Dried and Dying Roses (BWWM)

Forty Five: Baby Bump Blues

"Give me your lips, love,"

She continued to stare blankly ahead. They were at her museum, and Isa was admiring her favorite painting-the replica of course- seeing as Adrian had somehow gotten his hands on the original, the couple sitting on the bench as she stared at the copy of the work of art she had been admiring since she could remember.

"Isaline,"

"Give me an idea, and I'll give you my lips," She finally responded, "Help me understand how I can help you, Adrian, and I'll give you my fucking lips."

Those large slate eyes of his left hers then, as he stared ahead for a second, running his fingers through his hair before looking back to Isaline, "You don't have to help me Isa, I've been doing that for three decades, I'll be fine until I die."

She wasn't having that, and she let that be known, "Do you not remember what you said to me that day? I'll wait," There was a beat of silence as Isa let her angry gaze burn into Adrian in a way it never had before, "Of course you don't remember; you were drunk off your motherfucking ass!"

A dark red tinge that started just below the base of his neck and quickly spread up to his cheeks, and even back into his hairline and the tip of his nose showed Isaline that he was ashamed of how he had been dealing with his grief and guilt, and any other time, that blush would have turned her on, would have had her pouncing on him, ready to defile him, but not today, not three days later when he had finally started to behave like himself once more.

The first day Adrian stayed locked in one of the rooms  she was banned from until late at night, ignoring Isaline after telling her for the first time that she couldn't help him. It was also filled with drinking.

Day two was spent with Adrian nursing one of the largest hangovers Isaline had probably ever witnessed someone else have. And she spent most of the day nursing him. Day three, Monday, the current day, was spent with Adrian trying to act as if nothing had occurred at all, while Isaline refused to forget what she witnessed. They had both gotten off of work, Adrian around eight, and Isa just after nine.

He found her sitting on the bench in the middle of one of the exhibit rooms and that's where they had stayed.

"You said that I was made for you, and even I couldn't help you. You were mad at me," Isa whispered that, "You said it was bullshit. You were disappointed, and you didn't say it, but I let you down. I didn't live up to your expectation. I don't want you think that about me.... Not when I should have been able to help you!"

That really got to her. These past days, all she had been trying to do was help him, and being constantly told that she wasn't helping in even the slightest broke her heart. If she couldn't comfort him, then what was she good for, besides being his sole blood and sex supply?

Nothing.

She was a failure, that's what the fuck she was.

"I didn't mean that," Adrian finally responded in that quiet voice of his, "You know that,"

"I know that you were in pain and I couldn't help you. I tried, and nothing worked-"

"We need to go home and talk," Adrian cut her off, "I'm not going to argue with you in a museum. We're going to talk about this okay, and you can tell me everything that happened too, because I still can't figure out how I marked you, or how those pictures of my daughter got hung up."

With that, he took her hand in his, and gently pulled her up, handing her the expensive black purse that she was carrying that day, and wrapping his arm around her waist as they headed out the museum, waving at Isaline's God father as they left. Even he seemed to be able to sense the tension between the two, and he'd only been in their vicinity for less than a fraction of a second.