by Micki L. Bailey

It was very late at night. Or very early in the morning. Depending on perspective and preference. She was very deep into a non-memorable, insignificant dream when she awoke with a jolting start. Her eyes popped open suddenly, and she stared at the ceiling in the mostly dark bedroom.

What had startled her out of R.E.M. sleep? The room was dead calm and as quiet as a tomb now. But her heart raced loudly in her chest.

As her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness and she raised up on her elbows, she saw him standing at the foot of the iron bed, his back to her and his head bent slightly forward. His naked, svelte body put off an unearthly glow, an angelic shine. He stood there, perfectly still and shimmering in the shadows, defying the night with his radiance. Or maybe she was just dreaming still.

"Roger," she whispered.

At the sound of her voice, he whirled around on her, quicker than a jaguar, dropping into a bent-knee defensive stance with his hands up protectively in front of him. Somehow she could see his small, luminous eyes piercing the dark.

She gasped, and her breath caught in her throat. "It’s just me, honey," she whispered again. And she was sure he hadn’t heard her because she’d barely been able to force the words out.

But he had heard. Heard either her voice or maybe one inside himself. Because he relaxed then, and his eyes turned off their penetrating glare. He walked over and lay back down on the bed beside her, releasing a huge rush of air from his lungs.

"Sorry, sweets. I didn’t mean to scare you." His words were full of his breath.

"Are you all right?" She rolled onto her side to face him. He’s exquisite, she thought. Even with tousled, sweaty hair and a distressed expression on his face. Even after all this time.

"Yeah, I’m okay………..One weak fucking dream can’t get to me……..I’m a trooper." A hint of sarcasm in his tone. He had closed his eyes and crossed his fingers flat on his abdomen. His quiet voice was silvery in the darkness.

Ah, but it did get to you, my love, she thought. Something did. At least a little bit. I watched you standing there, afraid of a phantom you could see only in your mind.

"You wanna tell me about it?" she asked him, seriously doubting that he would.

His answer was immediate. "No." Then he breathed deeply again, a calming technique. "No, baby…….It’s nothing. Did I wake you too?"

"I’m not sure……..Something did. But it doesn’t matter now."

"I think I yelled out……I woke up and I was standing up already, next to the bed." His soft, floating words. His eyes still closed.

She leaned over him and gently kissed his rising and falling chest, inhaling his scent. He moved his arms, allowing her better access, and she lovingly grazed his warm skin with her mouth.

When she moved her pliant, wet lips up to his throat, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, cradling her. "Think you can go back to sleep, sweetheart?" he asked her quietly.

"Yeah, I think so." She snuggled close to his warmth and tried to sleep. But nagging thoughts kept wandering through her head.

This had been Saturday night at the loft, and Roger had spent it in a moody state of mind. He seemed to be trapped in a rather gloomy, aloof mental attitude. Not hostile, just distant and detached.

Oh, he had his moods and phases, she knew. In time, she’d learned that he indeed had moods to match the worst of moods – even her own. So she convinced herself that one of his moods or phases had control of him now.

They had passed their evening huddled together on one end of the leather sofa with take-out Vietnamese food and three rented movies. It had been quaint but quiet. And it hadn’t crossed her mind to be bored or to complain about spending a Saturday this way. Because she’d been alone with him. Her Roger. The love of her whole life. And though they whiled away ages of time privately with each other, she knew she’d never get enough.

And he had still been affectionate and warm throughout the evening, never shutting her out with his remote mood. But there had been no consuming passion in their bed that night. He’d seemed to want only to hold her for a while before falling asleep. Before falling asleep into the throws of the mysterious specter that would send him screaming back into the waking world.

* * *

When she woke that morning, she immediately heard the rain battering the huge windows in the bedroom. It was at once both comforting and depressing. An unrelenting early Sunday morning downpour. "Why even bother with this day?" it seemed to shriek.

She realized next that Roger was not to be found in their bed or in the partitioned-off bedroom. Just for a moment all her own, she rolled over and clutched his pillow, hugging it to her, burying her face and gulping in his smell. Then, feeling much better, she went to find the real deal.

The real deal himself was slumped in the leather chair in the den, reading one of the seven newspapers they received every weekend from all over North America. He wore faded, torn jeans and a medium green cotton dress shirt that was mostly unbuttoned and had the sleeves rolled up. His bare feet and razor stubble on each end of this ensemble topped off a subtly sexy vision of comeliness that she caught herself gawking at.

"Morning……..Do I look THAT hideous?" Or rather he had caught her.

"Morning, sweetheart…….No……I, uh……You look great," she said, sitting down and reaching for a paper. The rain outside pounded the huge windows in this room also.

"Right………..I made coffee," he murmured.

She looked up at him, and he attempted a smile. "Thanks. I need some."

In the kitchen, she was musing that he always made coffee. Even on weekdays when she had to wake up much earlier than he did, he would inevitably make himself responsible for setting up the coffee maker the night before. It was just a little thing among so many others. But it was another thing he did for her.

"Did you sleep much after we woke up?" she asked as she sat back down.

"Enough." He sipped his coffee and glanced at her over the mug rim. His eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept enough. "You?"

"Like a baby," she said.

"Um." He went back to reading his paper.

A few minutes later, she broke into his concentration once again. "So…….you got any plans for the day?"

Raising his head only enough to look at her, he said, "I just wanna get drunk today…….all day." He cast a wistful look over his shoulder at the rain outside and then back at her for her reaction.

Unconsciously, she’d almost expected this. Not because he often spent whole days drinking, but because it seemed today that doing exactly that would appropriately complement his glum mood.

"Okay, honey…….whatever you wanna do…….I’ll make some breakfast as soon as I’m done with this coffee." She would not argue with him. It would be pointless.

"Excellent. And I’ll do some Bloody Marys in the blender." Another half-smile curled his upper lip slightly, and the rain pelted its hearty approval on the windows.

"Okay," she said faintly.

* * *

The day progressed along slowly and as well as could be expected. After breakfast, which contained very little conversation, she cleaned the kitchen and then showered. An afternoon of blessed, peaceful reading was her agenda.

Roger did exactly as he had said he would. He drank. It was a slow, steady drinking – not necessarily to reach oblivion, but to effectively and continuously dull the senses. He showered also, then solemnly returned to the newspapers. He still exhibited no outward irritability or hostility. Just a melancholia that hung around him like fog.

She made herself believe that his little day-long binge, although out of the ordinary for him, was perfectly acceptable since he was confined to the loft and could affect no one else except her. If this was the sad way he chose to spend his Sunday, then she’d let him do it in peace and solitude.

Then Sonny called.

Her guard instinctively went up every time Sonny became involved in a situation. He was the personification of trouble, in her opinion. He gave her bad vibes, and she certainly did not trust him.

Sonny, the youngest and most outgoing of Roger’s acquaintances, was also the handsome Italian playboy of the group. He was an old school chum of Vinnie’s from New York and had transplanted himself here. His wicked charm and warm vivaciousness were limitless. So too was his ability to create havoc.

She frowned as she forced herself to chat politely with him. He was constantly trying to work his alluring spell on her, the one who refused to be enchanted by him. So when he finally asked to speak to Roger, she was more than relieved.

A little while later, she returned from the bathroom. Roger was finished with his phone call and now stood in the den. He, of course, had heard her walk back into his presence. He looked over at her.

"Hey, baby, I’m going down to Stooges. Wanna come along?" He was stable on his feet, but his eyes were bloodshot. He’d been consuming alcohol for hours. It was four o’clock.

She tried not to seem alarmed. "No, I don’t wanna go along, and I don’t want you going either."

"Why not?" He chuckled. "What’s the difference in drinking here and drinking there, hmmm?"

"There’s the difference of a drive in the car over there, Roger. And you can’t……I mean shouldn’t do it, honey. Lemme take you if you gotta go."

She had the impression that this little gathering was a "guy event" and that she wasn’t really welcome. Sonny had not proffered an invitation.

He laughed quietly again, tucking his shirttail into his jeans. "My sweet wife, always looking out for my ass……..But I’m fine…….really…….I just wanna go and have a coupla drinks with Sonny and Vinnie and whoever the hell else is down there…….and then I’ll be back home……You don’t need to worry your pretty head ‘bout it, babe……Okay?"

He hadn’t slurred any of his words yet, and he was still completely lucid, but she could hear the effects of the liquor. "Roger, would you at least call a cab? It’s pouring down rain."

He turned around slowly then, far from the jaguar-like quickness of the night before. He peered at her, almost unkindly. "Don’t…….nag……me," he uttered very quietly. "I’ll be home soon."

She held her further protests inside, knowing they would be futile. Instead, she could only stand and watch as he snatched his brown leather jacket off the coat rack and put it on while the elevator door opened. Stepping gracefully into it, he winked and smiled at her. Then the elevator closed, and he was gone.

Immediately, she paged Vinnie at Stooges. When he rang back, she told him the story and begged him to discreetly let her know when Roger arrived at the bar. He agreed, like she was sure he would, and volunteered to bring Roger’s "stubborn ass" home to her.

"I love you, Vinnie. You’re the best," she told him.

"Don’t worry ‘bout a damn thing, darling. I’ll take care of it," he answered. And she doubted him not a smidgen.

* * *

The second phone call she received from Stooges that day was a startling one. But, she thought later, one she should have expected from the beginning. She was lying on the sofa, all stretched out, listening to the beating rain and reading a Hemingway novel. The ringing of the phone scared her.

"Hey, dollface. You gotta come down here. Now." Sonny on the other end was keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. She heard loud music and many other voices in the background.

"What’s going on?" She had sat up and dropped her book.

"Roger’s throwing a fit, yelling and shit……..He’s pissed off ‘bout something……but don’t fucking ask me what it is……Jesus H. Christ………He’s gonna bring the whole house down over here…………Vinnie said to call you, that you’d be the only person to settle ‘im down."

"Has he hurt anybody, Sonny?"

"Not yet………But things don’t look so good from here……..So hike your sweet ass on down here, babe. And hurry."

She put on some shoes, grabbed her raincoat and purse, and flew over to the bar they had frequented so often over the past few years. I should have known this would happen, she told herself. But how in the hell could have she have stopped him from leaving the loft?

"Stubborn" was a euphemism for Roger’s head-strong determination and adamant opinions. She was well aware of this and wondered as she drove who could have possibly crossed – and thereby ignited – him when he was in such a crappy mood, and drinking to boot. She feared what she was about to walk in to at Stooges.

* * *

"C’mon…….He’s back here." Vinnie took her hand and led her. He’d been at the front bar when she entered the place.

"He’s monopolizing one whole pool table by himself and cussing out anybody who as much as looks at him……Been like that for an hour…………. thought he was gonna tear my damn head off when I wouldn’t let ‘im near the darts."

"What set him off?" she asked.

"He’s just drunk and acting like a sonofabitch. Ya know Roga."

"He was drunk when he got here, Vinnie. Something musta happened."

"Don’t know, darling. You can be the one to ask him." Vinnie chuckled.

"Thanks. Why me?"

"’Cause you got that magic touch that works on him, sweetie. He’ll hear your voice over the chaos."

She wondered for a moment if Vinnie had meant the chaos in the bar or the chaos in Roger’s mind. Then she saw Roger, and her heart leapt up into her throat. God, honey, she thought. Is that damn phantom thing after you again?

He was disheveled and pale. His eyes, though sunken now, were a glowing red. He was far more intoxicated than when she’d last seen him, three hours ago. But a catalyst of some extreme had surely caused this hostility to spew out of him.

He ambled around the pool table, still graceful, pointing the stick in his hand and shouting out obscenities at other people in the small room. She’d seen him this way before, but not as violently threatening, and certainly not as public.

She deduced that he had been purposely quarantined and left alone by everyone else until she could get here. And now that she was here, she ached for him. She longed to help him and fend off his devils as he’d done for her so many times. She’d do whatever it took.

She bravely stepped closer. "Hey, sweetheart."

Roger instantly stopped his cursing and stood still for a moment. Then he slowly turned his eyes in her direction. She winced. With his pain.

"Hey……..What are you doing here?" His gaze shifted accusingly to Vinnie, but she distracted him again.

"I changed my mind……thought I might tag along after all……..if it’s not too late." She was aware they were being watched by many eyes.

He made a snarling expression. "No, baby. It’s never too late. Here. Use this stick. I’ll get another one." He handed it to her and turned around to the stick cabinet.

Vinnie patted her back. The savage beast had been soothed. At least for the moment, she had all of its terrible attention.

"Roger, I can’t play pool worth a damn," she said.

"And I can hardly stand up……..We should be even, I figure……Right, Buckwheat?" He glanced at Vinnie behind her.

"Whatever, Roga."

She became Roger’s sole focus as they played their game of pool. The anger in his voice remained, but it was directed outside their exclusive little enclave, not at her.

He warmed to her right away, opening up and relating to her, from his point of view, the goings on of the evening. How he had done a "few" shots with Sonny (who, by the way, was oddly absent now). How most "assholes cheated like motherfuckers" when they shot pool. How just about everyone there tonight was "appallingly incompetent," and he was tired of looking at them. How he knew the management wanted him to leave but was too "damn afraid" to make him.

She listened carefully. He was slurring a bit now and shooting poorly.

"So what was the final straw, sweetheart? Was it something someone said?"

"What?" He stood up straight and stared at her with squinted eyes.

She couldn’t afford to lose him now. "Did somebody in particular piss you off?"

"No…….not really. Is that a prerequisite to losing my temper? Hmm?"

"No, Roger……..Forget it."

"Hey, you wanna drink, baby?" He must have spotted the waiter AND lost his train of thought.

"No, thanks. I was hoping we could go home soon." But she hadn’t lost hers.

"But you just got here," he said, returning to the game.

"But Roger……" She lowered her voice and made sure she had his eyes. "I want………you…….I’ve wanted you all day." This wasn’t a lie at all.

He sucked in his cheeks and smiled. "Ya do, huh?"

"I’m swollen and hurting for you, honey," she almost whispered

He looked down and laughed quietly. "I don’t know how much good I’ll be for you tonight, sweets."

"You can just lie there and relax, Roger. I’ll do everything else."

"Are we home yet?"

She had him. Now they could leave. She hadn’t deceived him. She did want him. But the sex ploy had been the easiest one to use, she admitted to herself.

She imagined that she could hear the entire bar applauding with gratitude as she escorted him out. They had said good-bye to Vinnie who promised to take care of the Jeep. Sonny was still not around, but she didn’t want to see him now anyway.

Roger draped his arm around her as they walked to the BMW, as if she was the one needing support. But she let him and breathed in his whiskey scent.

Once they were home, he had already completely forgotten the "swollen and hurting for you" part. He plopped down in the chair in the den and sighed heavily.

"Damn the rain……..and damn this wasted day," he said with lots of air from his lungs.

"Oh, sweetheart……it’s not wasted. We still get to……."

And she sat on his lap then and reminded him with a long, wet kiss. After that, he was easy to lead into the bedroom and undress.

She undressed herself too and crawled up next to that lovely naked, svelte body of his that she so adored. With her own lithe, hot body, her expert hands, and her probing mouth, she made love to him – tenderly and consumingly at the same time.

She dove headlong into him and touched every inch of his salty flesh with her tongue and lips, licking and sucking as if she were ravenous for him. To feel and hear his blood roaring through his veins urged her on. She felt her nipples hardening and her panties moistening in steamy reaction to him.

Roger relaxed and yielded to her as she’d asked him to do and groaned with pleasure as she took control of him. When she sat up and mounted him, grasping him tightly up into her fiery, juicy opening, he closed his eyes and gave his body to her. Her sweet riding, her steady rocking up and down on him eased his stressed mind.

He was subconsciously aware that her gripping passion was drawing the hot semen out of his body AND the unnamed demons out of his psyche. The hellish demons that had again been haunting him. Why had he tried fighting them anyway? They were nothing more than harrowing memories from long ago – things that should never have happened, things that could have. They weren’t even real enough to matter.

And she was exactly what he had needed all along, a lovely diversion to channel all of his emotions to. She was the right to everything that was wrong inside him. He surrendered fully to her and her blazing love for him. There was strength enough there to hold back all his nightmares.

He grabbed her hips gently and poured himself into her, and all the rest receded. She was what mattered to him. She had saved him from himself.