I’ve had my fair share of women. A lifetime ago when life was simple, and family was everything. I was blessed with looks that my sister referred to as killer. In my eyes, I merely resembled my father. No big deal. Through Gabriela’s teenage years, her friends spent more evenings at our place than she did at theirs. A gaggle of groupies would wait for her big brother to step out of the shower room in nothing but a towel. I played up to the adoring crowd with a wink and sly grin from time to time. It was only flirty fun. The real treat was taking the women who understood direct orders. They worshipped me. They desired a façade. A handsome face. It was superficial.
If only Iris realized how far I've slipped from those days. How my senses work tenfold now that my nerves are firing on all cylinders. That her body is the catalyst for its heightened return. How the cruel world beyond the rainforest ceases to exist when we’re together.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening.” Chair legs screech as I push into the seat and prepare to stand.
“Before you go, can I ask a question?” Her forehead creases, and she stills, almost bracing for harshness. I pause, my reticence granting her permission to speak. “Do you love the woman you were with earlier?”
How do I answer that conundrum? Carina is the solitary thread of humanity attached to my soul. Her joy and laughter ground me to the earth when all I want to do is wreck and ruin. Do I love her? In my own way. As much as I hate to admit it. That unfortunate tug of love is a weakness. It’s not a connection I sought or wished to develop, but it happened over time.
An unhappy adolescent blossomed into a healthy woman. Every month she visits the oasis, has lunch with Sal, and checks in with her online counselor using my encrypted internet connection. We catch up over coffee and talk about her future.
“The woman you saw this afternoon is Carina. Salvador’s younger sister, and my . . .” What is she to me? A friend? I met the girl when she was a suicidal fourteen-year-old. Hexed by a birthmark on her lip. The wretchedness clouding her eyes spoke to me on a deeper level. Beyond my grief, it drove me to show the young girl how beautiful she was on the inside and out. I guess there was a similarity to the fourteen-year-old girl I raised from the ashes when our parents were killed.
“I arranged for Jackson, the onsite surgeon, to carry out a procedure that removed a growth from her top lip,” I continue. “He did an outstanding job and saved her life in the process.”
“Saved her life?”
“The girl was dying inside. She hid from the world. Sal found her on the bathroom floor with a blade and a sliced arm. I brought her here for a couple of weeks, arranged an operation, and flew in a discrete counselor who owed me a big favor. Jackson worked a miracle. She hasn't stopped smiling since.”
I can’t tell her Carina is like a sister because that admission would be too painful. Too cruel. Gabriela was my family, and now I’m off course, adrift in the universe with so few bonds to care for someone with a normal life. “I’m fond of the girl, in friendly terms.”
The odd whimperescaping her throat bumps the rhythm of my heartbeat. Misted eyes scrunch shut, and a shaky palm rests on her ribcage. She propels herself from seated to standing, fumbling with the corner of the table for support.
A petal-pink flush tints pearly white skin. Energized copper spirals bounce as she whirls around to the terrace. From behind, a moonlit silhouette stencils the loose cotton fabric flapping against her thighs. My pulse pumps faster, perplexed by her sudden glacial mood. “Beija flor?”
“Stop,” she begs, now clutching her stomach with both hands. “I’ve heard enough.” Angling her torso, I witness a droplet of fluid misery glide for freedom. “You can go now.”
My knees lock, securing me to the spot. I shouldn’t console her. That would make me weak. Then I might relent to the effervescent compassion fizzing around my heart. I’m the reason she’s here. She’s the reason I’m unbalanced.
A silver glaze kisses her wrinkled nose, highlighting peachy pouty lips. Those tempting lips I desperately wish to claim. If that day ever comes, and I actually kiss her properly, without a lesson of authority, it will be the worst downfall of all. The moment I stop lying to myself. When I own up to this overwhelming need and consider the possibility of a future without her. I’m an idiot to pretend she’s merely an employee or an insignificant woman. A heartfelt kiss would be like a crash of thunder from afar—lightning preparing to befriend the darkness.
It will fucking destroy me.
We’ll never make it in this world as a couple.
Not with the sole purpose to terminate ingrained in my psyche—and wipe out anyone who stands in my way.
“I will never forgive you,” she spits out. “No matter what you’re trying to accomplish by being here this evening, I’ll always despise you.” Her shoulders hunch, and she stoops over. “I can’t do this . . . please . . . I’m begging you . . . set me free.” Swiveling to the pool, she scurries to the edge and dives straight in.
My hands curl.
Adrenaline surges to every nerve ending.
I feel alive.
Goddamn it.
Swaddled in a saturated nightdress, the scant translucent material reveals glorious breasts and dark nipples. Awry tendrils splay the lustrous surface like lost blood as she floats on her back with an oval of water lapping her face. Her body stills, and my lungs scream for oxygen. I’m instantly hard at the sight of her peaceful protest. The same method I’ve used for years to calm the turmoil wrestling within me.
I storm to the water's edge, scowling down at the motionless starfish glittering under trillions of stars. “Get out of the fucking pool, beija flor,” I bite out, angry that she’s affecting me with this mania.
My chest tightens, and my fists work as the starlit queen of my jungle ignores me.
Fuck, this woman.
Her lashes flutter open, and she studies the tiny pinpricks scattering an indigo canvas. I should punish her. Throttle her tender neck. Warn her of all the reasons not to turn a deaf ear on her master.
We aren’t soulmates.
