JК
Ыоуве Been Warned :: Patterson James
Страница: 90 из 138”
“Do you really have to go back to the restaurant?” I ask as I take his hand.
“I’m afraid so. Besides, what you have to do is get some rest.”
He couldn’t be more right. My body’s officially running on fumes. Except I don’t want him to leave me. Couldn’t we just drive around in his limo for the rest of our lives?
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“Will you make love to me?”
He answers with a soft kiss to my lips, barely touching them with his. Just what I need.
Slowly, he undresses me. For a moment my eyes drift from his, and I glance up through the sunroof into the night, the long steel cables of the Brooklyn Bridge hovering above. They’re lit with a dreamy yellow hue that reminds me of a vintage photograph, something beautiful and lasting.
Timeless.
Chapter 71
IT’S SO HARD saying good-bye to Michael as we pull up to my building, I almost break into tears. It’s even harder to be alone again in my apartment. It feels like forever since it’s been home sweet home for me.
The second I get inside my door and lock it, lock myself in, the phone starts to ring. I don’t want to answer, but maybe it’s Michael. He’s had second thoughts and he’s coming over. Please, let that be it.
I pick up on the fifth ring, and it’s an operator. “I have a collect call from Kristin Burns.” I want to throw down the receiver, but I think about it and I accept the call.
I hear my own voice. “Help me. Please help me. Somebody make it stop!”
Now I throw down the receiver. MAKE WHAT STOP? WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS HAPPENING? HOW CAN I GET A PHONE CALL FROM MYSELF?
The nasty bump on my forehead is definitely real and already ripening to a deep purplish bruise. It’s well beyond any cover-up stick, so I fiddle with a new hairstyle – bangs down.
Then I throw on a T-shirt and sweats and crawl into bed. I should be asleep before my head, bump and all, hits the pillow.
So why am I still awake?
Five minutes, ten minutes, a half hour passes, and all I can do is toss and turn. The past few days play over and over in my head, an endless loop of fear and confusion. All the stress that seemed to melt away in Michael’s arms begins to seep – then gush – back in.
There’s only one thing I can think to do.
I jump up and grab my camera. I can almost hear the voice of Dr. Curley playing his little fill-in-the-blank game with me. When I’m under stress I like to…
I close the door to my darkroom and start to develop the shot I snapped at the hospital.
“Do you really have to go back to the restaurant?” I ask as I take his hand.
“I’m afraid so. Besides, what you have to do is get some rest.”
He couldn’t be more right. My body’s officially running on fumes. Except I don’t want him to leave me. Couldn’t we just drive around in his limo for the rest of our lives?
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“Will you make love to me?”
He answers with a soft kiss to my lips, barely touching them with his. Just what I need.
Slowly, he undresses me. For a moment my eyes drift from his, and I glance up through the sunroof into the night, the long steel cables of the Brooklyn Bridge hovering above. They’re lit with a dreamy yellow hue that reminds me of a vintage photograph, something beautiful and lasting.
Timeless.
Chapter 71
IT’S SO HARD saying good-bye to Michael as we pull up to my building, I almost break into tears. It’s even harder to be alone again in my apartment. It feels like forever since it’s been home sweet home for me.
The second I get inside my door and lock it, lock myself in, the phone starts to ring. I don’t want to answer, but maybe it’s Michael. He’s had second thoughts and he’s coming over. Please, let that be it.
I pick up on the fifth ring, and it’s an operator. “I have a collect call from Kristin Burns.” I want to throw down the receiver, but I think about it and I accept the call.
I hear my own voice. “Help me. Please help me. Somebody make it stop!”
Now I throw down the receiver. MAKE WHAT STOP? WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS HAPPENING? HOW CAN I GET A PHONE CALL FROM MYSELF?
The nasty bump on my forehead is definitely real and already ripening to a deep purplish bruise. It’s well beyond any cover-up stick, so I fiddle with a new hairstyle – bangs down.
Then I throw on a T-shirt and sweats and crawl into bed. I should be asleep before my head, bump and all, hits the pillow.
So why am I still awake?
Five minutes, ten minutes, a half hour passes, and all I can do is toss and turn. The past few days play over and over in my head, an endless loop of fear and confusion. All the stress that seemed to melt away in Michael’s arms begins to seep – then gush – back in.
There’s only one thing I can think to do.
I jump up and grab my camera. I can almost hear the voice of Dr. Curley playing his little fill-in-the-blank game with me. When I’m under stress I like to…
I close the door to my darkroom and start to develop the shot I snapped at the hospital.