Title: Airplanes
Word Count: 2,594
Author: Felicien Fiarce
Airplanes
There’s beauty in breakdown.
If you and I were standing in front of one another, you might not notice my skin had taken a less golden undertone. . . If you and I were watching one another, you might not notice the dulling blue in my eyes, and even if you knew me, you would have noticed that I looked too thin and porcelain to be human.
At least, that was what I was sure the woman in front of me was thinking. She was attempting to be polite and not stare, but people only treated you one of two ways in customer service. They either liked you, and knew where you came from, or wondered why in the hell you were working there, and hated you.
“Excuse me, did you get my order.” I flinched at the cold tone of her voice, but nodded as I wrote it down on paper. I moved to fill the coffee she’d asked for. I placed it in a clean mug and smiled at her. “If you will be having this here, I will happily bring it to you along with a bagel for your wait.” I offered, and suddenly that persona changed. She beamed at me, and reached to pinch something. I avoided her by bending down to pick up napkins I’d “spilled.”
“It’s honestly no problem, Ma’am.” I reassured her, feeling happier that she had changed her mood completely. I brought her the coffee and bagel like I promised then filled other orders before returning to the counter. Although I didn’t need the job, for all intents and purposes, it somehow seemed so much better than not having one . . . if that made any sense at all.
There’s beauty in breakdown.
When I worked, I didn’t have to worry about missing . . . him. When I worked, I didn’t have to worry about losing my mind. The sun was low in the sky and approaching the horizon with a speed I didn’t think it had. I wondered how the sun felt, never having seen the moon. I wondered if he thought it were better.
At closing, I cleared tables, and collected tips. Coffee goers were generous most of the time, so the cash I shoved in my pockets made me feel a little better about my burned palms and chipped nails.
The woman, Emma, who managed the shop, brushed my shoulder as we counted the drawers. She was a beautiful girl with bright blonde hair and silvery blue eyes. She reminded me of a girl Lucette might grow into.
I liked her, up until times like this. I ran fingers through my hair and it made my heart sting. She moved behind me, and her chest brushed against my back. I shifted away from her. It gave the impression of sandpaper against glass. It was a little too obvious the girl had a thing for me, however, as the past would tell us – I was not interested.
I smiled to be polite and started toward the door when the bells at the backdoor sounded. Emma paused, and turned. I could read in her body language she did not want to open that door.
I moved for her, opening the door and nearly dropping to the floor at the first sight of tan skin and dark hair. For a moment, I had a glimpse of Lorenzo standing in that doorway, biceps bulging, but I was wrong.
“Domenico?” I questioned. What was he doing here? His smile was genuine and he ruffled my hair. I had the urge to shake him off, but didn’t.
“Making a delivery. Emma purchases the coffee beans my family roasts for her. A special Italian blend you French don’t know about.” He boasted and I couldn’t help from smiling. For a moment I thought my face would break in half. I hadn’t smiled in years it felt like. He walked past me and spoke to Emma for a moment.
I had to stare. Domenico was attractive in ways Lorenzo both was and was not. They were nearly the same in height, only Domenico was more broad and Lorenzo tall. I fought to stop comparing them, but once it started it was hard to stop. The chestnut in Lorenzo’s hair did nothing for the dark in Domenico’s. My eyes fell away from the unattainable.
“So, when did you start?” He asked me, with an arch in his eyebrow. It was easy to see why Mariella loved the guy. He was beautif -. .
“A few weeks ago.” I said, with a small blush. Domenico laughed at me as he reached to touch my hands. I pulled them away from him. My hands were a mess. I was too pale and delicate for manual labor and it showed in the bruises and burns on the skin. He shook his head and frowned.
“Are you eating properly?” He asked and I avoided the question by asking one of my own.
“How’s Mariella?” Domenico didn’t like the change in subject and he glanced over his shoulder to Emma.
“On second thought, Em, I’ll take your place next week.” Emma’s face brightened and she ran over to kiss the Italian on the cheek.
“I owe you a million!” She said happily then jogged away to the back. I stared at him, my mouth dropped and catching flies. He tapped my chin and laughed.
“Well, buy the looks of things, Fiacre, we’re coworkers.” My heart jumped a beat. That accent was familiar. . . I nodded to him, a blush heating my face.
There’s beauty in breakdown.
Over the course of the following days, Domenico stood in while Emma went on vacation to America. She said something about having a boyfriend overseas. I tried not to think of the terms “boyfriend,” or, “overseas,” in the same sentence. Domenico was a good manager, and without her around, I could say much better than Emma. I worked better with him around and he made me laugh. For a while, I forgot about. . . feeling down.
He forced me to eat lunch with him every single day, even if we had to close the shop for an hour to do so. I laughed when he’d done it the first time, complaining that I was too thin for work. We talked it seemed, about everything and I wondered if he was reporting all of the information back to Lorenzo. . .
However, he’d never brought up his name. . . not even once. . . not even on accident. Was Domenico that good, careful, or did he really not care?
After closing, it was time to stock the store. I went to the back where the coffee beans were and did inventory on everything we needed more of. Domenico entered the tiny enclosed space. There was only enough room for one person, so it just came to show how thin I was as Domenico pressed against the back of my body to reach for something above my head.
It was nothing like when Emma had brushed against me. Electricity rushed through by body and sparked where he was touching. I resisted the urge to move my body back against his.
“You okay, Felicien?” He asked, moving back from me. I nodded, but kept my face down at the pen and paper. I couldn’t even recognize the numbers I was pretending to be writing. My shoulders were shaking, and I knew that Domenico could feel it. Although I’d gained a fair bit of weight, I was still so thin . . . so skinny. . . He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and laughed against my ear.
“Are you cold? You’re shaking.” He wrapped his arms tighter around me and laughed again. I tried not to break down in those arms. The smell of Domenico was completely different. Lorenzo often calmed his senses with the smell of fresh oil paint, and canvass, but Domenico smelled like hard work, sweat. . . I closed my eyes and let that scent wash over me. I calmed. . . He noticed it and cleared his throat.
“Well there we go!” He said happily, edging out the door. “You’ll be out of here soon, Felicien. I won’t make you stay all night doing inventory.” He promised, but I smiled at him.
“I don’t mind.” There was something on my face that made him hesitate at the door. I could have sworn I saw him blush as he rushed away from the room. Domenico was much too clueless at times. I started counting again, writing actual numbers down other then the combinations I’d been doing before.
It didn’t take as long as Domenico might have wanted. He was cleaning the coffee maker when I approached him. “Finished.” He jumped and looked over at me.
“Well, you’re free to go.” I shook my head.
“I can wait, it’s no big deal.” Domenico’s face wavered, and then he smiled. “Well, if you’re okay with it. . .” I nodded and went around finishing things he might have forgotten to do. Eventually, I found myself in the storage room again, with thoughts to myself. . . That, was a bad sign.
I walked past the calendar posted on the wall without a second glance. The winter had been drawn out, coating my car with snow ever day. Realization crashed into my body and turned my stomach into stone. Turning back to the flimsy paper held together with tape was today’s date circled with hearts around it.
V-Valentines day? Had I forgotten that easily? Guilt punched into my heart and I realized Emma’s reason for taking her trip. The thoughts of Lorenzo and their previous holidays circled about.
Endlessly, they fluttered about in my head, like bats with spears, each memory with good aim. I found my breathing labored, and my stomach hurting at the sides. I slid against the wall and to the floor. I should have gone home. . . I scolded myself internally. I should have broken down at home. I covered my face . . . Hot tears washed cold skin and I was in more pain. . .
I didn’t hear the door.
There’s beauty in breakdown.
Domenico’s voice sounded too much like Lorenzo’s.
“Felicien.” I just wanted him to say my name again . . . in that sweet tone, that always caught me. “Felicien.” A name followed by the caress of his hands in my hair. He pulled me to the weight of his body and I was stone. Unmoving, unthinking and cold, he held me. I cried until my body emptied of tears, and I was clenching the warmth of his body. He rocked me, my legs thrown in his lap.
“Felicien . . .” He whispered when my body had calmed. I flinched. I attempted to pull away, but he tightened those arms, and I gave up. “I-I . . . I’m here for you. Stop hiding. . . You . . . and him with this hiding business. . .” He said. I looked up at him, and I guess something on my face startled him. He frowned at me. I dropped my gaze. He shook his head.
“I-I. . .” Domenico cut off my apology.
“Don’t even, Felicien.” I was scared of his response. I looked up at his face and it was all wrong. His eyes were grey, not hazel, his hair was short, not long, and he was much darker then Lorenzo, but in that instant all I saw was perfection. . . All I knew was Lorenzo. I kissed those lips that weren’t the right shape, and fought the hands that tried to pull me away.
He was unyielding to my kisses, and it frustrated me greatly. I needed him, I was . .I was so damn alone! And he was the only one I could trust right now. “Please. . .” I cried against that stone mouth. He flinched. “Please . . .” I pleaded. His arms fought me less and held me more. I took the opportunity granted and kissed him deeply. I knew he wasn’t giving much into the kisses, but it was better than nothing, and I would run with it.
Domenico was nervous, and his arms were shaking as he balanced his hands on my hips. I whimpered for him, elating a noise from him. I kept my eyes closed because in my head, Lorenzo was there. He was caressing my skin, tugging my hair . . . making me his. My fingers found their way under Domenico’s shirt, I tugged the material away.
He responded in the most vocal way. I brought my mouth to that smooth skin, and sank my teeth into him. It wasn’t Domenico, in no way or form was the man beneath me Domenico. I played with a n****e in my mouth, and fingers tightened in my hair – angrily. I was forced backwards and undressed.
“If you want a fantasy, Felicien . . .just let me know.” Somewhere I knew Domenico was speaking, but my mind couldn’t translate that. My entire mind knew was that my body liked what was going on. My body liked the rough. It liked the intensity. It pushed blood to my loins and had me hard within moments. Lorenzo exploited this. He plunged his tongue into my mouth and dragged his fingers through my hair. I moaned for him, my mouth opening to whimper his name.
My nails dug into his shoulders and his grunting told me all I wanted to know. There wasn’t any foreplay, but I didn’t need any. My jeans fell from my hips with more ease than practice and my legs parted for him. I could still smell the coffee beans of the shop, and the press of darkness against the outside of the shop, but inside, were dreams. . . inside was hope.
I whimpered as we became one. I was leaking and begging for him. Lorenzo pressed my forehead to the wall and dragged my hips against him. I moaned loudly, more vocal than I ever had been. I gasped and withered beneath the thrusting of his body.
Finally his hand cupped my length and I knew I was done. His breath in my ear and teeth on my back made me completely confused between pleasure and pain. My body translated it and its response covered his hand, my chest and the poor wall in front of me.
I wasn’t wrong in thinking Lorenzo finished, as he turned soft in my body and pulled out of me with a moan. I collapsed to my knees and he followed behind, pulling me into his arms and tucking my head against his neck.
I cuddled his arm and breathed deep . . .W-Wait. . . th-the scent was all wrong. All I could smell was hard work sweat . . . determin -. . .
My heart shattered my eyes opened to find Domenico’s bright blues in my direction. I was still panting, still sweating and back to losing my mind. He held me while I screamed insanity into his chest. He cried with me, knowing how lost I truly was. I wondered if he blamed me for the wreck I was. I wondered if he too . . . noticed how less golden my skin was . . . and how dull my blues were . . . and maybe even, if I’d lost any weight. . .
There’s beauty in breakdown.
