a restaurant, we were alone on a bed. Now, you have an idea how thoughts of Brittany intruded on my days and nights. I needed a solution that would benefit me.
Unwanted thoughts are interruptions and an obstacle to achieving my goals in the company. My team, consisting of trusted lawyers, financial accountants and others, were working with me to eliminate any obstacles in our way of taking over the empire. Brittany was an obstacle but one that I wanted.
For years, I have convinced myself that I hated her and that what we had was ordinary. I was too blinded with anger to see how much I missed her, her brothers, her mum, her optimism and her ramblings about architecture. Now that I've found her, it was hard to accept that I still wanted her in my life.
Maybe we could not go back to how we were before everything turned sour but we could try to be civil with each other. There was no reason to run during a meal in a restaurant. Why didn't she push me away before we were impeded by the waiter?
She needed the interruption to remind herself that she hated me. And maybe I did too.
Brittany was in my head. She messed with my thoughts at work, at home and even during meals. My therapist asked me about my relationship with my friends in the military and while I was talking about each of them, I mentioned Brittany.
It wasn't until she pointed it out that I realised how deeply infested I was by Brittany.
The last therapy session had gone differently as the therapist wanted me to talk about Brittany. I gave bits and bits about our friendship before she disappeared. But with every bit I gave, the need to reconnect with her intensified.
One would think Brittany would be easy to find online. Oh, she was. She just never left important details like her cell number, house address or pictures that could be traced. I had to employ professional tracking.
Her contact number stayed on my phone for days because I didn't know what to say to her. I had a lot to say but the last time I tried, I shoved my tongue down her throat and she left. It was during one of my daily exercise routines that I decided to call her.
For a minute on the call, I was lost for words. It had been eight years since the last time we spoke on the phone. We called each other every time before she left.
It was almost too easy to apologise and even easier to invite her to dinner. I did not want to do that but the call was getting idle so I had to say something. If I had any concern about the make-out at the restaurant, it was quickly dissolved by her bold affirmations to the date. Not the date. But like a date with friends, right?
There was so much that could be done in a few days, with enough money of course. Staying in the dark triggers my PTSD but I promised Brittney dinner and I was going to give her one. The restaurant thought I was doing a proposal because of the weird setup; rent out the rooftop for the night, decorate the setting with enough lights to make it seem like it was day instead of night and the servers in the shadow thing.
I didn't do it to impress her, not entirely but she didn't need to know that. My imagination about what she might wear was wild. I imagined her in white, in pants and Jesus, I imagined her in nothing.
Nothing prepared me for Brittany in that gown. The slit made her legs go on for days and the boobs fit well. Most Americans consider beautiful women to be thin or slender, their opinions would change if they saw Brittany.
She looked good in a skirt but she looked like a juicy snack in a gown. It felt good to be out at night, since I came back, night outings are out of it. I avoided places that were not bright or had crowds.
Everything was easy with her, that was another thing that had not changed with her. She always understood me even when I didn't tell her the whole truth. Like old times, I watched her eat and we talked about her work, architecture and California.
There was nothing as to why she left the country. But, I needed answers. I wanted to know why she left me without any explanation, it was not her style. In the last meeting when I asked, she wanted to pretend like nothing happened and I couldn't do that.
"What happened to us, Brittany?"
The question was simple enough. No matter what she said, I was going to listen to her and offer to continue being friends even though I wanted her. Instead of answering, she just locked up.
The magic of the evening was broken. I don't know, was I not supposed to ask? How the hell was she always managing to look at me like an idiot any time I referenced our past friendship?
I watched her as she drank her wine and continued eating as if I hadn't just asked her a question. My appetite was gone so I just settled to continue watching her; it was her world, we were all just living it.
"This Spaghetti is super delicious. Do you think it has any special ingredient or method of cooking?"
Jesus, really? Out of everything she could have said, she fucking commented on spaghetti. I scowled at her but she was not looking at me, just continued eating as if her life depended on it. I was starting to get really angry at the whole situation.
A look in my direction could suffice but she didn't regard me at all, she continued to eat as if everything was okay. Like she wasn't sitting her pretty ass on eight years worth of explanation.
"Brittany, what is this?"
"Do you think there are special ingredients in this spaghetti?"
Let's give the award of the most annoying person in the world to Brittany because she deserved it. She knew how to pull my buttons and she won't rest until I snap. If she wanted to be a kid, she was welcome to.
"Why don't you ask your mother? You used to say she cooked the best spaghetti"
And that got me the reaction I wanted. It was a low blow and a cowardly move to mention her mother but it did get the job done. Her fork fell on the plate and she frowned at me angrily.
Unlike the cute angry look when she was younger, that one was not cute. She looked ready to murder me and I wanted her to throw a tantrum. Say some mean words to me or something.