Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I smile, not wanting to interrupt her.
"I've kissed men before," she admits with a tilt of her hand in the air. "I mean of course I have, but it was different when you kissed me in your car."
"Different in what way?" My curiosity, when it comes to Isla, is an uncontainable beast.
"Intense, powerful, the connection between us felt basic and primal."
"It was that way for me as well." I adjust my legs, crossing them in a thinly veiled attempt to mask my growing erection. Kissing Isla is almost as sensual as licking her cunt or fucking her. It's a treasure of flavors and sensations. It's something I could do for hours.
"Please don't think I'm foolish." Her voice cracks with the words. "I'm not a foolish person."
"You're an incredibly special person. The most special person I know. I don't consider you foolish at all."
She nods as she leans back in her chair. "I write poetry. I used to write poetry."
The admission pushes me back as well. Not only physically in my chair, but on an emotional level as well. I don’t want to derail her right now, but I'm on the edge of understanding so much. I don't want to lose that.
She tilts her body to the left, pulling up her bag. It's a larger purse than I've seen her with before. It's black, tattered and it's obvious she's had it for years. "I brought my poetry with me."
Her small hand dives into the bag and pulls out a blue notepad. The pages are askew, single papers jutting out from the sides. It's a complicated mess.
"I wrote my first poem the day after my grandmother died."
She opens the pages slowly. Her hands delicately smoothing over the paper. "Would you like to read it?"
I'd love nothing more. "Yes."
Tears fill her eyes, making the irises more vibrant than they normally are. She's so fragile and strong and such an intricate, incredible person.
"It's called Haze."
I try to drop my eyes to the paper but as I look at the tears streaming down her face, I understand. "How many poems have you written, Isla?"
"Hundreds."
"Tell me the name of the second poem you wrote."
She sobs quietly. "Haze."
I swallow hard. "The third?"
"Haze."
"When did you write the last poem, Isla?"
"Two nights before my birthday."
I stop there out of my own selfish need to read her words. I rest my forehead on my hand, my elbow propped on the table as I read the tortured words of a young woman desperately alone in the world.
I am alone in this haze called life.
Every single day is a haze.
What does it feel like to live beyond the haze.
Haze…
Repeated again and again.
"This is your safeword?"
"I knew I'd never say it when I'm with you." She pulls in a deep breath. "You're supposed to pick something you know you wouldn't say when you're with that person."
I nod as I stare into her face.
"The haze disappeared when you kissed me."
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Isla
The moment I step out of the washroom and back into the almost vacant restaurant I know something is wrong. I'd only gone in there to fix my make-up after I'd sobbed in front of Gabriel. I knew I'd show him my poetry tonight. It's not publication worthy, and I don't intend to ever show it to another person, but it's part of my relationship with him, so it was a gift I had to share.
His head is bowed as he talks on his phone. His eyes shielded to me by his hand as he cups it over his brow. He's impatient with the person on the other end, scolding them with his tone, if not his words, which I'm too far away to hear.
I glance at the table, realizing that approaching it now, would only interrupt him. It has to be business. He must be dealing with something beyond my scope of understanding. I don't run a company. I can't imagine ever doing that.
My passion is music and now that my life is settled, it's where my time and energy will be spent.
I walk towards the bar, which is dotted with a handful of people, sitting on stools. I smile at the bartender as I order another glass of wine to share with Gabriel.
The drink will help calm my nerves, and there's something intimate in sharing a glass with him.
"Do we know each other?" A female voice pulls at me from the left. "Isla, is that you?"
I turn quickly when I realize it's Tiffany, a customer, from the boutique. "Tiffany, how are you?"
She pulls me into a quick embrace. "I'm well. I'm here to grab a quick drink with a friend. Do you want to join us?"
"I'm here with someone." I don’t gesture towards the table. Gabriel and I haven't made our relationship public yet. I'm not sure if that matters to him, but it's not my place to announce it to the world. Besides, I like having him like this, just for me.