Playing House

Excerpt From: Playing House

Number seventy-five seemed to stand a bit taller than the other houses in the terrace, proudly shining like a sentry amidst the decaying buildings surrounding it. The melting pot of people nearby brought the flavour of the world to the tiny village—the innocent call of children that played in the street, the ethnic smells of cooking drifting through tattered curtains blowing in the soft breeze, and the peace of acceptance that filled the air.

Anticipation bubbled through Belisha. Max popped the hatch of the car and hoisted their bags from the boot. Their time would begin now. Once inside the bubble of their existence, nothing could touch them except joy, happiness and bliss.

The cast-iron gate squealed in protest as Belisha pushed on the intricately carved panel and the high-pitched sound made her heart flip-flop. The rolling rumble of the luggage followed her up the short cobbled walk to the etched glass door—the door that invited them with a glimpse of the pleasure that lay ahead. Belisha’s hand trembled as she slid the key into the slot. The months leading to this moment had almost sent her over the edge, but now it was here. She tried to force more air into her lungs. It was always like this when they met, but each time Bel wanted it more than the last—wanted him more. The lock turned easily and the door swung wide.

Once inside she expelled her breath, and, hearing Max’s deep sigh, she knew they were home. Finally, they were together in the world where they could be themselves—no pretence, no fear, no pain.

* * * *

When she had arrived at the station earlier, she had seen him waiting. It had appeared he was bouncing on his toes like an anxious child. It had been four months since their last visit. The moment he’d spotted her walking towards him a smile had lit his face and she’d wanted to break into a run. Her heavy cases and a required sense of decorum had kept her steps calculated and even, but on the inside—she had been running.

They’d stood in front of one another for what had seemed like an eternity before he’d leaned in to kiss first one, then the other cheek, lingering just a moment longer than was the normal custom. She had held her breath, her body still, as she had felt the pressure of his lips against her skin. The lips she had longed for, had waited for, had cried out for. She hadn’t kissed him back, she hadn’t been able to. All she had been able to do was take the moment and bury it deep inside her memory.

Like vaguely familiar acquaintances, they had strolled the short distance to the car park discussing her flight from Chicago and the long journey by train to his hometown. The elevator had just been big enough for the two of them and her burdensome luggage. Once in the confines of the cramped space, his scent had filled her to bursting, and suddenly she had been in his arms, plunging her tongue deeply into his mouth. She’d wrapped her arms around his shoulders and had held on for dear life, this time, kissing him back.

Max had buckled her into the car, leaning in to take her lips once again. His palm had cupped one of her breasts, squeezing gently with a promise of what was yet to come, and she’d sighed softly against his lips. Their need had been urgent, yet tender at the same time. They had waited so long to touch one another—there was no sense in rushing it now. Her adrenaline still pushing her worn-out body, she had wanted nothing more than to crawl into the warmth of his embrace and settle into the tender rhythm of their love.

They had stopped for groceries, wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles lost in the novelty of it all. He’d tried to be ever practical and focused, but all she had been able to do was glance from the corner of her eye at him pushing the cart beside her. Something normal couples took for granted, even dreaded at times. For her it was another fantasy coming true.

"What would you like to eat?" he’d asked kindly.

Belisha had looked at him with a different kind of hunger in her eyes.