For
the greater part of my life, I've been made keenly aware that one of
the “flaws” of my personality was how stubborn and pig-headed
most people perceived me to be. (I'm honestly nice once you get to
know me.) But I am a Taurus and we're notorious for being stubborn.
In a way, I actually kind of parodied myself when I wrote this story.
But let's be serious for a moment, if I ever had a shot at Taryll
Jackson, or someone similar to him, I'd treat him like a
king...instead of like a pauper as you'll see in this story...Enjoy.
"Aggressive"
A Taryll Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
Sparta,
California
Spring,
2015
Angry.
He
was supposed to be angry.
The
Lord only knew he had every right to be.
Between
the mental torment, nonstop aggravation, and now the dull,
intermittent ache from the shallow gash above his left eyebrow, still
scabbing over, he should have been the human incarnate of a
hurricane.
He
should have been screaming, yelling, venting at the very top of his
lungs the distaste, the dissatisfaction, the expletives that had been
consuming both him and his psyche for far too long.
He
should have been throwing objects around the room, entertaining
possibly the largest tantrum he'd thrown since he was a toddler in
his mother's arms. Overturned the coffee table, kicked the armchairs
and divan, stabbed a few pillows.
Done
something, anything to release all of the suffocating pressure within
him, before his head flew off in a burst of sparks and bounced off
the ceiling.
He
should have...
But
instead he sat, quietly, in his favorite chair, fingers digging into
the the padded upholstery, his breaths measured and even, as he
stared down over himself, the mottled tee still spotted with droplets
of his own blood, the tear in the right leg of his jeans, revealing
the bruised flesh of his beefy thigh.
To
the woman, resting solemnly on her heels on the shag carpet in front
of him.
Alas,
she appeared worse for wear than even he.
Her
hair tousled all over her lowered head, the darker, more obvious
contusions dotting her arms and legs, the neckline of her dress
ripped and ragged, revealing the thin strap of her brassiere
underneath.
A
single suede boot, its mate long gone, clung to her left foot,
scarred, scuffed and dirtied beyond repair.
Slowly,
very slowly, the head raised, and a face, beautiful, and once
impeccably made up, bore smeared cosmetics and another bruise on the
cheek.
Dark
eyes were quite stormy and tempestuous, an expression often found in
those eyes to which he had grown accustomed.
When
wasn't she riled, fiery, aggravated about something or another?
A
loud sigh came from her, her eyes meeting his briefly, turning
downwards again.
In
the chair, his eyes fluttered shut, head tilting backwards, lips
parting slightly,pursing around his tongue; slim fingers untying and
removing both his sneakers and socks.
The
delicate, warm kisses to the tops of his feet.
The
unbuttoning, and lowering of the zipper on his fly.
The
pushing aside of the checked briefs containing him...
His
eyes snapped opened, fixating on one of the crisscrossing, exposed
beams overhead, tongue being sucked in, nostrils flaring, at the
enthralling sensation of moisture enveloping him...all of his
manliness.
He
keened, a gasp forcing through his nose rather than his mouth, her
head bobbing over his nether regions.
She
did have a mighty spectacular way of getting on every last one of his
nerves.
She
did annoy him to no end, to the point he often fantasized of letting
his fist fly into her minuscule face—a desire he knew never to
indulge.
But...four
years were indeed a long time...
They'd
been through so much...
Shared
so much, good alongside the bad...
“God!”
He
cried, voice rough and hoarse, kisses being exchanged for the blessed
suction.
She
always did know how to beg his forgiveness for all the times she
drove him to the verge of insanity.
The
eyes widened, and he couldn't help but wonder, partially distracted
by the flicking of an experienced tongue:
Had
she gone too far this time?
Twenty-Four
Hours Earlier
Strange
circumstances made for the strangest pairings, and a perfect example
of such a pairing was the case of Taryll Jackson and Lana Romanoff.
Fate,
intermingled with an air of tragedy, had crossed the paths of the two
to cross, and as a result left them intermingled.
On
a briskly cold, rainy afternoon, not too long after New Year's 2011,
both found themselves wandering the bare, austere, and unforgiving
halls of Blessed Sacrament Hospital, plagued by the same problem,
coincidentally.
While
the heath of the young man and woman were, intact, optimum and even
enviable by some, it was the less-than-stellar well-beings of their
grandfathers, that had brought then out to the infirmary in a tizzy.
The
same ailment afflicted each of the elderly men—a stroke.
And
that was possibly where the similarities betwixt the two ended.
Taryll,
up for over thirty-six hours straight, had left the waiting room,
packed to the rafters with an assortment including, but limited to,
his father, uncles, aunts, siblings, grandmother and more cousins
than he dared to count, in search of a decent cup of coffee to
revitalize him.
He
had only been in the hall a few moments, when he first set eyes on
Lana.
It
was impossible to miss her.
Heading
into another secluded waiting room reserved for families, she had
paused in the doorway, helping herself t a steaming sip of coffee,
clasped in her hands.
Whether
it was from the cold or sheer worry, Taryll never knew, but she
possessed the clearest, whitest, most translucent skin he'd ever
seen. She was even paler than the oversized white tee she wore,
billowing over a lean, hauntingly skinny frame, her long legs covered
by the thin fabric of black and white tribal print leggings.
Her
height was further augmented by patent pumps.
The
only touch of color to her came by way of her hair, cut into a sleek
shoulder grazing bob, starting as a silvery blonde at the roots and
brightening into a rich, deep cobalt blue on the ends.
She
disappeared into the room before Taryll could reach her, and when he
finally got to the door, he was quite shocked to find her sitting
alone in the room, not another soul to be spoken of.
Seeing
her sitting there, all to herself, silence her only companion, Taryll
had been drawn to her, forgetting his quest for coffee, nay
forgetting his own grandfather.
There
was something about the slim little face with hollowed cheeks and the
tiny nose, and sternly set peachy lips.
The
huge, dark eyes consuming her face, staring but seeing nothing at
all.
She
didn't even look up as he sat beside her.
He
spoke to her, trying to make conversation, and received only short
replies, spoken with a soft, throaty voice, laced with an accept he
couldn't quite figure.
Her
name was Lana.
Her
grandfather had also suffered a stroke.
When
asked where the rest of her family was, she stated she was it.
Her
parents had died in a boating accident when she was eight and she'd
lived with her grandfather ever since. Her grandmother had passed on
long before her birth.
What
had stunned Taryll, probably the most, was that in this misty fog of
the unknown of her sole relative's condition, Lana was still as
stone, no crack to what appeared a strong, self-possessed will.
Dutifully
applied cosmetics, the thickly winged eyeliner, the light rouge on
her cheeks, her nude lipstick, went undisturbed, as no tears appeared
to have been shed.
It
wasn't that she didn't care, quite the contrary, Lana cared deeply.
One
look at those solemn eyes told all.
Her
grandfather was her last living relative.
Taryll
on the other hand bore no restraint in regards to his emotions and
knew he looked as though he'd been tossed about on the receiving end
of a whirlwind.
Though
he was a tall, heavy set man who did cut an imposing presence upon
first inspection, Taryll Jackson's face gave him away almost
continuously.
Handsome
with flawless, noble cut features, Taryll was a mess after his own
ordeal.
He
was pale, giving his tanned, coppery complexion a sickly sallow cast,
his eyes, usually clear, green-speckled hazel, were reddened from
fits of crying off and on, little creases of sleeplessness visible
beneath them.
Hair
was another matter altogether.
The
blonde streaked, blackish curls at his crown hadn't seen a comb in a
day and a half and by the dark peach fuzz starting to shadow his
dimpled chin, cheeks and upper lip, it was clear he hadn't touched a
razor either.
Half
an hour passed, before Taryll got back around to inquiring about
where to locate
that
cup of coffee.
But
he never got to drink it.
Just
as he stood to find his way to the cafeteria on the floor below, a
surgeon, replete with scrubs, smock and face mask entered quietly.
The
surgeon spoke politely and intelligently, and informed Lana that
despite all of the life-saving efforts, the emergency surgery and
dozens of medications in an bid to preserve her grandfather...all
had failed.
Her
grandfather was gone, without ever regaining consciousness, he was
sorry.
Beside
her, tears welled and fell from Taryll's eyes, with him patting her
and apologizing for her loss.
Remarkably,
at such a blow, Lana only whitened further, her lids fluttered and
she inhaled deeply, but no tears fell.
Taryll
was rapt and spellbound, staring as Lana stood on shaky limbs, and
just as quietly as the doctor had spoken Lana began making
arrangements for which parlor would receive her grandfather's
remains.
Never
had Taryll witnessed such strength and once the surgeon had left, he
asked if there was anything he could do for her.
She
had stared at him, and very frankly informed him,
“I'll
get by...”
With
that, she had walked from him and seemingly out of his life forever.
But
as fate would have had it, Taryll came across a write-up in the news
only three days later, about a late real estate tycoon, Enrick
Romanoff.
The
very same Enrick Romanoff whom had left his granddaughter all alone
in that waiting room on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.
And
as he had discovered her alone at the hospital, at the Russian
Orthodox Cathedral, as Taryll entered to pay his respects and see the
strange woman whom had enchanted him, so he found Lana, alone once
more.
Dressed
in head to toe black, swathed in a glossy black fox coat, Lana stood
over a polished brown casket, staring down at the small, peaceful
looking gentleman in a dark suit, running her hand over the silvery
tufts of hair clinging to his liver-spotted head and the long coiling
beard spilling fro his chin across his chest, a golden rosary
clutched in his hands.
Not
wanting to intrude, Taryll had at first hung back, silence
overwhelming him, only the sound of his pounding heart, as he stared
at Lana.
It
wasn't right. It was insanity she should bear such a horrific loss
alone.
How
could her grandfather be dead, when his own was alive and well in the
hospital, pinching nurse's backsides and teasing them the old rascal.
Her
grandfather should have lived, deserved life just as much, perhaps
more so, as it seemed he had been Lana's entire world.
She
shouldn't have to be alone
Not
like this.
Not
on a day like this....
He
couldn't resist her, felt the urge to rescue her, comfort her,
something.
Anything.
Going
up to her, he'd patted her back, again apologized for her loss, and
asked if she'd like to eat something.
Those
dark eyes stared up at him, consumed him, ate him whole, and she
nodded.
As
they had walked out wordlessly, she had taken his hand...
...and
never let go.
Lunch
had been plates of meatloaf and potatoes that neither touched and
Taryll asked what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
Her
grandfather was to be created and she would scatter his ashes in his
native country...after that, she didn't know.
Taryll
vowed to help her figure it out.
A
week later, he found himself in Moscow, tossing the ashes around St.
Basil's Cathedral, sunlight bouncing off its garishly hued and
painted domed rooftops, and going out to the countryside to some
village he'd never heard of, to pay respects the Romonovs, the last
Imperial family of Russia, whom had been slaughtered in 1918 while
held captive by the Bolsheviks.
Lana
only stated she was very, very distantly related to them “according
to my grandfather.”
A
week after that, Taryll officially asked Lana to be his girlfriend
and a week following that, she had moved in with him, as she had
sullenly told him, her grandfather's house “now reeks of death and
I need to be someplace filled with life.”
Now,
four years later, Taryll was in a strange position and perplexed as
to how to handle his girlfriend.
At
the time he was falling for and “rescuing” his damsel, he'd never
noted the age difference between them, a fifteen year gap stood
between his then thirty-five and here mere twenty. Further dividing
the gap was Lana was to come into a very generous estate and trust...
on her twenty-fifth birthday.
And
in the spring of 2015, her birthday, and access to those much
appreciated funds were still a good six months away.
In
the meantime, the last four years had taught him greatly about his
young lover.
Lana
had grown up sheltered, doted on and spoiled by her grandfather, as
the only and last living relative of his dead son.
She
had spent her childhood in a grand mansion, tended by a fleet of
servants, was waited on hand and foot from infancy and had even had a
pony for several years as she had dabbled in being an equestrian
during her adolescence.
Such
a lifestyle had cultivated a quiet, sullen, entitled and at times,
antisocial woman with difficult ways and when pushed the wrong way, a
sharp, biting and easily flaring temper revealed itself and was
unleashed much like a rabid beast from a steel cage.
Lana
never understood the word “no” or the idea of what a “budget”
was, and frequently squabbles came in over money, and her looseness
with it.
It
had become swiftly apparent, Lana had been handed anything and
everything she had ever desired by her misguided grandfather, but
that just wasn't how life was lived in the real world outside the
stone walls of the palatial home Lana had been reared in.
And
more than once Taryll had had a credit card be declined and snapped
in half beneath his nose due to Lana's lack of self control.
It
wasn't that Taryll didn't have money; he came from a wealthy family
with hands in amateur film production, real estate and other various
ventures, but at the rate Lana insisted upon going, he could deposit
a check before lunch and while he was still picking ham and cheese
out his teeth at the local cafe, be alerted by the bank that his
funds were gone.
Very
often bills were tardy with payments and several times, a utility
here and there would be shut off and pulled from right under him,
causing him to go begging his father, grandfather or siblings for a
loan to have said utility turned back on.
And
the second it came up, Lana would pick a language—she spoke
English, Russian, French, Spanish and German fluently thanks to being
educated by a private European all-girls' school as a child—and
light Taryll up like a firecracker.
In
many ways, though she were legally an adult with an adult body (which
Taryll had seen, touched and much more in the last four years) Lana
was still a child.
A
stubborn, pig-headed child whom was now his responsibility, as he had
so long ago figured himself to be her knight in shining armor.
It
was a conflict that tormented and ate away at Taryll day in and day
out, a problem that perplexed him to no end, and when the sordid
topic was brought up to either of his two brothers the consensus was
always unanimous:
“If
you're so goddamn miserable, leave her ass!”
Alas,
if it were only so simple.
If
only he didn't love her so, if only he didn't know that beneath the
cold, hardened, obstinate exterior, there was a warm, lively, feeling
woman.
He
knew her, he'd seen her, in rare glimpses, in soft smiles, and kind
looks, gentle gestures, light words.
The
other side to Lana that came out so infrequently. He knew she was
there, if only that version of Lana could linger on and the other,
disappear.
But
on that balmy, sunny morning in April, when all outside the bay and
picture windows of the modest Arts and Crafts cottage in the center
of a quiet suburban avenue tucked into a wooded grove dotted with
more sycamores and oaks than palms, was bright and inviting, a storm
cloud lingered behind and hung over Taryll Jackson.
Slumping
at the kitchen table, Taryll stared somberly at the mountain of
papers crumpled before him.
The
monthly bills, with an overwhelming amount of charges credited to one
Lana Romanoff.
Whether
or not she were truly linked to now defunct Russian royalty, Lana had
once again been spending as though she were an Imperial Czarina and
not merely an idle woman waiting for her trust fund to kick in.
And
Taryll, a realtor along with his brothers eked out a decent living
selling small residential homes like his own. But to keep up with
Lana if she didn't stifle herself, he'd have to sell off the entire
state of California!
For
the last hour, Taryll had sat, staring at the charges, the bills, the
payments overdue and needing to be made, not so much worrying about
how, when and if he could pay them...
No,
that was a mess unto itself.
Taryll
had long been contemplating bringing up the matter to the little
hurricane that barely made a dent in the mattress beside him in bed.
For
a man as girthy and swarthy as Taryll, as manly looking as they came,
Taryll didn't like arguing and tried to avoid confrontation until it
was absolutely, positively necessary.
As
much as he hated to admit, today was one of those days calling for a
confrontation. If only he had some cotton to stuff his ears with
first, as he knew Lana went from zero to a hundred in a nanosecond.
Scratching
at his disheveled curls absently, and shifting in the seat, Taryll
first heaved a sigh, his eyes shutting as he sent a silent prayer to
the Heavens for help and strength, and tersely he wet his lips,
preparing to call her name, to summon her from wherever she was
elsewhere in the cottage--
Before
he could verbally hail her, across the room, the door swung, with a
drowsy looking Lana ambling in.
“Good
morning Boo Bear...” She murmured in that fleetingly sweet
manner, raking her nails through his hair as she bypassed him, making
a beeline to the steaming coffeepot on the counter behind him.
Turning
in his chair, Taryll was sidetracked from the task at hand for a
moment, as he couldn't help admiring her.
The
tall, lean figure, pouring coffee into large yellow mug, printed with
a hot pink crown—never letting him forget who the princess was—and
tossing in a few spoons of sugar to sweeten it. She never added cream
or milk, she said it diluted the flavor.
She
always did look so becoming when she wore his pajama tops...the black
and white dotted one made her pale skin all the more luminous, the
dark purple polish on her finger and toenails causing her fair
complexion to glow.
Back
to him, her hair, in a long bob, and tousled from having just rolled
out of bed, was again dyed wild colors, as it seemed her penchant, a
bright, platinum blonde that segued into a rainbow of saturated,
brilliant colors at the ends.
Hesitating,
which he always did when faced with such a burden, Taryll shut his
eyes a second time and unable to stop himself felt his mouth fly
open,
“Lana,
we need to talk about these bills--”
Her
hand was in his hair, this time raking from the back of his head to
the front as she was moving past him for the door, mug braced to her
bosom,
“Can't
it wait, Boo Bear?” She questioned and was halted, as a much larger
hand wrapped her tiny wrist.
“Wait,
why?” Taryll asked and instantly regretted as he felt a tenseness
invade Lana's body, the precursor to her mood switching.
“Because...”
Her head turned slowly and those dark eyes were slicing him like a
razor blade,
“...I
told you last night I was going to the salon to have my ends trimmed.
Why don't you ever listen to me when I speak to you--”
“I
do listen to you--” Taryll started, an noticed the flaring red
starting to color in Lana's cheeks.
“No,
you do NOT!” She barked and Taryll was jerked forward, jostling
the contents on the tabletop, as she snatched her arm free of him.
“If
you did listen to me when I addressed you, you'd know what I was
doing today, instead of asking me ridiculous, asinine questions!”
The head was flung scornfully, dark eyes widening at him.
“Right...”
Taryll conceded, head lowering more as effort to get her tone to
change than admitting defeat.
“Damn
right, I'm right--” Lana was cut off by him asking,
“Well,
when will you be done?”
“Around
twelve-thirty or so. My appointment is for nine, but it does take so
long to wash, and condition my hair because of the colors and then
cut it--”
“I'll
take you to lunch.” Taryll declared suddenly. “How's Antoine's
grab you?”
She
couldn't raise too much hell without choking if she had a mouth full
of Italian food.
Peachy
mouth twisting, Lana sauntered back to him, setting her mug on the
Formica.
Her
smooth little hands cupped his cheeks and she bent, pressing that
peachy mouth to his scowling own.
She
did have such a marvelous way of kissing and for a split second,
Taryll forgot his troubles, only tasting the dark roasted beans on
those lips, savoring the sweetened note that curbed the bitterness of
the coffee.
Leaning
back slightly she pecked the tip of his nose teasingly and cooed,
“Grabs
me just fine...”
His
cheek was pinched and with that, Lana made her exit hair bouncing as
she passed through the door.
Taryll
watched her go, eyes sparkling, his own cheeks going scarlet, and
another sigh, this time contented, caused his nostrils to flare.
He
was a fool.
But
then again, love did make a fool out of everyone.
And
he did love Lana...
It
was her attitude he hated.
*
* *
“...my
girlfriend should be joining me shortly...I'd like to place my order
now, please...”
Taryll
mumbled, his face obscured by the large, gilt inscribed menu,
glancing at the waiter poised by his side, notepad and pencil in hand
to jot down his every whim.
“We'll
have the Fried Cheese Sticks to start...I'll have the Lasagna, with
Spicy Italian Sausage and Shrimp Fettuccine Alfredo for my
girlfriend...I'll have a Negroni and she'll have an Ocean
Breeze...thank you.”
“Excellent
selections, Sir, the appetizer will be out to you.” The waiter
nodded dutifully as he took the menu and swiftly moved away, leaving
Taryll to shift against the leather seat of the booth, flush against
the window looking out to the many storefronts dotting the upscale
version of a strip mall.
Directly
across from Antoine's more sedate, red-bricked and ivy-laced facade
was the louder, hot pink and acid yellow tinted windows of the Crimp,
Curl and Cut salon, where he had dropped Lana off some four hours
earlier, before riding around town, doing his very best to settle up
on bills and plead for extensions on those he could not cover right
away.
Glancing
at the phone in his hand, its whimsical case, reflecting his obvious
love of food, resembled glistening, greasy strips of bacon, a small
frown crossed his face as he looked again at the charges Lana had
plagued him with.
They
came in almost on a daily basis and what wasn't stamped out on paper,
alerted him with a vibrating of the hip, via text.
And
in the less than thirty minutes he'd been seated, a new slew of
charges made his thigh jump, courtesy of Crimp, Curl and Cut.
That
morning Lana stated she was only going for a shampoo and trim—which
he knew also included a deep conditioning as she insisted upon her
candy colored hair—but some how the simple trip had evolved to
include extra coloring, a manicure and pedicure, ringing in at around
four hundred dollars, twice what he had expected to be spent.
Across
the lot, from where he had watched a steady parade of fashionable
women entering and exiting the revolving door of the salon,
finally...the one belonging to him made her exit.
Taryll
straightened in his chair, his eyes widening and mouth falling agape
in a mix of surprise and turbulence.
He
wasn't so much enthralled by her appearance as he had been earlier
that morning, although she did look rather becoming in a simple,
heathered grey tee-shirt dress that skinned over her slim frame,
being just long enough to keep her from being indecent at the same
time offering a generous view of toned, trim legs, the feet covered
in suede, tasseled booties.
Dangling
from her neck by a thin white-gold chain, was a large cross shaped
pendant, so large it was almost obscene, and massive, princess cut
amethyst in the center of it.
More
light danced across the multiple bangles lining her wrists as she
paused just outside the door, digging into a a small suede clutch,
coming up with her phone.
Taryll
grimaced smugly, he'd given that phone, and it's case, in the shape
of a bumblebee—his way of calling her a “Queen Bitch”
without vocalizing it—and watched as she paused to take a selfie
for social media.
The
grimace morphed back into a frown, deepening to the point his smooth
forehead became wrinkled.
He
had a clear view of Lana's hair in particular, and knew that was
where the extra two hundred dollars had gone.
That
morning her tresses had been platinum, fading to a rainbow at the
ends of her bob.
Now,
as she replaced her phone in the bag and started across the parking
lot to the restaurant, he saw her hair had changed.
Arranged
into loose waves her hair had been further lightened to an almost
stark white, interwoven with streaks of violet, electric blue, and
shocking pink.
Seeing
him staring out through the window, Lana waved, another bauble and
gift from her star-crossed lover, albeit more modest, a pinky ring,
of platinum, set with a variety of diamonds in varying cuts.
That
piece of jewelry never came off, even as she slept.
Taryll
was solemn and withdrawn, as the waiter beat Lana to the table, by
mere seconds, setting out the battered sticks of mozzarella, and
marinara for dipping, the Negroni in a highball glass, the Ocean
Breeze in a cordial glass.
As
soon as he was out of the way, as if on cue, Lana appeared.
“Zdravstvuyte,
Boo Bear...” She greeted him, voice once again soft, tender hands,
now tipped in midnight blue nails, cupping his cheeks, with her
bending down to peck his lips.
“Hello...Darling...”
Taryll managed, his own voice hoarse and dry, his entire spirit
feeling weary Lana slid into the seat across from him, tossing her
purse aside.
“Oh,
you got cheese sticks, my favorite!” She cooed, reaching, dipping
and biting into one.
Taryll
remained motionless a good while, staring at her, into the pale,
slender face, now filled in and accentuated with cool tones of
silver, white and black, her lips a very light sparkly pink, thick
false eyes fluttering as she licked her fingertips, helping herself
to another stick.
“I
need to eat something good after the abysmal time I had a 'Triple
C'...” She lamented, those dark eyes rolling with displeasure.
“After
what those tramps put me through I think I'll just have to find
another salon to take my business too. It was a complete and utter
clusterfuck today!”
“Really?”
Taryll questioned, not really interested, and cursing himself that
Lana was already getting fired up about something else.
“Yes!”
The eyes focused on him, before narrowing in a catty manner he knew
all too well.
“I
was taken in about fifteen minutes late all because some dumb ass
stylist—not the one who touched my hair thankfully—made the
bleaching solution for this woman's hair too strong and it burnt it
all off down to the damn roots. Oh, you should have seen her
Booby...” Lana laughed spitefully and Taryll cringed at the
alteration of his pet name.
Boo
Bear was bad enough, Booby was worse!
“As
it weren't bad enough she was now bald as a cue ball, not to mention
crying her eyes out, why...she looked just like a hog.
All fat and disgusting and sloppy. I mean, hello, it's a salon
with stylists, not a chapel with miracle workers. But some women just
don't care I suppose...”
Another
stick was consumed and Lana tittered,
“I
don't know what she was going for , but that straight platinum she
was trying for would have done her no favors. It was all wrong for
her coloring. I know I dye my hair crazy all the time, but I bet you
every color I pick is flattering to me...”
Picking
up a stick she pushed it to his firmly pressed lips.
“You're
not eating, Honey. I know you like the sticks too! Have one.”
Against
his will, as his appetite had since faded, Taryll allowed the stick
into his mouth chewing on it and only barely noticing the saltiness
of it.
“...besides,
I know how to eat in moderation. I don't shovel in everything all the
time. I never once heard of a person dropping dead from skipping a
meal here or there to keep their figure. You saw me, I had a few sips
of coffee for breakfast, and lunch now should hold me the rest of the
evening. That's how I stay a perfect size two--”
She
was interrupted by the waiter returning, a steaming platter on his
hand.
“Shrimp
Alfredo for the lady, and Lasagna for the gentleman, enjoy!”
He
announced gleefully, setting the plates before them.
While
Lana dug right into her plate, chewing daintily and continuing to
dominate the conversation, blasting the damage-haired woman whom had
dared to push her own appointment back, Taryll's gaze was downcast on
his plate, with him pushing a chunk of sausage around rather than
eating it.
He
had to talk to her, let her know how he felt. Had to make her see
things his way before it were too late. It was already getting to be
too late.
“And
then that stupid, horrid creature of a shampoo girl almost ruined the
make up it took me almost an hour to put on, letting the damn suds
run down my forehead--”
His
mind raced, his blood pulsed as he tried to figure the best way to
breach the topic with her, and in a fit of pure adrenaline that
overrode his best intentions, Taryll blurted,
“How
did you manage to spend thirteen hundred dollars at Sephora
last month?”
The
fork, which had been twirling, picking up another helping of linguine
and cream sauce came to a halt.
Slowly
the dark eyes came up and peered at him a long moment, with her
stating matter-of-factly,
“Cosmetics.”
The
fork poked into her mouth.
Tearing
his eyes from her, Taryll looked at the lit screen of his phone,
begging,
“I
know that! I know Sephora sells makeup! What I want to know is why
did you spend sixty-seven dollars on a foundation? Twenty-five
on eyeliner? Thirty-two on lipstick, and you bought eight
lipsticks at that price each! Forty for eyebrow pomade—what in
the hell is eyebrow pomade? And eyeshadow palettes--”
“And
I suppose you just want me to look like shit all of the time, Taryll
Adren?”
Hazel
eyes came up in confusion.
“What?”
“I
do all this making up and maintaining and watching my figure and
everything else for YOU!”
The
fork was thrown down with a clatter and for a moment, Taryll wanted
to take cover beneath the table.
He'd
done it now.
“Excuse
the hell out of me for wanting to look good for you, Taryll.”
Her tone went acidic, arms crossing over her chest. “This all
does take time and effort. The hair and makeup, the watching what I
eat, the putting together outfits to charm YOU. What the hell would
you prefer, a fat, sloppy bitch who did nothing but eat and wear
sweatpants all day!”
“No...I
want you...” Taryll started weakly, staring past her rather than at
her.
“Well,
then!” With a haughty toss of her head, Lana reached for her
fork, and Taryll's lips parted with him mumbling under his breath, or
so he thought,
But
it shouldn't have to cost an arm and a fucking leg to look
presentable...”
This
time the fork went airborne and hit him smack in the chest.
“You
want to ride my ass about makeup, fine, lets talk about makeup then.”
Lana's
eyes blazed in her head and her mouth became an imperceptible pink
line on her face.
“I'm
fair, incredibly fair, as you can tell. I don't tan, if I lie out in
the sun I'll burn and fucking blister and I'm allergic to whatever's
in the sunless spray tan, so I'm stuck pale as Casper the ghost! Not
to mention my skin is inherently sensitive anyway. It always has
been. I can't put just any damn type of makeup on or I'll break out,
get a rash or worse. And sometimes even the lightest option with a
certain line isn't light enough for me. We can't all be golden
bronze like you--”
“You
know hell well I'm Black and Latin! I'm nowhere near European like
you!” Taryll snipped back, his fork being placed on his plate.
“I wasn't able to choose my lineage, and neither were you!”
“What
I'm saying is...” Lana's voice went up a decibel, and her
arched, filled brows, raised with it,
“It
takes special consideration and effort to make myself look the way I
do. Sure some other girl with a different skin type might be able to
get away with cheaper cosmetics, but I cannot.”
Did
she always have to be so damn condescending when addressing him?
Wasn't
he older than her?
“It's
not just the makeup Lana. It's not just that...”
Somewhere
deep inside of himself, Taryll found the will the continue pressing
forward. This was a conversation well and long overdue. Perhaps they
were in the wrong setting for such an altercation but he couldn't
stop now.
“What
is it then?” She was munching on another cheese stick, but her gaze
remained scathing, teeny nostrils flaring.
“It's...it's...”
Taryll faltered, scowling as blood surged through him renewed,
“It's
everything, Lana!”
He
declared, chest heaving his breaths quickened beneath the grey cotton
of his tee, matching her dress.
“You
overspend on everything! No matter how I ask, how I beg, how I
plead. You over spend on clothes, and shoes, your hair, even the
groceries you buy. Yes, I know organic is best but we can cook just
as well with a three dollar carton of farm-raised eggs as we can with
the twelve dollar, free range organic eggs. I've eaten farm-raised
food all my life and I'm fine and dandy! You do too much all the
time. You moved in with me, into MY house. You spent a year
bitching and moaning about wanting to buy a new, larger home...”
Taryll
had found both his groove and his tongue and was unleashing the hell
that had been under his skin for years.
“Why?
I don't know! It's just the two of us living together. We had a
goldfish, but he went belly up years ago! We don't have children and
I know we won't have them the way you keep birth control and Plan B
in the bathroom all the time--”
The
pink mouth started to open and a finger wagged at her,
“Don't
mention a condom to me. You know I'm allergic to latex and sheepskin!
Used that the first time we ever did 'the nasty' and I broke out in
hives and had to take so many antihistamines I thought I was Mr.
Peanut for a two days!”
“I
couldn't help it if you were allergic!” Lana simpered, tilting her
drink to her mouth and in return, Taryll downed his in a single gulp.
“I
went along, I let you turn the house into a show place. But for every
antique you went and grabbed, you could have just as easily gone to
Ikea, given me a wrench and let me assemble the furniture! And for
what, I don't know! You're an introvert, you don't like to be
sociable--”
The
white face was turning crimson.
“I
was raised very sheltered, you know that--” Lana grumbled, bottom
lip poking out as she pouted.
“And
that has been to your detriment.” Taryll responded coolly,
eyes flashing.
“You
don't like to mix. You don't like to be around other people. You only
do it when you have to. You don't even like to be around my family.
And you know we're always getting together for birthdays, holidays,
barbecues, paintball, game nights! That's what we do! Lana...”
Taryll
inhaled deeply, chest puffing as he finally arrived at the meat of
the whole argument.
“Lana
in the last four years, I've given and given and given...I saw you
alone at the hospital, held you in my arms when your grandfather
died. Brought you into my life after the funeral. Hell, I even went
to Russia and ate borscht for you! For four years, I've done and
given you everything you could possibly want. The house, the clothes,
everything to try to make you happy. But Lana...”
His
voice broke as he stared at the ceiling overhead, trying to will away
the tears starting to brim in his eyes.
“Lana...what
about me? What about me? All the worrying I do trying to make
ends meet? You go out to buy sweaters and come home with a mink coat.
Always go above and beyond our means. I'm not a poor man, far from
it, and I do want to provide for you as a man should, but there has
to be some kind of boundaries observed--”
“Nag,
nag nag!” Lana exploded suddenly, and stood up so swiftly, the
entire table was thrown into Taryll's guts, winding him.
“Don't
do this, don't buy this, get something cheaper. Cheaper, cheaper,
cheaper!”
A
sharp nail poked him in his chest as her voice raised, garnering the
attention of other patrons.
“All
you do is cry cheaper, Taryll! What do you think I am? A cheap woman?
Is that why all you want me to have is cheap things? Why can't I buy
what I want. You know my trust gets turned over to me in a few
months--”
It
was Taryll's turn to stand and in her heels the pair met eye to eye.
“A
hell of a lot of good that trust will do.” His voiced dropped
several octaves, his eyes narrowing. “With the way you're going you
might as well just sign the whole damn shebang over to the fucking
bill collectors!”
The
head tossed flagrantly,
“I
don't see why in the hell I have to tone myself down to appease you!
My grandfather--”
“--is
blowing in the wind around Moscow!”
Taryll
finally broke and shouted directly into her face, and she staggered,
taken aback, eyes consuming her face, stricken.
“He's
dead! Gone! Cremated, ashes scattered in Russia! Been dead for four
years Lana! I'm not your grandfather! I'm not Enrick Romanoff! Never
have been, never will be. I'm Taryll Jackson! I'm not a big fancy
tycoon! I sale modest cottages for a living with my brothers and my
father! I'm not trying to be someone I'm not. I' not hiding behind
big name labels and fancy haircuts and other crap, like you do! I'm
standing here in a tee and jeans I got at Target and sneakers from
Footlocker. And I'm not any less of a man because of it, Lana!”
Hands
wrapped a wasp-thin waist and Lana sneered at him.
“Funny
you mention your clothes Taryll.” She scoffed devilishly,
“When
right now there's a closet full of Armani, Ralph Lauren, Perry Ellis,
Calvin Klein...all kinds of name brand suits, and ties and silk
shirts and pocket squares and wingtip shoes--”
“Here
we go—I'm a realtor!” Taryll cried, his hands balling into
fists at his sides and quivering. “Of course I have to wear a suit
when I'm showing and selling a house! It calls for it! Who in their
rabbit ass mind would wear jeans and sneakers? It's a prerequisite! I
fucking work! I don't sit and wait around for the money left to
me to kick in! I MAKE MY OWN!”
Her
hand was in his front left pocket digging around.
“What
the hell--”
She
came up with his key ring, the crystal guitar charm twinkling.
“Since
you're good at making your own way, Taryll Jackson...” Lana stated,
balling the keys into her hand “...have fun finding your own
way home!”
“Lana!”
Taryll exclaimed in dismay, as the multicolored head began moving
away from him, with her making a hasty retreat.
He
waved to the waiter, indicating the lunch be placed on his tab, as
always, and Taryll was racing after her.
“LANA!”
Lana
was several yards ahead of him already, crossing the lot, and
Taryll's pace quickened further when he heard the distinctive
boop-boop of the key-less entry chirping.
“Lana!
Shit! Lana! Lana! LANA DACIA!”
It
was his turn to call both her first and middle names.
“Leave
me alone, Taryll!” She shouted back , the sleek, pearl white
Mercedes GL450 SUV that Taryll had gifted himself for his fortieth
birthday coming into view, it's tail lights on.
“You
can't take my fucking car! It's MY car!”
Seeing
she intended to roll away with the fifty-thousand dollar treasure
he'd been saving up for, long before he had ever heard the name “Lana
Romanoff” a burst of energy propelled Taryll forward and just as a
manicured hand was laid on the door handle, the back of her dress was
clutched in a fist.
“Give
me my keys!” He demanded pulling her back.
“No!”
Lana was defiant and trying to pull away.
“Give
me my goddamn keys, Lana!”
He
ducked, narrowly avoiding getting his eyes clawed out as Lana reared,
her hand swiping at him.
“I
won't either!”
The
two continued to grapple for some time and Taryll, though angry,
knowing he couldn't physically put his hands on a woman, even if she
were being the very essence of the word 'bitch', incurred a few
wounds, between having his hair pulled, a stinging slap to his jaw
and a punch to his left shoulder.
Dodging
a punch aimed at his stocky gut, Taryll's common sense waned and he
clutched the back of Lana's neck so hard, he could feel the
vertebrae.
“Last
time, Lana...” He warned bringing his face, turning purple as
he fought to restrain his emotions,
“GIVE
ME MY MOTHERFUCKING KEYS—NOW!”
Lana,
probably for the first time in her entire twenty-four years of having
her way, stared at Taryll with new eyes, huge as saucers, glassy,
dazed.
The
first time she had ever been challenged and certainly the first time
Taryll had taken to raising his voice above his normal soft-spoken
tone at her.
His
free hand was extended to her and the keys were dropped into his palm
with a tinkle.
Hazel
eyes fired up to pure green as he looked her over, giving her a mild
shove away,
“Get
in...we're going home and finish this conversation. Tired of being
clowned in front of God and everybody.”
Lana
was shoved, rather roughly towards the rear of the vehicle,
indicating she round it and get in on the passenger side.
Lana
lingered, hand to the cross dangling near her belly button, Taryll
slipping in behind the steering wheel.
There
was a dull clank, and though he was hidden by heavily tinted windows,
Lana knew he had leaned and pushed the passenger door open for her.
Even
when they argued, he treated her with respect.
Slowly,
as the engine purred to life, she tentatively picked her way around
and got in.
Taryll
sat, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Out
of habit, Lana reached over and switched the radio on.
“...Girls
hit your Hallelujah—woo! Girls hit your Hallelujah—woo!...”
Taryll
switched it back off, and in the silence, his heavy breathing was
audible.
After
a long, tense interval, he spoke, haltingly,
“I'm...I'm
sorry I grabbed you, Lana. I...didn't mean to put my hands on you
like that. I'm not supposed to put my hands on a woman. I've been
taught better than that...”
Looking
down at her hands wringing in her lap, Lana, sighed and nodded,
“I
know I got on your nerves--”
“Still,
that's no excuse and I apologize for doing that. It won't happen
again.”
He
vowed, glancing up into the rear view mirror and began easing the car
out of it's spot.
“It's
just...Lana...” One hand was caressing her knee. “You...you never
listen to me. You else ignore me or do like you did now, started
hollering at me. Making a fool of me in public. Everyone in Antoine's
was looking at us, me especially, like we were crazy. When we get
into it like this, there's a breakdown of communication and I'm sick
of it. At first when you lashed out and shut down on me, I attributed
it you grieving for your grandfather. But it's been four years. Not
trying to tell you how to grieve, but don't take it out on me. I'm
your boyfriend. I love you. But you don't respect me, Lana.”
“I
do--”
“Absolutely
not!” Taryll cut her off, the car easing across the pavement
towards the road. “ I have a certain income. I have a certain
budget. It's there for a reason. I don't do it to torment you, or be
cruel to you. Now I know you'll reimburse me when your trust comes
through, but until then it won't kill you to learn how to live like a
normal person. Your name maybe Romanoff, however you want to spell
it, but you are not Anastasia. You're not Imperial Royalty. You're
Lana, Taryll's girlfriend. You live in a one-story bungalow in
Sparta, not a castle in St. Petersburg. I'm not some prince or king
or duke, I sell houses for a living and if I'm lucky, we keep a roof
over our head, food in our bellies and dinner and a movie once or
twice a week and a vacation in the summer somewhere reasonable.”
“I...I
know that Taryll--”
“Stop
taking advantage of me.”
Though
Lana didn't meet his gaze, she could feel it on her as he came to a
stop at the street, waiting for an opening to merge with traffic.
“It's
not right. I've let it go on for far too long. I tell you 'spend five
hundred' and then the bill comes in at five times that. This is a
relationship. You're twenty-four-years-old. You're not a child. I'm
your man, not your babysitter. You should be able to grasp and
comprehend the things I ask of you.”
His
hand moved up slightly from her knee, squeezing at her thigh.
“Now,
if I were a lesser sort of man, I'd have likely left you destitute or
put my hands on you in a cowardly way, worse than clutching you by
the neck.”
“I
know.”
“But
you can't continue treating me this way. You can't keep getting so
hot and fired and aggressive with me. I know you're like that, that's
just how you are, but I'm sure you can control it better than you
have!”
The
small white hand was gripping his larger, golden one.
He
started to merge with the congested traffic flying by on the road..
Smiling
up at him, a genuine smile, not a put on effort as fake as her color,
Lana vowed,
“I
do love you, Taryll. I'll try hard--”
BAM!
All
went black for what seemed like a second, but when Lana came to, and
for a split second she wondered if she had all but imagined that
powerful, bone crunching jolt.
And
that's then the pain hit her, seemingly all over her body at once.
Her
eyes fluttered and then snapped open.
Smoke
and dust swirled around her, a steady pinging noise reaching her
ears.
She
was draped across a deployed airbag.
“Oh
my God!” She whimpered, panic gripping her all over as she
took in the cracked windshield, the folded in dashboard, and the hood
crumpled like a sheet of paper.
That's
when she realized something horrifying—she couldn't see Taryll.
“Taryll!
Taryll! Oh Taryll, speak to me! Taryll! Please! Taryll! Are you
alright! Say something, speak to me.” She cried, fighting
against the bag, trying to get loose.
She
had to find him, touch him, ensure he was alright. This was a
nightmare!
“TARYLL!”
Squinting
through the mess, and despite the numerous scratches, cuts and
contusions dotting her arms, she was doing her very best to beat away
the airbag to try to reach her boyfriend, growing more and more
frantic with each passing second.
“Taryll,
please...please be okay! Taryll!”
A
cool wind blew on her and shrilly she heard her own name:
“LANA!”
Strong
hands were under her arms, pulling her from the smashed in vehicle
and as the bright late evening sun blinded her, she saw a familiar
face peering at her with the utmost concern.
Instantly
tears flowed from her eyes and rushed down her gritty, grimy cheeks,
and she threw herself into the arms of the thickset, form looming
over her.
“It's
okay...you're okay. It's okay, Baby...” He repeated over and
over his hand slippign up and down her back.
“Oh
Taryll...” Lana leaned back and started to cup his face in her
hands.
“Oh
no, Taryll!” She gasped, and cried harder, as she took in his
face for the first time.
Aside
from a small gash on his forehead, oozing, the entire lower half of
his face, from his nose down, was darkening from red to black as
blood had flood over it now crusting, with more saturating the front
of his tee shirt.
He
was covered in bruises, his jeans torn along one leg, his thigh
peeking out with a hint of his checkered boxer briefs.
His
hair was all over his head, a soft breeze blowing it.
“It's
okay! It's worse than it looks. I just got bopped by the airbag—it's
okay. Don't cry Lana! I'm alright!” Taryll was hugging her
against him again.
Turning
from Taryll, Lana looked back at the Mercedes.
The
entire front in was crushed in, it was a miracle they'd even managed
to walk away from it.
A
few yards back, she saw a small red Fiat, it's front end also wrecked
with a wool-gathered looking woman pulling herself out through the
passenger side window, as other cars rubbernecked, while a few other
people from the shopping center came running to lend a hand.
“Are
you alright, Lady?”
“I
got my wife calling 911 right now!”
“That
was a hell of a wreck!”
“Mister,
your nose is bleeding!”
“Is
your nose broken, Sir?”
“You
need an ambulance, or the cops?”
“You
should be sitting down!”
“Are
you hurt bad?”
Ignoring
all of the talk swirling around her head and the curious, distressed
faces peering at her, a flaming surge of anger and heat flew through
her scant body and she was pulling away from Taryll, her eyes locked
on the woman, being helped towards the curb by a pair of fast food
workers.
She
was as a banged up and battered as Lana and Taryll, but as the thin
woman in the tattered grey dress took to sprinting, the unknown woman
in the shorts and bloody tee's woes were only beginning.
“Lana—Lana,
no!”
She
heard Taryll scream in the background, but paid it no heed.
Lana
would never actually recall reaching the woman on the curb.
The
only thing she knew was some time later, she was sitting on the
woman's chest, her fists flying n an unholy, unstoppable barrage,
pummeling everything they came into contact with, chiefly the other
woman's face.
“You
stupid bitch! Why don't you watch what in the hell you're doing! Look
what you did! Look what you did to me and my boyfriend and our car!
That's a fucking Mercedes you banged up! You got no business on the
fucking road. I hate you! I should kill you! Dumbass should have
fucking died! Look what you did to my boyfriend's face! If his nose
is broken I'll rip yours clean off your goddamn face, you slut!”
Oh,
the woman tried to fight back as best she could, getting in a couple
of good licks here and there but Lana, though smaller, was scrappy
and overpowered her in short order.
“Girl
fight!”
“Holy
shit, World Star!”
“Lana!
Lana stop, she's already hurt! Lana she's crying! Stop it please!”
“She
is kicking some serious ass!”
“I'm
sorry! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Help me!”
“Lana!
She's sorry! Shes saying she's sorry! Stop hitting her! The police
are coming!”
Fists
steadily flailing, Lana struggled, as Taryll wrapped his arms around
her middle, pulling her off the woman, and in one last insult to
injury, she removed one of her boots and flung it, the heel hitting
the woman square in the forehead.
“Fucking
bitch! Fuck you! Fuck you! I hope you die! Stupid bitch! Look at what
you caused! Whore! Your mother's a whore too—Put me down! Put me
down!”
“I'M
SORRY!” The woman wailed, trying to get up and falling back down
again.
“Lana!
You're going to get arrested if you don't stop—please!”
Taryll pleaded, wrestling with her.
“I
don't want you to go to jail! Stop it please!”
“Fuck
jail—get off me!” Lana was mashed into the pavement,
Taryll laying bodily on her back to restrain her.
“Calm
down! Calm down!” Taryll was whispering into her ear. “Calm
down ! Quit trying to beat her ass. Be thankful we're not hurt too
badly! We can get another car and clothes and things. My nose ain't
broken. Busted and hurt like all hell, but not broken. Stop
this!”
Reluctantly,
Lana's movements slowed, and eventually halted, as the mixed
screaming of ambulance and squad car sirens ripped through the air.
The
next couple of hours were something of a blur.
Lana,
Taryll and the other motorist were taken to the local hospital to be
assessed, and for the most part all escaped with only minor injuries.
A few scrapes cuts and bruises that over time would all heal on their
own.
In
the meantime, the police conferred with all three, looking to see if
charges were to be filed and who was at fault.
The
other motorist was indeed the culprit and had a citation written on
the spot after admitting she had been texting and driving.
Insurance
information was exchanged between Taryll and the motorist, while
Taryll sat on Lana to keep her from causing a second ruckus in the
middle of triage, her temper flaring once more as it seemed the very
sight of the battered woman whom had caused their troubles set her
off and sent her into a blind rage.
Somewhere
in the middle of the medical melee Taryll's brothers, Taj and TJ,
came rushing to see about them and once they found out their
brother's car was pretty much totaled, offered to drive him and Lana
back home.
And
now, sometime close to eleven at night, Lana sat on the couch in the
living room, her wounds scabbing over, Taryll to her left, sprawled
in his favorite armchair, his brothers standing on the opposite side
of the coffee table looking between them anxiously.
“Are...are
you sure you don't want us to stay here with you? I mean you both got
banged up pretty good...it's no problem, really!”
TJ
offered, politely, scratching at the black curls sticking up every
which way on top of his head, while Taj, shifting from one foot to
the next, kept fiddling with the brim of the Dodgers cap covering his
hair.
Staring
straight ahead Taryll's head shook in the negative.
“No...we're
okay. Nothing a glass of wine and a good nights sleep won't fix.
Thank you for bringing me and Lana home. The way the car was messed
up--”
“Don't
worry about it.” Taj interjected, placing a hand on his brother's
shoulder. “It was the least we could do. We're family. You know you
need us, we're here for you...”
Lana
noticed that as that line was spoken, both TJ's and Taj's eyes darted
at her for a fraction of a second.
They
knew how isolated she typically chose to be and it was more of an
unconscious reaction than something meant to actually hurt her
feelings.
“I
know...thank you.” Taryll remarked solemnly, blinking and glancing
at his siblings.
“I
don't think I can come to work tomorrow--”
“Don't
worry about that, man! We'll cover for you!” TJ exclaimed and
slapped Taj on the back, motioning to the door.
“You
need us, don't hesitate to call—you too, Lana.”
Lana's
head came up in surprise, and struck speechless she could only look
to him with wide eyes. She had never been particularly close to any
of the Jacksons outside of Taryll and as far as she knew the whole
lot of them loathed her and had been waiting out the day Taryll would
have broken up with her.
“We're
just thankful your injuries weren't any worse than what they are.
That's a blessing!” TJ half chuckled, rubbing at Taryll's shoulder.
“Complete smashup and you managed to walk away.”
“More
like limped...” Taryll joked, but his eyes, going a murky brown
registered the fact it wasn't lost on him how fortunate he, and Lana,
had been.
“We'll
come by and check on you guys tomorrow, okay?” A soft smile curled
Taj's lips as he and TJ sauntered across the hardwood to the door.
“Yeah...thanks
again, for everything! Love you!” Taryll winced, shifting in his
chair, as the door was opened and the men shuffled out, calling back,
“Love
you, too!”
The
door shut, and through the decorative lead glass on it, the pair
could see TJ and Taj lingering underneath the porch light, Taj
removing the phone from his sweatshirt and dialing on it.
The
word “Pops” was clearly made out, and it was obvious Taj was
calling and informing their father—out of town on business—on
Taryll's condition.
The
living room fell silent and for a moment the only sound to be heard
was that of Taryll breathing, his head turning from the door and his
eyes shutting tightly.
His
fingers clenched and unclenched against the tufted armrests, his
nails picking at the beige plaid upholstery.
Lana
observed him, her heart pounding, overtaking the sound of his breaths
and leaning forward slightly, she found she couldn't summon the
courage to address him.
So
much had gone wrong that day.
She
had done so much, said so much.
Argued
with Taryll, undermined him and in public too.
She
hadn't intended to shame him so conspicuously; it just happened.
She
got high-minded so often, almost more as pure reaction than with any
ounce of thought beforehand and the repercussions were always dire.
Lana
stared at Taryll, his battered, bruised and bloodied body.
His
shredded tattered clothing.
The
wreck, though caused by that flighty woman she'd laid fists into, and
one of her Ferragamo booties had been thrown at, had been her fault.
She
was the one whom had run out to the parking lot and slapped Taryll
around as she'd had the intent to take HIS car and leave him to bum a
ride home.
Home,
which was twenty-fives miles from the shopping center the next town
over.
If
she had never snatched his keys and run outside, they'd have never
been in the car at that moment...
Lana
had been so scared, so terrified in the moments following impact.
Unable
to see Taryll, feel him, find him in the carnage of twisted metal and
shattered glass.
And
the first thing he'd done was leap out of the car and run to her aid.
Pulled
her from the car. Held her as she had cried for him.
Taryll
Jackson had always been that way—concerned for her well-being, even
ahead of his own.
Wasn't
that how they met?
She
had been alone during arguably the very worst day of her life and
Taryll, like an angel on a beam of golden sunlight had appeared,
talking to her, keeping her company, and holding onto her when she
lost her beloved grandfather.
He
had been there for her, always.
If
only she could have said she returned the favor.
The
little color Lana possessed drained and faded from her cheeks,
leaving her with a pallid, ghostly cast in its wake, her deep eyes
swelling and widening at her realization.
She
HAD been a horrid girlfriend.
Taryll
had been nothing but kind to her put up with her, provided for her
until she could—and would—pay him back once she had access to her
trust.
He
had brought her into his life and loved her, unconditionally and she
had treated hm so abysmally.
Lana
didn't know if she wanted to cry, scream or vomit.
Perhaps
all three.
Slipping
from the couch, and down onto the shag carpet, she rested at his
feet, kneeling, staring up at the stoic, face, the eyes shut, the
soft even breaths.
Even
a mess as he was, Taryll Jackson was so handsome to her.
So
thick and dense of body and muscle, so very tan, his complexion
making the blonde in his curls and the gold and green of his eyes,
when opened, contrast and stand out all the more.
He
had always been.
“I...I
love you...”
Lana's
voice came out so hushed, so timid, so inaudible she doubted Taryll
had even heard her, as his face remained slack and gave no indication
of movement.
At
no immediate response, her head began to lower in utter defeat and
contempt.
“I
love you, too.”
Slowly,
Lana's head came up and she was met with a weary, grim face staring
back at her.
“You
do?” Her amazement could scarcely be hidden and he gave a nod.
“Of
course I love you, Lana. You're my girlfriend. We've been together
for four years. It's just...just....”
He
trailed off and his forehead crinkled, with him visibly doing his
very best to phrase himself correctly, lest he be on the tail-end of
an explosion, so volatile was she.
Head
falling again and staring at the mixed shades of beige, camel and
tawny threads of the floor covering, seething with remorse, Lana
completed Taryll's thought for him:
“It's
just my attitude ruins everything.”
Taryll's
features smoothed and his voice softened further than it's typical
tenor tone, with him inquiring,
“If
you're aware that your attitude is the issue, then why don't you
change it?”
“I...I
don't know...” She finally conclude, bereft, her slim shoulders
sagging all the more. “I've...just always been this way, even as a
child. 'Quick-tempered and Ornery' my grandfather called
it...there just never seemed to be a cause for it, not before I met
you.”
“You're
not a child anymore, Lana, you're twenty-four-years-old.”
Long
lashes fluttered and her eyes returned to the set, concerned face of
her lover.
“I...I
still don't understand sometimes how you want me, want to be with me,
want to love me. With the way I am, Taryll. I...I know I'm cold and
reserved and held back. You're so open and warm and outgoing. I don't
know what you ever saw in me.” She whimpered, her hands trembling
in her lap.
The
realization of her actions weighed on her like the steel anchor on an
ocean liner.
“I
saw a woman who was alone and in need of a friend and I wanted to be
your friend...and well...”
Taryll
sighed, his eyes going upwards to the beamed, vaulted ceiling.
“...then
I wanted to be more than friends. And here we are now.”
He
shifted, wincing a second time, adding,
“You
are beautiful, Lana...and sweet and kind, when you want to be.
But those instances are few and far between. So few and far between.
In general you have a stand-offish way about you, I'd like to see go
away...I...I want you to be sweet more often, if possible.”
“I'll...I'll
try...” Lana swore nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. “I
want to make right--”
“Just
act right, please. Stop treating people, especially me, like
they're beneath you. Manage your temper. I had to physically sit on
you to keep you from killing that woman...”
He
sighed loudly and his eyes shut against her.
“I'm
sorry, Taryll” She repeated in a stressed whisper.
“Hmmm...”
He mumbled, saying no more.
Lana
was still a moment, mind racing, trying to figure what to do, how to
make it up to Taryll, show him she did care.
Her
eyes fell on the gash in the leg of his jeans and dotted dermis of
his exposed thigh the purplish-black bruises contrasting so heavily
again his lighter, bronzy flesh.
Hand
absently touching after the scab on his forehead, Taryll whispered
something, more to himself than to her, about needing ibuprofen.
Rising
from her place on the floor, Lana retreated to the private bath of
the bedroom they shared, grabbing the bottle of painkillers from the
medicine cabinet, along with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge
in the room. (Taryll never did like to wander in the dark at night
for a drink and had remedied the problem)
In
the hall, she threw back three herself, returning to Taryll.
“Boo
Bear.”
At
the sound of his pet name, his eyes opened, and she held out the
bottle.
“...thank
you...”
Five
pills, more than the recommended dose went down, and Lana started to
nag him, but curtailed herself in time.
It
was the nagging and going that had led them to this predicament to
start with.
Resigning
to her spot at his feet, Lana watched him shut his eyes, groaning,
jaw muscles clenching.
He
was doing the manly thing, but she knew he was likely in more pain
than her as he had been the driver and taking the brunt of the
collision.
And
even then, his first concern hadn't been for himself, but her.
The
iciness that encapsulated her heart was starting to melt...
Before
she could control herself, Lana was already in motion, her head over
the hole in his trousers, plump lips pursed and pecking at the
wounded flesh, causing Taryll's eyes to open and he stared at her in
wonder as she fell back onto her heels, untying his shoes, removing
them, along with the socks, his feet being kissed along the way.
She
was kissing his feet like a pauper worshipping a king...
Light
eyes shut and tightening, his forehead wrinkling along with the
bridge of his nose, deft hands undoing his jeans, opening the fly.
A
cool draft lit across his groin as his underwear was moved to the
left, his lengthy, yet still limp manhood carefully pulled out and
placed over his thigh, a tuft of black coils sprouting at the base of
it.
She...she
was stuffing him into her mouth.
“Mmmm...!”
Despite
all of his wounds and the stiffness resulting from the wreck that
massacred his car, Taryll's back arched, the warmness of her mouth so
inviting, so wonderfully inviting, as steadying herself, she rested
her hands on strong thighs.
“God!”
The
head began to slip up and down on him, sucking deeply, encouraging
hardness rapidly and unapologetically.
And
just as quickly, it came to Taryll how such an action could undo him
right away—it had never failed in the past—with him being taken
from zero to creamy far too quickly.
“Lana!
Lana—whoa, hey! Lana!”
A
large hand hovered above the multicolored head of his lover, still
briskly rising and falling over his crotch, going after his one-eyed
anaconda with reckless abandon.,
“Lana!
Lana, baby! Baby—please!” He pleaded, his hand finally
reaching the top of her head and gently trying to nudge her off of
him.
“Lana,
cool it! Wait a minute! Don't—don't stop...”
He murmured, ecstasy over this lewd deed taking hold and overriding
his moral sanity, briefly.
“No....no....no...girl...
Lana!” He palmed the top of her head a couple of times in vain.
“Don't....don't
do this to me now. I'm all banged up and stinky and nasty...you...you
can't do this to me now. We had a wreck for crying out loud!”
Pulling
back just far enough to where the bulbous, mushroom tip popped from
her lips, Lana informed him, voice heavy as she spoke into his
crotch,
“This
whole time, the tub has been on and bubbling...waiting for you....Boo
Bear....”
“Oh?”
Arched
brows rose in surprise and hazel eyes became emerald with Lana rising
to her feet, kicking her spare boot off and extending a hand to him.
“The
water's nice and hot...just how you like it...” She nearly
purred as with great effort, Taryll allowed himself to be pulled to
his feet.
Between
his thighs, the hardened girth of him saluted Lana, his engorged,
rounded tip seeking out the Heavens.
He
never did bother to put himself back into his trousers.
They
wouldn't be on much longer anyway.
Slowly,
stiffly, the couple moved from the living room, out into the hall and
down to the still open door to the bedroom, where the satin covers on
the canopied bed, dressed in exquisite shades of deep, rich malachite
and burnished gold, turned back, awaiting their return.
The
two proceed through and into the bath, where the lights had been
purposefully dimmed, casting shadows here and yonder around the room,
in some places, turning the green marble to black.
In
the center of the room the massive Jacuzzi tub, built to fit at least
a dozen but only used by the two, chugged and churned, steam rising
from it.
Smooching
his dusted cheek, Lana winked at him before crossing the room to the
linen closet, Taryll watching her go, sucking in his bottom lip in
anticipation.
A
moment later, she exited the closet, her dress shed, her fair, yet
speckled body bearing only the sheerest and scantest of plum lace
lingerie, leaving nothing to the imagination.
The
fabric was so diaphanous, her every delicate feature, from the small,
yet perky globes of her bosom, to the teeny crevice at the base of
her torso, were quite visible to the naked eye.
In
one hand she carried a white orb, the size of a baseball and as she
got back to him, it was pitched into the water, fizzing loudly and
unleashing a the scent of vanilla so ferociously, Taryll was as high
as if he'd drank a magnum of champagne.
“So...”
He chuckled, head tilting to the side, and for the moment, their
troubles were a vague memory on the horizon of his mind.
“We're
going to take a bath?”
Lana's
smaller form was pressed to his larger one, her lips touching the
cleft in his chin.
“Yes....”
The
word was hissed...was she part snake?
Her
hands were on the hem of Taryll's bloody tee, and quickly it had been
pulled off and cast aside, revealing his plump upper body, his little
Buddha belly, the graceful pectorals, of which, had somehow escaped
being bruised and remained untouched, delightfully bronze.
Small
kisses were delivered along broad shoulders, across his chest,
starting to rise and fall at a quicker pace his nerves getting to
him, Lana dropping to her knees in front of him, his jeans falling to
his ankles.
It
wasn't missed on him that a kiss was bestowed onto his hairy scrotum
in the process, Taryll silent but staring down on her intently, his
pain forgotten, the only throbbing paid any mind was that in his
loins.
With
a final tug, the boxer briefs were discarded and Taryll stood, naked
as the day he'd been born.
The
generous, substantial hips, the long legs, dense and heavy with
muscles as his pastimes, other than sparring with his lover, involved
a range of sports from baseball, to soccer to field hockey.
Lana
was on her her feet once more, hugging his warm, malleable body, her
hands drifting over the flesh of his back and fingers clutching at
and greedily digging into his ample backside, so hard the burly
cheeks themselves were lifted off the backs of his thighs.
At
the same time, Taryll kept himself busy, doing the devil's work,
firstly unhooking the scrap of a brassiere with one snap fell away
from the full little tits, his hand on her back pulling her closer to
him, the mounds mashing into his chest, his face nuzzling against her
neck.
Scorching
lips licking and smacking on her shoulder and at her prominent
collarbones.
Her
nails raked through his curls, her panties dropping as his mouth
sought out hers, overwhelming it, Taryll chewing on her bottom lip.
Argument?
What argument?
What
was that?
The
word had dissolved from their lexicon, entirely.
Untangling
from him, Lana stepped aside, allowing Taryll to enter the tub first,
with him humming as the hot water met his sore dermis.
He
waded out to the back end of the tub, slowly sinking down into the
shoulder deep water.
“Aaaah!”
He sneered, lips curling. “Feels so good...after the day I've
had...”
Relaxing,
Taryll's head tilted against the tiles of the wall behind him and for
a second he stretched out, sinking below the surface of the bubbling
surface, popping back up, his curls wet and plastering his forehead.
Resuming
his position, he was oblivious to Lana's entering the tub with him,
sidling up to him.
“Do
you feel better, Boo Bear?” She wondered and the head bobbed
affirmatively.
“Yes,
Baby...”
“Are
you still mad at me?
His
brows rose but his eyes stayed closed.
“I
was never mad at you, Lana, just frustrated.” He informed her as
she snuggled up against him kissing after his neck, arms wrapping his
middle.
Smoothing
his damp tresses back, Lana ran her tongue along his chiseled
jawline, questioning,
“Can
I make it up to you?”
He
focused on her and his teeth shown white as her skin.
“I
kind of figured that was you plan, getting me in this tub that smells
like a Krispy Kreme donut.” He chuckled, his hand on her neck,
bringing her mouth to his.
As
their tongues flicked and played against one another's Lana's hands
found that juicy cock and underwater began pumping after him.
“Mmmm!
Mmmm! Mmmm! Lana!” Taryll hummed, her lips leaving his, sucking
and gnawing over his shoulder and down to where his body met the
water, enjoying the sensation of being played with instead of just
being played.
“Taryll
Adren?” She was in his hair again, the water darkening the wheat
and ash blonde in his locks so becomingly.
“What?”
The
raking of his hair slipped down with her starting to massage his
temples.
“Why--”
“I
love when you do that.” Taryll interrupted, his hands massaging her
in return, much lower, as he squeezed after her boobs.
“Why...”
She paused to take his hand and kiss the knuckles, “...why do you
have a big dick?”
“Ha!
Hahaha! Oh God—hahahaha!” At the inquiry Taryll couldn't help
but roar.
“Why
do I have a big dick?” He echoed staring into the smiling face of
his girlfriend. “Why do you think, Sugar?”
Thin
brows went up and the dimple in her left cheek, just below a bruise,
deepened, as she replied saucily,
“All
the better to fuck me with!”
There
was no need for an invitation, the mischievous glint to his eyes said
it all.
Lana
went to straddle Taryll and feeling his hands on her hips to guide
her, stopped him.
“Don't...”
She warned, lips flush to the opening of his ear, “...let me do all
the work.”
“Well
, shit!”
The
hazel eyes widened and danced as Lana resumed, stretching herself
over him, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, the other
guiding him to the place where two became one.
“UGH!”
It
was impossible not to cry out whenever Taryll slipped into her.
He
was so long, so wide so hard, forcing her to stretch in ways to
accommodate him, ways she had never experienced with previous lovers.
“Oh
yeah.” Taryll moaned, Lana easing him into the furthest depth
of herself, until she rested atop him.
“Yeah,
you like that.... you know you like that... that's why you're on
it...”
He
taunted lustily, Lana resting her head on his shoulder embracing him
and feeling his arms circling her.
“Come
on girl....”
Slowly,
at first, Lana commenced rocking her hips against his, trying to find
the rhythm between them,
“Ugh....um...oh...oh...oh...Taryll....oh...”
She groaned into his trunk of a neck, his hands running the length of
her spine, with every movement she made.
Though
she and Taryll had savored each other's bodies more times than she
could count in the last four years, it never failed to amaze her,
one—how big he was and two—how she managed to fit him all inside
of her.
With
the proper rhythm established, her rocking increased.
“Yes...yes....yes.....
fuck me...fuck me... oh girl....oh yes...”
Taryll
intoned head falling on the marble, hands sinking below the water and
clasping down on her small, smooth cheeks helping her along.
“Don't
rock....don't rock!” He snorted, Lana pulling herself upright
on him, lips meeting his hotly.
“Bounce
on me. Bounce on my dick! Oh, Lord! Ah! Ah! That's it! Ah! Ah! Fuck!
Yes!”
For
leverage, Lana gripped onto the tiled sides of the tub on ether side
of Taryll throwing herself up and down on him.
“Yes
Baby! That's it! Yes Baby! Yes Lana! Shit! That's the spot! Get it
girl! Yes! Ah! AH! AH!AH!”
Taryll
cried into the breasts quivering in his face, his mouth opened and
closing down on a nipple tongue swirling around the areola.
“Ugh!
Ugh! Ugh! Taryll! Ugh...Tar...ugh! Ugh!”
Lana
threw her head back, Taryll's arms crushing her as he pushed his face
harder and harder into her chest.
“Motherfucker!”
He snarled, arching against the jets, and found Lana's hands
clutching his wrists, bending his arms back and against the wall.
“You're
working me girl! You're working me!” He huffed, breaths
becoming more and more labored with each passing second.
Lana
was suddenly gripping his shoulders.
“Taryll!
Taryll—oh! OH!”
She
had to get away from him.
Had
to get off of him, before it was too late--
“Yes—hey!”
Taryll
cried, his shoulders being pressed with Lana starting to stand.
“NO,
what the hell!”
He
was crushing her wrist pulling her back down into the water.
“Don't
leave me now. It was feeling just right...”
A
small scowl crossed his features as Lana tried to jerk away, this
time being less successful than she had been in Antoine's.
“If...if
I keep on...” Her cheeks glowed with a touch of embarrassment
as she couldn't bring herself to tell him she had been too alarmingly
close to her peak.
“I
know...” His eyes shone green in his tanned, angular face.
“That's what I want.”
With
a single tug, Lana was pulled back down into the water.
“You
want to run everything. This is a relationship, not a dictatorship.
My turn.”
Lana
was then pushed towards the other side of the tub, with such force, ,
she draped over the edge, water spilling out and wetting the floor.
So
quickly, she couldn't even regain her bearings, Lana was aware of an
added weight on her back.
Taryll.
“You
started it...” He grunted ominously,his arms going around her
shoulders.
“Taryll—Taryll
wait—ah!” Lana exclaimed feeling that hunk of meat, spreading
her to inconceivable proportions again.
“...and
I'm going to finish it.”
“Oh
God!” Lana's head droop, as his full potential was realized
inside of her, pushing her to her limits.
“Oooooh....Oooooh....Oooooh.....”
He
was moaning in her ear, the water around them sloshing, his turn to
nestle the soft, sogginess of his pubis against her backside.
“TARYLL!”
Lana screamed, without precedent, as Taryll began ramming into her
each strike hitting a hole in one.
“TARYLL!
AW! AW! AW! AW! UGH! AW! AH! AH! AH!”
“That's
what I like to hear.... you saying my name! Burns me up! Fuuuuuuuck!”
He remarked through grit teeth, unseen to her, his face was growing
scarlet, and balling up from his exertion as he continued to pound
away at her.
His
arms once around her shoulders, eventually worked their way up until
he was effectively holding her in something of a choke hold...
...and
in such a compromising position Taryll finally had the upper hand,
and utilized it to his benefit.
“You're
gonna stop taking advantage of me? I'm nice, not fucking stupid! You
gonna stop?”
He
beseeched her, watching the tousled waves flopping with each thrust
of his powerful hips.
“Ow!
Ow! Baby! Ow! Yes! Yes! Taryll! Baby! Boo Bear--” Lana was
choking, with him weighing her down further, until the side of the
tub threatened to make her sternum collapse.
“I'm
the man! Who's in charge? Who's in charge?”
“YOU!
Taryll! Please! Fuck! Damn! Stop, please!”
“You
gonna be nicer to everyone, especially me?”
“Yes!
Boo Bear! Taryll, oh Christ!”
“You
gonna be friendlier to my family, my brothers included?”
“YES—Taryll!
Ah! Ah! Ah!”
“You
gonna—SHIT I'M GONNA POP—you gonna do the things I ask
you? And stop being so goddamned aggressive?”
“Yes,
Baby! ANYTHING FOR YOU! I'm sorry! Taryll! Stop! OH MY GOD!”
Lana's
arms came out from the water and she stretched, clawing at air in a
frantic attempt to get away from him.
“I'm
gonna come! Taryll--” Lana stopped mid-sentence, her mouth
dropping open in a silent scream, eyes shutting, face going as purple
as the streaks in her hair.
Under
him her body went limp as she surrendered to him, in more ways than
one, with a weak squeak in her native tongue.
She
hung over the edge, her hair physically moving, Taryll breathing so
hard on the back of her head.
At
that point Taryll wasn't sure if he was more turned on by his lover's
little lithe body or the fact she had agreed to be more pleasant to
him.
Did
he even give a damn?
“AHHHH!
AAAAAAAHHHH! SO GOOD TO ME!!! AAAAAHHHH! LANA!”
Taryll
screamed, partially lifting up off of her, holding onto the sides of
the tub so hard his knuckles popped.
“Ugh....ah!
I'm gonna...gonna...POP. It's coming—here it
is....Shit...”
His
tone fell considerably and Lana could feel the soft, hot splashes of
his affection deep inside of her.
“Oh...aha!
Oh...I love you, Baby.....”
His
kisses covered the back of her neck, with him asking, as he withdrew
himself from her, hand fiddling between her thighs, with her jerking
at his touching her so very raw, sensitives regions.
“You
gonna do what I asked, or were just hollering yes, because my cock
was so far in you it was about to come out your nose? “
“I...I
meant it...” Lana gasped, damp hands pulling her hair back so
Taryll could peer into her face.
“I
really do—honestly Taryll...”
Turning
she faced him and threw her arms around his throat.
“I
love you too much. I already caused too much trouble today... and I
won't do it again. I swear.”
A
grin of relief took over Taryll's wet visage and he whispered, his
nose bumping hers,
“Kiss
on it.”
“Gladly!”
Hugging
tighter than they ever had, the pair kissed.
A
kiss so brilliant, so fresh, and so new...
Just
as their rekindled love...
A
love, thought it went unspoken, Lana intended to never take it for
granted again
She'd
come too close to losing it all.
Never
again.
*
* *
“...Taryll?
Yo Bro, you up? Lana, Taryll? Anybody home?”
Via
the key hidden in a potted plant on the front porch, Taryll's
brothers Taj and TJ let themselves into the oddly silent and still
domicile the following morning.
“You...you
don't think they went back to the hospital, do you?” TJ commented,
shutting the door.
“Nah,
you know good and well Taryll would have called us.” Taj deflected
the notion, looking around the living room.
Taryll's
busted sneakers and the lone boot Lana had been wearing.
“Taryll?
Lana? You here?” The pair moved down the hall, peeking into
Taryll's home office, out onto the back patio, and in the kitchen,
finding all vacant.
Doubling
back, they noticed the door to the bedroom open, and without a
moment's thought TJ was jogging for it.
“Taryll?”
“Where
the hell can they be--” Taj hung back a few feet, chewing on his
lips thoughtfully
“Aw
shit!”
Out
of the door to the boudoir, TJ came staggering, a hand pressed firmly
over his eyes.
Expecting
the worst, Taj's stomach dropping to his toes, he took flight,
rushing to the door and coming to an abrupt stop inches past the
threshold, a wave of relief rushing over him.
Curled
together in the center of the bed, both sporting nothing more than
their birthday suits, the couple were sound asleep, Taryll
unknowingly mooning them as his booty stuck out from beneath the
satin sheets.
Lana's
head rested on Taryll's chest, the morning light dancing off her
pinky ring.
Hand
to his mouth to stifle his laughs, Taj backed out slapping TJ on his
arm as he went by, commenting,
“Whatever
happened before that damn wreck, I guarantee, had to do with some
kind of an argument...and they must have made up last night.”
“He
could have put some drawers on! Lord, I didn't need to see his bare
ass! My eyes!” TJ groaned, holding his face in his hands.
“Quit
being dramatic. We're all grown” Taj gave him a shove and the two
made haste for the door.
Passing
out onto the porch, TJ quipped as Taj locked the door after them,
tossing the key back into the plant,
“How
long do you think they'll stay reconciled, you know Taryll and Lana
butt heads all the time.”
Broad,
yet slump shoulders shrugged with Taj guessing,
“Search
me, with the way Lana is, you can't tell. Taryll is so
non-confrontational and easy going and she's so fiery--”
“Aggressive.”
TJ interjected with Taj nodding in agreement, tossing his head to
clear the braids from his eyes.
Solemnly
he reasoned,
“You
know what they say, 'Opposites Attract'....come on, let's roll
out to Starbucks, my treat....”
As
the red sedan which had brought the brothers departed, in the house,
a set of dark eyes opened, taking in the blissfully slumbering face.
Rubbing
her hand over his head, feeling it beating under her palm, Lana
whispered, closing them back as sleep crept back on her.
“I
love you, Taryll Jackson, and I will show you the love and respect you deserve...from now
on...”
Had
she kept them open even a second longer, she'd have seen the smile of
relief curling on Taryll's face, just above her head.
