Chapter 22

22

I'm nearing the end of my novel, completely engrossed in the placement of the word "remorse." I do not hear the door open as Jamie sneaks into my office.

Words are speeding down from my mind onto the page; punctuations and phrases explode upon impact. I am dizzy with creation, drunk on completion. In rare form, I am racing to the finish line.

She makes no noise as she heads towards my desk.

All plots have ended, each character absolved. Nothing remains but the bow on this meticulously wrapped package, which still needs to be tied. I pause momentarily to gather my breath.

When I inhale, I smell her.

She is a mixture of vanilla and spice. Sometime after Christmas, but weeks before a spring, she reminds me of Main Street in Disneyland where they pump out aromas through vents hidden in the ground. I look up from the typewriter and dead on into her eyes.

"I'm almost finished."

She smiles at me, tucking the hair on both sides of her head behind her tiny little ears.

"I know. You can feel its completion throughout the house. The energy in this room is amazing."

She punctuates her own poetry by pressing her fingers into the thick of my hair. She strokes me for a moment; gently rolling my splitting ends between her fingertips. Moistening her lips, she kisses my temple.

"What are you going to call it?"
"So The Wind Won't Blow It All Away."

Her gaze intensifies as she folds herself into my lap, letting her hands fall from the back of my head to the back of my neck. Nose to nose, eye to eye, she begins to kiss my lips.

The upper lip is sticky-sweet, the bottom, soft and tender. A peppermint she ate after lunch still lingers on her breath reacting negatively with the coffee residue on mine. We ignore this fact as our pace quickens.

Her left hand finds its way down to my chest where the pulsing of my heart beckons her to unbutton my shirt. Her right hand takes notice and in pursuit, weaves its way under the cotton and begins to caress my nipple. Our breath continues to heat from the proximity as her tongue darts in and out of my mouth.

She slides to her knees onto the floor, kissing, caressing, unbuttoning, unzipping. She frees me from the confines of my seat and I have no choice but to moan. Slowly she takes all of me into her mouth and I gasp as I notice the truth.

The word "remorse" has yet to find its home.