Undone, Volume 3

“Nothing but the best for you, my dear. I promise you shall always have fresh raspberries in the middle of January storms.”

She smiled at me, shyly, then turned her attention to flipping pancakes. Sooner or later, we were going to have to talk about it. The fact that this was all supposed to end in a week.

But outside the snow still came swirling down. It looked lighter today and I could see some blue in the sky, but the wind blew strong, creating massive drifts. The entire landscape looked transformed, as if we were in an arctic ocean, a ship adrift amidst the snowy waves. We still had more of this, together, more time outside of time, where reality couldn’t touch us.

Because reality might bite. Out on a stage, in front of the cameras, I had all the swagger money could buy. Here with Ana, the thought of asking her how she felt about us, about me? I didn’t like to admit it, but it scared the shit out of me. This might all be a romp for her, a walk on the wild side and nothing more.

I couldn’t imagine how destroyed I’d feel if she wanted to end things. So, instead of worrying about that outcome, I devoted myself to seduction. A win/win. I’d get more of Ana. She’d get more orgasms. It was a match made in heaven.

We ate together on a loveseat in the den, looking out into the snowstorm that would not end.

“I hope everyone’s safe in all this.” She looked out into it with a worried frown on her lovely face.

“You are a much better person than I am.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m selfish. All I can think is I hope it never stops.”

“You don’t really mean that.” She shook her head, looking away.

“I do.” I set my plate on the floor and wrapped my arm around her, drawing her close. We sat like that, looking out into the storm, each of us lost in our private thoughts. But slowly I could feel whatever tension she’d been holding relax from her as she settled back against me.

“How do you feel today?” I asked, running my hand along her arm. I circled my fingers along her wrist, remembering how I’d bound her yesterday. “Are you sore?”

“I feel good, but, um, yeah, I am kind of sore.”

“You need a bath.” I stood up, cursing myself that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I should have made sure she was all right last night even before she went to sleep, but we’d both passed out so completely.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” She blushed, looking awkward. She must be remembering all we’d done last night. What I’d done to her. What she’d let me do and loved.

“Come on.” I grasped her hand firmly in my own and helped her up. I didn’t want her sinking into anxiety or embarrassment over what we’d shared. She shouldn’t regret a second of it, and I’d do my best to keep her at ease. “I’d take you into the hot tub, but it’s still coming down out there. Let’s draw a bath in the tub.”

I had it filled quickly, warm steam rising from the surface. I eased the robe down off her shoulders and saw faint bruising on her hip from where I’d sunk my fingers into her last night. I was a bastard. I needed to make her feel better.

Stepping into the bath, I raised my hand to her and helped her in as well. It was a giant tub, more than big enough for the both of us. Resting against the back of the tub, I settled her between my legs and drew her back against my chest. She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes, sinking into the warmth. With a soft washcloth, I began caressing her limbs, working slowly, working any tension out of her, soothing every inch of her with my touch. I moved gently, wanting to make her feel cherished, cared for, adored.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.” Her words rose light like the steam around us.

“What?” I knew I sounded tense while she sounded playful. But what did she want me to tell her?

She repeated herself. “And I mean it, something you’ve never told anyone before.”

Huh. I rested my head back against the tub. I’d done lots of bad, stupid shit in my life. But that didn’t feel like what I wanted to talk about right now. It wasn’t that I wanted her to think I was perfect. Far from it. I wanted her to know me, really know me, like no one ever had before.

That was it. I cleared my throat. “So, you know why I became a musician?”

“No?” She sounded delighted by the question.

“Well, it’s because I sucked at absolutely everything else.” She laughed, assuming I was joking. “No, really,” I continued, remembering myself vividly back then as an awkward, skinny, un-athletic thirteen-year-old. “I was a train wreck.”

“Really?” She twisted around to look up at me, as if she half-expected me to break into a smile and tell her I was just kidding around. I had to be crazy to not do just that. I’d devoted a lot of energy to leaving those days behind me, way, way behind me. But with Ana I wanted to tell her everything, let her get to know the real me. Not the image, not everything that had been carefully cultivated. The me I tried desperately to hide. I’d been so worried when I’d first became famous about photos circulating, ones from middle school. So painfully awkward.

“At 13 I was almost this height, but I weighed about 50 pounds less.”

“No.”

“Yes. And we moved to England, after my parents divorced.”

“You lived with your grandmother?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t help it. I could feel my voice grow tense even as I wanted to talk with her about all of it.

“Why didn’t you live with your mom?”

I fell silent for a moment. I never talked about this shit. I mean never. I sort of didn’t know how to begin. So I just began. “When I was around 11 it came out that my dad had cheated on my mom right after she’d had my older brother, Colton. She found out he had a son from the affair, with some woman out in Montana. It wasn’t the first time my dad had cheated on her, but that was it. She was done. I didn’t know what was happening so much at the time, but she bas

ically had a breakdown.”

What I remembered most was the silence, how quiet our house got. Where before it had always been filled with the noisy chatter and play of four kids plus mom and sometimes dad, after he moved out it was like all the lights and sound got turned down real low. She always had a migraine. We always had to whisper. She leaned on Colton the most.

“Anyway.” I pulled myself out of the pain, remembering I was supposed to be talking to Ana about it.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful.” She placed a comforting hand my wrist.

“No, I want to. So, my father left, my mother fell apart and the four of us were packed off to my grandmother’s in England. I was 12 when I got sent off to boarding school and I sucked at everything.”

“Not everything.” Ana shook her head.

“Yeah, everything. I couldn’t sit still in school. I could barely read.”

“You’re dyslexic,” she protested on my behalf.

“Yeah.” I laughed without humor. “That wasn’t so much something British schoolmasters cared about back then.”

“Well, I think they suck.”

I kissed her on the head, grateful for her indignation on my behalf. “I absolutely agree. But, back then, I sucked at school. I sucked at sports. I looked like a praying mantis.”

“Ash,” Ana chided me, thinking I was being too hard on myself.

“It’s true,” I insisted. “I hated everyone. Everyone hated me. And then I met Connor. He played bass and one day he invited me along to this storage shed at the back of campus where he had a couple of amps and a spare guitar.” I shook my head, remembering that day. It had felt as if, after a lifetime of being surrounded by people speaking a different language, I’d finally found the right words.

“And the rest is history,” Ana supplied for me.

“The rest is history.” I wrapped my arms around her tight.

“I’m so sorry you ever felt so worthless.” She circled her arms around mine and turned to kiss me on the shoulder. “You’re so amazing.”

I rested my head next to hers, at a loss for words. Until I decided that she owed me.