Bitter Sweet Love (Michael Faudet) Read online

  Today the conversation swung like a pendulum, between the influence of the Devil and the history of the Beatles. Not in any particular order of course, which made following his monologue just as confusing as ever.

  I did my best to interact where I could, smiling in the right places and replying with a quick nod of my head or a hastily delivered anecdote that I hoped made some sense of it all.

  Not that it really mattered to either of us, I guess.

  It was more about the connection of strangers, a little oasis of warm humanity found on a chilly winter’s afternoon.

  Like always, between the talk of John Lennon and the temptation of Christ, rare uncut diamonds were uncovered. Dazzling bright in the watery sunlight of a rapidly setting sun.

  “We live in an age of reduction,” he said, “where hope and conscience has fast been whittled away by the blade of banality and stupidity.”

  Next to me, two Japanese girls started giggling and took selfies on their iPhones.

  A businesswoman at another table sat stone-faced, staring blankly at her dying cappuccino.

  The waitress, propped up against an outside wall, smoking a cigarette and crying. The café owner gesturing with hand signals, a mime that suggested she had done something wrong, again.

  I poured some peppermint tea into a cup and watched Chris hobble back down the street.

  My world getting smaller with every sip.

  Rainbow

  You are forever

  my secret rainbow—

  Beautifully written

  upon a rainy,

  gray page.

  Where hope,

  like love,

  can be found again—

  This gold

  we share,

  is ours.

  Wish You Were Here

  It was such a gorgeous day to end a relationship. All wispy white clouds and summer butterflies. Hands tightly held and then slowly released in the dancing shadows of warm sunlight.

  I watched as you walked quietly out of my life with that familiar spring in your step. A quick wave good-bye wrapped in a sad little smile. The door left slightly ajar. A visual metaphor which would come back to haunt me over the next few months with every postcard sent.

  You wrote about Paris, about your new life and how you missed me terribly on rainy nights.

  Never once responding to my desperate pleas for you to return.

  —

  It’s winter now.

  As I walk alone across the frostbitten sand, my solitary footsteps writing a sad ending to what was once a beautiful love story.

  My eyes stinging with salty tears.

  As I look past the crashing gray waves toward a distant horizon.

  My parting words lost to a howling wind.

  —

  “I have cried an ocean for you but still your ship refuses to sail.”

  Borderlands

  I am somewhere,

  strangely nowhere.

  A lone comma,

  placed midsentence.

  The worn needle stuck

  in a dusty groove

  of black vinyl,

  between the chaos

  and momentary calm

  of a Ramones track.

  Standing still.

  Where sea embraces shore

  and sinking sand rises

  to the farewell kiss

  of a crashing wave spent.

  Always waiting,

  the seconds passing.

  The anticipation of something,

  anything,

  forever calling.

  Like the promise

  of a late-night

  Coney Island hot dog.

  Dreaming of the moment

  when everything comes together,

  like melted butter

  and onions sizzling.

  When mustard

  meets

  ketchup

  meets

  chin.

  Lost is a lovely place

  to find yourself.

  The Séance

  I never truly felt comfortable leaving the sanctuary of my self-imposed solitude. Living alone in the little stone cottage by the sea suited me. Not that I was really ever alone. I had my library of books, a tired typewriter, a case of vodka, and a lazy Burmese cat to keep me company.

  So what had driven me to leave the warmth of a well-lit fire?

  Venturing outside was in itself an uncomfortable mystery. One that was fast unraveling with every heavy step taken.

  —

  It was a dreadful night.

  Bitterly cold and gripped tightly by a blizzard of swirling snow.

  I had a feeling of utter dread as I walked up the dark lane to the old house with the red wooden door.

  Something deep inside me, a creepy-crawly fear that clawed deep within my stomach, told me not to knock on the door. Better to run now, it said, far away and never stop running.

  Too late.

  Even before my gloved hand had a chance to make contact, the door was opened from the inside and a smiling woman with flame-red hair stood facing me.

  “Come on in, you must be freezing,” she said, with a voice that seemed to sing the words rather than speak them.

  The room was small and lit by flickering candlelight. A coal-burning fire glowed in the corner where a sleeping dog slept, curled up on a crimson rug. The woman took a seat at the round wooden table that stood in the middle of the space and gestured for me to join her with a sweep of her hand.

  I unbuttoned my coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and sat opposite her. Taking off my gloves and rubbing my hands, trying to resuscitate numb fingers back to life.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  It was one of those random questions that only the strangest of strangers could possibly ask but one I had kind of expected.

  “I not sure I believe in anything anymore,” I replied, my eyes meeting hers, noticing for the first time the intensity of green that outlined her black pupils.

  The letter I had read just a couple of days ago, my admission ticket to this unsettling journey, had been signed by her hand, written with scarlet ink, revealing a name I was destined not to forget.

  Ruby West leaned over and took my hands in hers, the silver rings on her long fingers digging into my skin. She spoke with hushed tones.

  “It matters not what you believe or not, for tonight will change everything.”

  —

  I was in love.

  Walking along the empty beach, our laughter floating away in the warm breeze that swept across the sand dunes. Lucy’s hand holding mine, her head resting on my shoulder.

  A golden orange hue caressed the ocean, the sun melting slowly on the horizon.

  It was a moment captured in my memory, more vivid than any photograph could possibly tell.

  An image that came back to haunt me.

  A petty revenge played out countless times in my tortured mind.

  All happiness lost with a swift stroke of a razor blade by a girl possessed by melancholia and sleeping pills.

  If only . . .

  —

  The letter had a trace of perfume, what seemed like a faint hint of lavender, and the handmade paper was tied with a black ribbon.

  I had read the words quickly, then reread them again slowly, each sentence stabbing my heart and making the hairs on my neck stand to attention.

  Who was this Ruby West? How could she possibly know? What did she want from me?

  My instinct told me to burn it.

  Throw the wretched thing into the fire and forget about it.

  Instead I reached for the bottle of vodka, tears streaming down my cheeks, my thoughts turning to Lucy and everything that had been lost in the passing months since her suicide.

  How could I resist the invitation written in scarlet ink across the page?

  A broken man desperately searching for answers.

  Clinging on to a tiny fragment of hope with trembling fingers.
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  —

  Ruby’s head fell backward and a guttural scream erupted from her lips.

  The dog started barking, a painting fell from the wall, and I could feel my hands trying to escape her grip but unable to do so.

  I didn’t know what to expect from the séance but it wasn’t this.

  A flame from one of the candles suddenly burst upward, an explosion of eerie light bouncing along the cracked ceiling.

  Sheer panic embraced my shaking body and the air in the room turned icy cold.

  “I’ve missed you, my love.”

  It was Lucy’s voice.

  Her blue eyes meeting mine as she lifted her head, red ringlets falling across her forehead, the familiar smile now sitting across from me.

  She was dressed as I last remembered her from that day spent walking on the beach.

  The pretty floral dress and the daisy chain I had made on that beautiful summer’s day hanging around her pale neck.

  I could hear the seagulls cry as the walls faded away and we fell into each other’s arms on the sandy dune. My lips finding hers, our kisses hungry and deep.

  “I love you,” I whispered, my hand reaching inside the dress, feeling a nipple harden to the touch. Her back arching as she wrapped her long legs around my waist.

  Nothing made any sense but I didn’t care. Lost within the warmth of her body once again. Her delicate fingers slowly unzipping my jeans.

  We fucked to the sound of crashing waves in the distance.

  Her dress hitched up and yellow panties pulled down around one ankle.

  Cheeks flushed and mouth open as she came, her body rippling with aftershocks of pleasure.

  —

  We lay on our backs, staring up at the clouds, the blue sky changing to orange.

  “Why did you leave me, Lucy?”

  It was the question I had rehearsed so many times in my head but somehow it now felt empty and almost devoid of any reason.

  “I never left, my love, and I never will.”

  —

  The cup of green tea was laced with honey and I drank it without saying a word.

  I knew the séance was over.

  Ruby prodded the fire with an iron poker, sending a procession of spiraling sparks up the soot-stained chimney.

  She then turned and walked over to me. Her hands resting on my shoulders, the words tumbling from her lips.

  “Love like death needs no explanation,” she whispered. “It is the curse of being mortal.”

  May Angels Sing

  May angels sing

  a song,

  my love—

  a lullaby to sleep.

  The life you lived

  lives on,

  my love—

  this heart is yours

  to keep.

  A solace found

  in dying stars,

  shine on

  my love—

  shine bright.

  Daydreaming

  You destroyed me with lips thirsty for thighs and knees pushed apart. Strong hands my undoing, fingers firmly pressed into pale white skin. My mouth open, moaning, begging for ruthless kisses and hair pulled hard. Buttons ripped, black bra unclipped, my fantasy fulfilled in a field of blushing daisies.

  —

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he said, gently brushing a lock of hair from my face.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really,” I replied, looking up at the clouds.

  Respect Yourself

  Always fight for love—walk barefoot across the jagged shards of a broken heart but never become its victim.

  Paper Plane

  I wrote you a love letter to explain how I felt about us—folded it neatly into a paper plane and threw it off a cliff.

  The Beach House

  I woke up to the sound of angry seagulls and the distant thunder of breaking waves.

  My eyes slowly adjusting to the brilliant sunlight. Hypnotized by little diamond sparkles that bounced off an empty vodka bottle and the unfastened clip of a discarded pink bra.

  “Good morning,” Lucy said in a singsong voice.

  She walked into the room, a trail of wispy bluish smoke, and handed me a water with freshly picked mint leaves swirling around inside the tall glass.

  “Is it?” I replied, my unsteady hand searching for the packet of painkillers I kept somewhere in the creaky drawer next to the bed.

  “Here, this will help,” she laughed, passing me the last half of a glowing joint.

  I forgot about the pills and took a long, deep drag, held the smoke in, and then blew a cloud of LA’s finest hydroponic into the air. Lucy had a remarkable talent for tracking down the best gear and this stuff was scarily excellent. I could already feel the familiar smile creeping across my face.

  “It looks like the magic is working,” Lucy said smiling. She took the joint from my lips, leaned over, and pressed her lips against mine.

  Her kisses reminded me of lemon slices drizzled with sticky honey. Bitter, sweet, and strangely irresistible.

  Lucy hopped onto the bed, straddling me with her legs spread, the skimpy yellow bikini bottom resting against my chest. I watched, transfixed, as she reached behind her back and untied the matching top, letting it fall silently onto the sheets.

  “Breakfast is served,” she laughed.

  —

  We watched the sunset from the sand dunes, drinking beer and staring out to sea. The salty breeze gently tugging on Lucy’s flame-red hair. She took my hand in hers.

  “I live in a peculiar world,” she said, “in a place where reality ends and fiction begins. Maybe that’s why I love you.”

  Venus

  I can still remember the hot summer’s night we sat by the lake, beads of water clinging to our naked skin, while a full moon rose from the shadows of swaying forest trees. My head resting on your shoulder as you pointed out Venus, our words whispered, a love story written by stars.

  —

  “When you look into my eyes, what do they say?”

  “I’m obsessed with you. Utterly, willingly, and wonderfully so.”

  A Lover’s Touch

  To feel your hands

  upon my skin,

  a lover’s touch

  from deep within,

  from gentle moans

  to piercing scream,

  a pleasure felt

  from here between—

  my legs adrift

  in joyful dream.

  The Final Act

  It was a farewell of sorts.

  A slow good-bye played out on a sad little stage by lovers who had fast become bad actors.

  All the words between us had turned to shallow snippets of dying dialogue.

  Growing colder with each meager exchange like the coffees sitting untouched on the café table.

  Uncomfortable silence punctuated by empty stares and unanswered questions.

  I reached across and took your hand in mine.

  All the years we had spent together suddenly swept away within a sea of untangled fingers.

  A magnificent love lost forever in the familiar warmth of a parting embrace.

  The final act before the velvet curtains came crashing down.

  We Made Love

  I think somewhere, in a parallel world, we made love in a garden of wilted flowers. Our trembling hands reaching out, trying to grasp the last watery rays of a dying sun. Where our hearts collided and shattered into a million tiny stars.

  We All Drown

  A trickle of silvery moonlight ran down her cheek. “We all drown a little,” she whispered. “That’s how we learn to swim.”

  Midnight in Manhattan

  A quiet sigh escaped from scarlet lips.

  Sophia loved the caress of lingerie on her skin—the secret thrill of hard nipples pressed against black lace.

  Her reflection a ghost in the moonlight, haunting a rain-streaked hotel window.

  —

  Sophia turned around and smiled.

  She watched as Se
rena unzipped her tight leather red dress and let it fall to the floor.

  “You seem happy to be back in the city.”

  “I am. Very much so,” Sophia replied, walking slowly over to Serena and kissing her hard on the lips.

  Serena slid a hand between Sophia’s long legs, feeling the wetness beneath her pretty panties.

  Sophia sighed again.

  —

  “I love New York. The perfect place to read books, people watch, and fuck to the sound of sirens screaming late at night.”

  Love

  Falling in love is not rational. It’s madness. A beautiful, wonderful moment of magnificent insanity.

  Sunday in Bed

  “Atoms can never touch,” she said.

  I reached out across the bed, taking her hand in mine, pressing it up against my lips.

  “When you bring them together they reach a point where they start to repel.”

  “How sad it must be for two atoms that fall in love,” I replied.

  Lucy smiled and kissed me hard on the lips.

  “Oh, I think that changes everything. It always does.”