Captive

Chapter 23

Bridget was silent as she watched Nathan sleep. She barely breathed for fear that she would wake the chiseled Greek god from his comfortable slumber. Her light eyes peered at the exposed parts of his body. His skin was tawny and lacked the creamy, porcelain tone protected by swim trunks. She giggled—he fake baked or spray tanned. His arms had the right amount of definition, which echoed masculinity without screaming supplement abuse. His legs were strong, and sculpted pectoral muscles rested below his smooth and cleanly-waxed chest. He was impeccably groomed, the complete opposite of the teenager who stole her heart in high school. Bridget wondered what his classmates thought of him at his ten-year reunion. Then again, he probably chose not to attend. The Nathan she knew, both now and then, disliked the pomp and circumstance associated with trivial milestones. He wanted results—he only celebrated when he accomplished something greater than getting out of their Podunk hometown. She adjusted the sheet that covered her naked body and propped up her head with her slim hand.

She tried to recall a time when she never wanted to see him again, but it seemed misty and non-existent. Bridget scanned her memory for the images of Nathan she collected some fifteen years past. What surfaced was unclear, covered with a decade and a half of compartmentalized dust and episodic misinterpretation. As she tried to recall their youthful past, she found herself frustrated at her inability to produce a single image that was unhappy or unromantic. She knew somewhere deep inside herself that there had to be at least one fight, one mistake, or one argument. Bridget found nothing but sweet teen love and a sad breakup that happened when he left for college. She felt that something was subconsciously wrong with that scenario. It just did not feel right. Nevertheless, she brushed the feeling aside and continued to look at the man she loved.

Where has he been all this time? she asked herself. He has been away for so long, and yet, he was right in front of me.

On the nightstand beside him, Nathan's phone vibrated for the umpteenth time. Bridget heard the incessant buzzing sound periodically as they made love, but Nathan ignored it. She was thankful that he stayed focused on her the entire time and did not pause when the phone pinged. Bridget watched the smart phone dance and illuminate as it bounced aggressively on the oak table top.

She could not make out the name or the image on its screen without her glasses, so she reached to her small table and groped for her spectacles. By the time she placed them on her thin face, the vibrations had ceased. The curious woman lay in the bed, pondering whether or not to quench her inquisitive tendencies. He might be mad if she browsed through his phone; then again, if he loved her, what was there to hide? She contemplated the best way to climb out of the bed without waking him, so she sought some excuse for rising. She settled on the most common and trivial of reasons—she needed to use the bathroom. It was not a complete lie: Her bladder was nearly full.

Bridget deftly made her way to the edge before peeling back the sheets and slowly slinking out of the overstuffed, incredibly comfortable king size bed. She meandered out and rose, tiptoeing to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. As she sat on the commode, she felt her body release liquid waste and heard it swirling with toilet water like lemon juice streaming into a sauté pan. She flushed the commode, washed her hands in the stark white hotel sink, and reached for the terra cloth bathrobe hanging on the door. The material was warm and fluffy on her bare skin. She listened a moment before she cracked open the door and peeked at her sleeping lover. Nathan had not moved, completely comatose and lost in Dreamland. Bridget exited the bathroom and crept toward his nightstand. She reached for the phone carefully, retrieved it, and clicked it on to find a password screen.

Dammit, she thought as she clicked it off and placed it back on the stand. She stood for a moment to determine if she should crawl back into bed. She was awake, so she made her way to the half-finished bottle of champagne sitting in the bucket of melted ice. She picked it up, looked at Nathan, and took a swig. She thought he would not mind, but she did not want him to see her do something so classless. Bridget then located her glass and filled it with bubbly. She moved to the balcony where she saw an entire city of electric lights. The view always impressed her—it was one of the reasons she moved to the city in the first place.

Again, she tried to remember the past. Faint shadows and silhouettes hazily danced across her memory. She lowered her eyelids and crunched her face, concentrating on the specific time in her life that involved Nathan. She found a tall figure sitting with her in a car, holding her hand. She saw the white dress she wore to his prom, and she made out the car they took. She failed to remember what model it was, but it was maroon. Something odd, something no one else had. She recalled choking on a bread stick in front of his friends at an Italian restaurant. She pulled up a tearful goodbye, hugs, and forlorn faces. She tried for more dormant images, but there was nothing. How could that be? Every couple fights; they have their ups and their downs, so where were theirs? She took a deep breath and tried again. This time, she saw him as the man she knew now, the man he became. He was successful, dashing, and intelligent. This picture excited her, and she smiled. Then without notice, another image invaded her memory. It was more obscure than the others; she saw a bright room with florescent lights. She stood, looking at some man whom she had never seen before. It was a brief picture before he vanished.

Her eyes shot open. What the hell was that? she wondered. The image left her shaken, so she downed the rest of the nearly flat champagne in the glass. Bridget felt dizzy, so she opened the balcony door and drifted onto the veranda. It was a chilly fall night; the wind plucked dead leaves from the black trees and tossed them in the air around the hotel's courtyard. Her bathrobe provided little protection from the fierce wind, but she liked the feeling. It sobered her and brought her down from the euphoric state caused by orgasmic bliss. The cold, harsh, and howling reality of the outside world whispered its concern in her ears. Something was wrong whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. She glanced back to her lover, who was snoring softly against his soft pillow. For the first time since her thirtieth birthday, Bridget craved a cigarette. It was her darkest vice—she smoked when she drank, and she believed Nathan would disapprove, so she did her best to ignore the urge. She honestly believed that she had kicked the habit without him ever noticing, but now, on the balcony, she longed to inhale the smooth, eucalyptus taste of a Camel Menthol Light. She bounced her bare leg against a deck chair, fighting the need.

When her body began to shiver, she ventured back into the room and closed and locked the door behind her. Bridget was wide awake now; climbing back into bed would be useless because she would not fall back to sleep. Sex always recharged her batteries—a strange contradiction. She could sleep for a few hours after making love, but then she would be rested and ready to conquer the world once more. Not wanting to wake the sleeping deity, she quietly moved to her purse where she retrieved her phone and tablet and checked her work email. There were no immediate messages requiring her response, which disappointed her slightly. She found her new position as a trainer quite boring. Bridget examined the most recent sales reports, dismayed that the numbers were not hers alone despite the fact that her team was doing remarkably well. She closed her email and checked her Facebook page. As usual, no one had anything legitimate or exciting to post; most of her news feed was littered with political propaganda and the standard "So-and-So just sold a sheep!" posts for some online game. Bridget switched devices only to find that her cell had as little to report as her tablet. She sighed, realizing that it would be a long night.

With resignation, she switched her phone back to its home screen and moved toward to the bed. Bridget nimbly climbed in and nestled herself against Nathan's side. His body was warm and welcoming, but sliding in beside him caused him to stir. He barely opened his eyes but made a slighting moaning sound. He threw an arm around her and pulled her in close. His nose rested on the nape of her creamy neck, and she felt his lips slide into a smile, which forced hers to do the same. Nathan's grip immobilized her under the downy cover. She was elated to be trapped in his warm embrace.