Here we go, girls... this is it. The End. Tutti. Everything.
AGAIN, sorry for the delay. I hate midterms. Really.
At any rate, I hope you've enjoyed the ride, thanks for staying with me! Criticisms are also welcome here too...
Thanks again for reading!! Hope you enjoy this...
~Bona
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One year later?
Since leaving the tour I?ve moved into the city and started taking some classes at the conservatory. It had nothing to do with the fact that Larry owns an apartment about a half hour outside of here. It had nothing at all to do with that. Really. I actually didn?t even find out that he had a place here until about a month into the semester. He never mentioned it to me, but then again you know how he is. Private and all? I can?t stand being away from him, but what other choice do I have? I?ve picked up a music history course and to get my mind off of missing Larry, I decide to take a night and head down to a local bookstore and study for a while. It?s one of those fancy places too, with a caf? and music department. So I?m sitting in the caf?, studying? well, I
intended to study. I?m actually only sitting here staring at my reflection in the window. From what little of the sky I can see, there?s no stars tonight, and it?s getting pretty late. I shake my head when I hear a U2 CD start playing over the store?s PA system. So much for getting my mind OFF of him. I pick up my book and open the front cover and stare at 2 pictures of Larry I?ve stowed away and have been using as bookmarks. They?re computer print outs, and I?ve got lyrics scrawled all over them. I?ve got some basic ideas for some songs, but nothing really concrete. It?s mostly stuff that you can tell came out of me missing him? shite about love and being displaced and all that.
Now that I?ve found out that Larry?s got a place around here, I feel like a stalker. Or worse, I feel like a fan-girl. But I don?t know if he?s even staying there right now. It?s been cold as hell around here lately, and if he wanted that he may as well just stay in Ireland. Howth would probably be warmer at this point anyway. He could be anywhere. Lord knows he?s probably got a thousand places everywhere that no one knows about. Besides, I haven?t seen him around here lately, and I?m NOT about to go up to his apartment and look for him. So here I sit, trying to get on with my life, trying to NOT think about what
almost happened, trying NOT to remember what it was like to sleep in the same bed with him, even if I was drunk and nothing happened. Here I sit, in the middle of a bookstore caf? staring at a man who once, was almost mine rather than reading about plainchant and clausulas and things like that. Something tells me to look up, and I almost have a heart attack when I see Larry standing over by the magazines. I stare for a moment, half in shock and half transfixed. Some things are like fine Veuve-Clicquot, only getting finer as time passes. He looks up after a moment and sees me. I look back down at my book, and suddenly I have no idea who the hell Pope Gregory was or why he?s got an entire genre of chant named after him. This is way too awkward. Suddenly he brushes past me and sits next to me. For a moment I say nothing. One of us has to break the ice, and I finally give in, ?Larry.?
?Tess.?
?You look well.?
?So do you. Thanks.?
Silence. I flip through my textbook mindlessly, and he stops me. He pulls out one of the pictures I?d stowed away of him, and starts studying it. I?ve no doubt he?s reading my lyrics. He gives me a look and sighs, offering me the picture back. I don?t wait for him to ask, ?I miss you.?
?So you carry pictures of me wherever you go??
?No, just to music history class.?
?Are you in music history class right now??
?No, but I?ve got the textbook with me.?
He doesn?t say anything. For a moment, neither do I.
?So how long have you had that apartment?? I ask.
?About 3 months.?
I realize I?ve been in school for three months already. ?Did you move for the privacy, or what?? I probe.
?No, I heard you were here.?
I have difficulty believing him. ?So you moved here just for me.?
?It?s quiet, private. It?s a nice area, and besides,? he pauses for a moment, then quietly, ?We weren?t finished.?
I inhale, ?No, we weren?t.?
?I?m surprised you didn?t come to find me.?
?I wasn?t sure if you were around. I figured you were in Dublin.?
?I was at first.?
For the first time tonight, I look up at him. He?s beautiful, and I think he knows it. There?s a split second where I wonder if he?s thinking the same thing. Awkward silence? Thankfully, he breaks it.
?Tessa, I?m sorry,? he sighs, ?I didn?t think---?
?No, Larry, you were right. I was better off home,? I cut him off.
?No, Tess, I didn?t mean to lead you on then cut you off that way.?
My head snaps up at him, and my stomach drops. So this is how he chooses to end this. Beautiful.
?I wish I could have been clearer with you---?
I cut him off again, ?It?s okay, Larry. You don?t have to finish.?
?The last thing I wanted was to see you hurt, then I went and?? he trails off.
?You don?t need to explain, Larry. If you want to end this, then just end it and go,? I almost spit at him. I don?t want to end up breaking down in front of him.
?End what?? he looks at me, genuinely bewildered. ?I love you, Tessa, why would I end this? I brought you in then sent you away. That?s what I was apologizing for.?
That?s the second time he?s told me that he loves me. I know he doesn?t throw that phrase around, and then it finally hits me. He loves me. ?I just want you to do what?s best for you.?
?Shouldn?t that be my decision?? he gives me a look. ?For tonight, what?s best for me is that you would let me take you out of here.?
?What?d you have in mind?? I?m not going to argue with this. I?ve finally realized that I have no reason to. For tonight, there?s nothing wrong with being in love.
One bar and a couple of rum and cokes later, we end up at his apartment. He lives on one of the upper floors, so his view is decent, to say the least. Though luxury is not completely absent, his d?cor is modest. When I walk in, I?m greeted with black leather couches and a glass coffee table, an entertainment center across the room against the wall and off-white carpeting. I lean on the arm of the couch, facing him and I smile, ?It?s beautiful.?
He says nothing, responding only by gliding up to me and covering my mouth with his. I?ve been deprived of this heaven for a year now, but he?s just as dizzying as he was a year ago.
The next few minutes are a blur, a whirlwind. He?s still using Biolage and Irish Spring and it still makes me shudder. I suddenly find myself falling farther and farther back until I fall completely onto my back on the couch and he?s got one knee resting on the arm of it staring down at me. He slides his other leg over the arm of the couch and then he?s on top of me. One wicked little grin and he?s reaching behind me, over both of our heads and judging by the sound I realize he?s taking the phone off of it?s cradle, preventing our usual interruption. Something about that is twistedly romantic, but it still makes me laugh. While he?s still stretched over me like a cat, my first opportunity to admire the shape of his body, I reach up and slide my hands underneath his shirt and around his waist, up and across his back while he?s coming back down to me. He cuts off my laugh by kissing me?hard. Another minute and my shirt is already off. I even things out and slide his off his shoulders and it slides onto the floor with mine. We?re moving a bit fast, but it?s been a year and I don?t think either of us wants to slow down. He?s intoxicating, exhausting even, and with every new place he kisses me, his hips grind into me a little more. He?s rock hard. I turn my head to the side while his mouth is at my neck and before I can worry about the Italian leather couch, my hand has found its way into his pants. One noise from the back of his throat triggers a dizzying few minutes. A year?s worth of waiting, daydreaming, fantasies, wishes? all that comes promptly to an end when his hand slides up the inside of my thigh and he breathes into my neck, ?I?ve missed you so much??
Hours later, lying exhausted on a queen sized bed in the bedroom, my head on his chest. Dull night light from the half-open curtain makes his skin practically glow aside from the sweat, he still smells like lovemaking but somehow I can still detect a trace of Irish Spring. His off-white cotton jersey sheets are a mess, but changing them hardly seems worth it tonight. That?s what afternoons are for. He?s got his arm around my back, and his other hand is pinching a cigarette between drags. I prop my chin up on his chest and watch the bright orange glow from the end of his smoke while he takes another drag. My eyes shift and I watch and love his mouth as he exhales and says quietly, ?Do you believe it now??
It takes me a minute, but I then realize what he?s referring to. ?Yeah, Lar?? I start, ?I?m sorry I made it so difficult.?
He shakes his head slightly, ?You didn?t,? he starts, and he reaches over and pats out the cigarette in a nearby tray, then rolls over so he?s looking down at me again. He?s beautiful and he knows it. I trace my finger along the tattoo on his shoulder, he rubs his nose against mine like he?s about to kiss me. ?There?s nothing wrong with being in love.?
Louhve. I love the way he says that word.
?I wanted you to see that,? he finishes his sentence.
?I think you?ve done that,? my fingers are still preoccupied with his tattoo. There?s another minute where we?re both perfectly still, his mouth not an inch away from mine. I break the silence with the question that we meant to answer a year ago, ?So what now??
He says nothing, but actions speak louder than words, and the kiss I receive a second later says enough. It?s funny how things always seem so much more peaceful in someone?s arms. I feel better when I?m close to him this way, I can admit that now. He pulls me a little tighter, the bed feels warmer, I feel a little safer and for the first time in a year, I fall asleep quickly.
~End~