CHERRY BLOSSOMS // Revisited // Montréal // 3.15

“You look how I feel,” Odie said.

Geoff blurted out a laugh. “What?”

Odie acted all silly now. Getting a reaction out of him was her favorite thing and she wobbled on her stool, swinging her hips and making faces at him.

He rolled his eyes at her as robustly as he could.

He was leaning on the counter of the island with his back to the stovetop while their fried eggs popped and crackled behind him. Looking at Odie, looking out the window, looking at nothing really, his mind a thousand miles from here. Or five-hundred more exactly. Odie was waiting for her breakfast, in a good mood, a good night’s sleep behind her. No tossing and turning for her. Her ‘you look how I feel’ comment just something dumb she picked up from TV or something, looking to make fun of her old dad. Dad did not have a good night’s sleep.

Geoff turned to the stove as their toast popped and he put it on the plate, brought it to the island and sat on the stool next to his daughter and pushed her strawberry jam (pronounced starberry jam since she was four and he hoped it would stay that way forever) over to her. He ate in a reverie while his daughter told him about Marshall’s Family Flight and how she wished the story was more, like, fantasy with, like, a girl who was the hero, and he smiled and nodded and wished he could pay better attention but he had a phantom knife plunged through his temple like one of those bizarre construction accidents where someone is impaled and yet never loses consciousness and makes it to the hospital with all their faculties. Big piece of rebar parting the lobes of their brain. That’s where he was. Functioning, but one wrong move and suddenly he’d have to learn how to tie his shoes all over again.

Winslow crept up the outside stairs, making his way to the kitchen. A slim but lumbering black shape rising up the concrete staircase from the walkway, silhouetting himself against the dawning blue sky.

Only it wasn’t Winslow. Geoff jumped up and ran to get the door.

“Nia!” he said, and opened the door wide for her. She stepped into their kitchen in her high heels, her suitcase still on the stoop. He wrapped his arms around her from the side and held her tight. Odie turned on her stool and he watched his daughter’s face transform, saw the honest excitement wipe across her little features. She cried out, “Mommy,” and she ran to Nia, jumping off the stool and coming around the island.

Geoff bumbled. “Nia, what . . . why . . .?” He leaned his head to get a look at her face under all that hair. He saw her features troubled, eyes wide, happy, but her chin trembled like she was going to burst out crying.

“Oh, baby,” he said, and nuzzled his face into her neck under all that wonderful hair. Her hand came up, and she held his forearm wrapped around her chest.

Odie hugged Nia’s leg, and she said, “Mommy, mommy,” trying to get Nia’s attention. Nia bent, and Geoff rested his hands on her shoulders while she hugged Odie.

Odie whispered, “I’m sorry.” Nia just held her tight.

* * *

Geoff brought Nia’s bag in from the stoop and felt something hard press up against his heart. He knew something was wrong.

Winslow was coming along the alley. Geoff could see him over the roof of the garage studio, walking along the treed path with his hands in his pockets. He’d come in off the TTC, walked in from the village down Garden Street, cutting through someone’s yard to get to the alley.

Shit. He just wanted to be alone with Nia right now. Wanted to be alone and say a million things to her, tell her over and over how much she means to him. She had a lot to tell him too, and none of it could be done with anyone around.

Nia was standing now in the kitchen, Odie up on a stool again. Odie was happy to have Mom home but worry tinged her face. Odie could see something was wrong with the woman who’d come home to them.

Nia was dressed in her work clothes, her black skirt and black top, her black shoes and her bare legs. She didn’t wear makeup. She hadn’t showered. When he’d hugged her, she didn’t smell like soap or perfume. She smelled dirty. Her lips were puffy and swollen. There was a bruise like a thumbprint above her clavicle. Geoff could feel his heart race. His breaths come suddenly quicker.

Nia had something to say. Her face struggled, her mouth opened. Winslow came in the kitchen door behind Geoff, and Nia lowered her head and turned to the island.

“Good morning,” he said, then, “Nia? Wow, hey, you’re home early.”

Nia turned, her face brightened—not like Geoff had seen it the moment before, that grim, worried skull stretched with beautiful skin—now she was pretend-happy. Worn out but pleasant.

“Hi, Winslow, yeah, I came home early. Not feeling too great. And I missed my family,” she said and ran her long fingers through Odie’s thick hair.

“Well enough to come to the last day of the show? It was awesome yesterday.”

Nia’s face froze forming a vowel. “Uh,” she croaked, lips parted, brows raised. She said, “No, I don’t feel well. I think I just need to lie down.”

“Aw, Mom,” Odie whined.

Geoff said, “Odie, Mom’s not feeling well,” and he went to Nia again, crossed the linoleum and put his hand behind her neck and rested her head on his shoulder. His other arm went around her waist. With her pressed to him, he could feel how much he was trembling now. All he could think about was the bruise, her swollen lips . . . she looked beaten.

Nia said, “You guys go to the show. I’ll just stay here. I’m going to bed.”

“No, no, I’ll stay here…” Geoff said. Then, over his shoulder, he said, “Winslow, can you take Odie out to draw, get ready for the show? I’ll—I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Geoff, you have to go,” Nia whispered.

“I want to stay with you.”

“No, Geoff, go.”

“Nia, I’m— I want to stay with you.”

Winslow led Odie out in silence. It was clear something was going on, something too big for Winslow to be part of. Like Mrs. Kane got fired from her job or something. Who knows what he thought. Geoff could hear Odie and him talking on their way down the steps, headed to the studio.

“Nia—”

“Please, Geoff . . . please, stay,” she said, her voice just a whisper.

“I’ll stay, baby, I want to stay. I don’t need to go to the show.”

“I’m sorry, Geoff.”

“Baby, don’t be sorry.”

* * *

Geoff walked Nia up the stairs to their bedroom, hands on her waist as he followed behind her. His heart raced with anticipation. He wanted to hear every detail; he wanted to know everything that happened. He’d pictured this at night time, in bed, black sky, Odie asleep . . . he’d make love to Nia, and she would whisper the grittiest tidbits into his ear.

This was morning though, bright and sunny now. Odie was home, Winslow was here, he had a Book Expo to attend, fans to see, Jenny would be waiting for him . . .

Right now, his erection was going to have to be respectful, be patient. Nia needed comfort.

He got her into the bedroom, walked her to the bed and held her hand while she put a leg up on the mattress and winced, carefully lay on her back and shimmied up the sheets until she sat hunched and cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

“Your shoes, baby,” he said, and sat next to her and pulled off her leather heels. There were bruises on her inner thigh.

“Nia, what the fuck?” He took her ankle and lifted the hem of her skirt. He saw dark purple blotches, like the fingerprints of the big ogre that held her legs apart and fucked her with his big warty cock. “Nia, baby, there’s . . . you’ve got bruises all over your legs.”

She nodded, a quick little shake, eyes staring straight ahead and down at the bed.

“Are you all right? What the fuck did he do to you?” Geoff put a hand on her neck, up under her hair, felt its heavy tickle on the back of his hand.

“I’m okay,” she said.

He ran his thumb along her sweet jawline, chin to hinge. “Nia, baby—did it happen?”

She nodded. “It did.”

His breath chugged, his nose whistled as he exhaled in sobbing gasps. This was so big. He wanted it, but now it was done and no matter whatever, ever fucking happened in the future—it could never be un-done. “Okay,” he gasped, voice trembling.

He waited for her to tell him something, indicate somehow what she’d done. But she stared, shell-shocked, looking at nothing in the quilted space between them.

“Nia, was it bad?”

She shook her head no, vacant eyes looking at the patchwork of their white cotton duvet.

“Was it good?”

She nodded her head yes.

“It was?”

She nodded again, still vacant. Her swollen lips hung open.

“Was it better than good?”

“Yeah,” she croaked.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was.”

His heart tightened. He winced. He tried to joke. “Was it . . . the best sex ever?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it was.”

“Wow. Holy shit,” he said, feeling his eyes swell.

“Geoff . . . it was, like, my every fantasy,” she murmured.

“Nia, honey, come on and snap out of it.”

“Are you okay?” she asked him, looking up, eyes quivering, her expression plaintive and troubled.

He leaned to her, and took her lips with his. She kissed him back, her tough nails scratched through his beard and he felt finally like it was all going to be okay. He sucked on her lips; he took her tongue. Not with lust, but with love. He tasted her mouth. He felt the soft slippery feel of the world’s best formed tongue. Her lips tasted like copper. They felt different, swollen, puffy.

He pulled back, pulled her lips with his own, heard their wet sounds smack as they came apart. Nia’s lips hung pouted from her face, unrecognizable. “What happened to your mouth, baby?” he asked her.

She sighed, her hand came up, and she felt her own lips, her fingers smoothing the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I sucked his cock.”

“Oh, Nia,” he moaned. “You did?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“That’s why your lips are swollen?”

“I guess,” she said. She looked at him, puzzled. She didn’t know why. “Can you . . . can you run me a bath?”

“Sure, baby.” He went to rise, stopped, said, “Can I just hold you a while . . . like this?”

“Like what?” she said.

“Before your bath.”

“I’m dirty, Geoff.”

“I know, Nia,” he said, and put his mouth on her neck and under her hair and smelled her sweat, her heat. “That’s why,” he said.

She rested a hand across his neck, her hand hot and damp, and it made his heart beat faster. She said, “Sure, Geoff. Yeah, baby. Do you want . . . do you want me to undress?”

He nodded into her mane. He did, he really did.

“Get the bath started,” she said, and put her hands crossed over under the hem of her black scoop neck shirt and pulled it up.

Geoff quick-stepped into the bathroom and ran a bath, got the water roaring, tested it with his hand to make sure it was as hot as Nia liked it. He put in two caps of bubbles and got back out.

Nia was on her back on top of the sheets, shirt off, still in her black bra, and she was struggling to get her skirt off.

“I got it, Nia,” he said, and went to her. She moved her hands away, rested her forearms over her forehead as he undid the zip on her skirt. He looked at this woman he loved so much as he took the bottom of the skirt in both his hands and guided it down her legs. He watched the sway of her bosom in her bra as her body rocked with his movement. Then horror as the skirt came down, and he saw more bruises on her thigh, high up near her panties. That fucking animal had hurt her.

“Nia, these bruises, what the fuck?” He dropped the skirt to the floor and climbed over her on the bed, on all fours, his face at her thighs. His fingers traced her skin there, careful not to touch where she’d been hurt.

“I’m okay, Geoff, I swear, baby,” she said, still under the shield of her arms draped over her face.

“Nia, he’s put bruises all over your legs. God, Nia—on your tummy, too,” he said as he saw more marks there.

“Geoff, sweetie, I’m totally fine, okay?”

He shook his head in worry at what he was seeing. He ran fingers along the frilled edge of her panties, then curled them under it. “Yeah, but . . .”

Nia’s hands covered his hands, stopping him. “Geoff?”

“What?”

“Geoff, it might . . . I’m sore.”

He nodded. He pulled gently on the panties, and she stopped him again.

“Geoff, it might not look . . .”

He nodded again. He’d seen her when she gave birth. He’d iced her vagina in the days afterward. Put the rubber finger of a frozen latex glove in there for her. “Nia,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she said, and let his hands go.

He pulled the panties down her thighs and over her feet and dropped them to the floor. She propped herself up on her elbows, watched him as he looked between her legs, biting her lower lip. She parted her legs a little for him and he kissed his way up her thigh, got himself close to that hot wet part of her that made her a woman. She smelled dirty and used. She looked used. Her well-formed little lips were furled and still swollen, one lip hanging out farther than the other. A bruised and twisted flower. He smelled sweat and something fruity, like a sweet vinegar. The smell of another man.

He kissed her inner thigh again, kissed a mottled grey bruise there, worked his way to her heat, kissed his way to the centre of her. Her fingers found his hair, and he felt her caress on him.

“Geoff,” she whispered.

He plumped his lips against her mound, sucked her swollen coppery flesh.

“Geoff, I’m so sore, honey,” she cooed, a slight whine hiding in her gentle voice.

He ran his tongue over her, tasted her, bitter and metallic, her familiar Nia taste that he loved, and something else. Her own expected excitement, her sweat earned from powerful activity, and more. A big man named Rocco.

“Geoff, stop,” she said. “Stop, baby.”

“Nia . . .”

“Baby, look at me, Geoff.”

He kissed her swollen mound, wanting only to make her whole again, make her his. He went with her pull, raised his eyes to hers.

She said, “Geoff, don’t, okay? He . . . we didn’t use . . . a condom.”

He closed his eyes. His head fell against her thigh, his ear pressed against her soft flesh. He bit his own lips.

“Nia,” he sighed.

“I know, Geoff, I know,” she said, her voice tinged with worry. “Please, Geoff, I need you right now, honey,” she said, and held her arms out. “Baby, please come and lie with me. Hold me. I need you so bad right now.”

He climbed up her body and her hands clawed at him as he went, pulling her up to him. He lay next to her, and she kissed him, both of them laying in their bed together facing each other.

“I’m sorry, Geoff.”

“It’s okay, Nia. It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out.”

His hand went around behind her and he unclasped her bra, pulled it off, and she stretched a long thin arm out for him to pull the one side down. He smelled her flesh, smelled the creases between her breasts, lifted them and smelled under them. He kissed her nipples, and he kissed her ribs and her tight belly, plucked his lips at the soft curve at the swell of her belly button. She smelled like a woman who’d had great sex. A woman who’d sweated and came and pumped out crazy female hormones all night as she got fucked by an ultra-stud. Fucked by a giant man with his giant cock, a man who was hairy and sweaty and strong and he shot guns and hung deer by their necks and pulled the skin from their corpses. His breath shuddered, his body racked with exquisite worry and fear and doubt and inferiority. But Nia made it all better. Made it better with her sweet kisses, made it better with the love in her eyes and the devotion in her touch. And when he kissed her sides, she rolled, and she moaned as he kissed and smelled along her back and the edges of her shoulder blades. He kissed lower, kissed the small of her back and her hands swept down her own thighs and back up to her ass and she parted her cheeks for him, let him kiss and smell her there. She tilted her rump up as he kissed that hot part of her, smelled her filth, her badness. His cock throbbed in his pants.

From the kitchen: “Daa-aad!”

He pressed his lips firmly into Nia’s tight butt cheek and smacked a loving kiss on her.

“Geoff, Geoff, come here,” Nia said, urgently.

“What, Nia?”

She held his arms and looked into his eyes as she lay on her back on their bed. “Baby, don’t leave me today, okay? I’m sorry about your show.”

“I’ll stay.”

“Geoff, I love you more than ever, okay?”

“I know. Well, I don’t know, I guess, but thank you. I’m glad you said it.”

“I do, Geoff. I want . . . We’re not done, okay? I got my fun last night . . . I swear, Geoff, I’ll make you crazy once O goes to bed tonight. Okay?”

“Oh fuck, Nia.”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to, so bad. I— I want to watch you come just like I said I would.”

“Daaa-aad!” Again.

Nia whispered, “I’ll tell you every dirty detail.”

His heart hammered in his chest, beat a blurry tremble into the edges of his vision. “I love you,” he said. He kissed her chin, kissed her lips. “Your bath is ready, okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” he said and untucked his shirt, covered up the pant-splitting erection he had right now, thought about baseball and that scary neighbor he had when he was a kid—that old lady who only had one eye and chased him and his sister with a broom right into their own house. He stood at the top of the stairs before going to see what O wanted, adjusting his pants, wiping his eyes. He went down the stairs.