Stranger at My Door

CH 25: Ana

“Christian, you were a child!” I reach for him “you are not responsible for any of it, none of the abuse during your formational years.” I squeeze his hand but I am not sure he believes me.  He shakes his head and looks at me with eyes I cannot read, sad or maybe conflicted along with anger perhaps.

“I was twenty-one, just a graduate and Jose was my best friend.” Christian looks surprised; then smirks a little, his eyes dancing with curiosity. “It was after graduation, we went out to celebrate; I had not finished my first drink, when he kissed me. It was not a full blown kiss but it was more than friends would, you know. He asked me out and I agreed. After the date we started expending a lot of time together, it was comfortable. We would fall asleep on the sofa and later on his bed, just sleep you know. I started to notice his morning erections, and it woke something in me; I was intrigued and curious. So, one of those nights I guided his hand to my breast and he kissed me, hooked my leg around him and unlike any other night, I did not stop his advances.  It did not even hurt, it was fine you know. Not great but not bad, I supposed that is how first times go.”

Christian wrinkles his forehead, and cocks his head to the side but does not ask me anything. “That is it, in a nutshell my only relationship ever, normal, easy, and comfortable. “

“It should have been me! I do not like it that he got the honor; but your first time should have been out of the park, with fireworks and fucking stars!”

I smile at him; “I have talked to my friends and that is actually pretty good. Some have horror stories at the back of a car on prom night scared shitless, painful and all.”

Christian looks at me, not convinced. “Well, I have avoided popping cherries, not my style, not interested.” He shudders as if it was something really bad to be even considered. “Though, with you I may have made an exception. You bewitch me; I never wanted anything or anyone like I do you.” He pulls me down to the bed and runs his hands over my side. “Yeah, I would not have been able to stay away from you, not even two years ago.” I smile at him, trying to decipher what is going on in his mind, on that possible alternate universe of his. “Tell me; did the boy get any better?”

“What are you taking about?”

“Well, did your sexescapdes escalated from fine to maybe good or satisfactory?”

I scowl and tug on his hair. “You are horrible, Christian. I am not going to rate him but if it makes you feel better you make me see stars and fireworks. You even make my toes curl!”

“Your toes?” He is smiling widely – I have never seen anyone so mercurial, I like happy carefree Christian the best though.

I play with his facial hair, which is about two days old now. “Your turn to ask me a question. Your last one for the night.”

“Are you still friends with Mrs. Robinson?”

“My fault.”

“W-what do you mean?” - He repeated my answer about Cow, why? Is she dead?

“That is a second question.” I am about to complain when he puts his finger on my lips. “But I’ll answer it; it is your last question for the night.” His voice has finality to it – there will be no more discussion on the topic – “Her ex-husband killed her one night to teach her or maybe me a lesson... I suppose.”

That I did not expect! I am not sure what to say. The silence stretches for a while; she was killed, he thinks it was his fault: why, how, where, when?

He breaks the silence once more for his last question of the night: “Why did it end? For you and the photographer boy?”

“Because… “ I am still off footed, as if I have been on a roller coaster ride and I cannot feel the floor quite right yet. “ I am not sure how to explain it, we existed as a couple, we were comfortable with each other but there were no fireworks, not even a spark. Well I guess we were friends, and we kept it going because we were afraid of losing the friendship. I could see my future with him just like the past. Friends, lovers, husband and wife, a kid or two, a white picket fence, and he would have been happy for a while at least; I was afraid of transforming into Carla, never happy, searching, always trying to find a spark and maybe even fireworks.”