All the Waters of the Earth

Chapter 12: A Place of Creation

Over the work week that followed, two things happened.

First, my writing productivity exploded. Finally. My male character came to life, bringing a set of complex issues to solve and a distraction from my real life and legal problems. And if I was going to be honest, the male character was based on Jake, but the Jake of my dreams and fantasies, not the real life Jake who lived next door. Real life Jake didn't measure up, but in my book, I could make him just right.

By Friday, I had exceeded my word count goals, getting caught up for the past two weeks, and then some. Satisfied with the quality and quantity of the time that I had spent at the computer, when Rob was in school, I indulged in near-constant swimming, if I wasn't writing. I think that the downtime for my brain was healthy and it kept my body in shape. While I was in the pool, I concentrated on moving my arms and legs, counting laps, moving, and staying focused on the exercise. Swimming also tired me out so that I didn't sit around when I was not writing and think about my sexy, but sad, neighbor, and it made it so that I fell asleep quickly.

There was something incredibly soothing about being in the warm water of our pool. It felt womb-like, comforting, and a place of creation. I loved the sensation of being suspended, surrounded by the water, feeling weightless, existing temporarily in a different environment. The water felt like home to me, a return to a natural state of relief, pleasure, and relaxation.

Second, I began to freak out about going to model for the life drawing class on Saturday. The last class had been like any other assignment; I was an anonymous model, posing for anonymous art students, and I did my job and left.

This week? It was more.

Now I had to disrobe in front of a man who rocked my world, and then tore it apart. A man who had made love to me, passionately and sweetly, and it had felt like it had meaning. It had felt like the start of something big. But then he wouldn't acknowledge our fledgling relationship, and I was not going to put up with a guy who was ashamed of me. That didn't make it any less awkward to think about going to class, however.

The day of class arrived, and I left in the morning to get there early. Georgie watched Roberto for me this time. As I drove away, Jake's BMW lurked in the parking lot of our complex; I halfway wished that he wouldn't show up.

Truth be told, though, the other half really wanted to see him. And the real, God's honest truth be told, I missed him in a way that I didn't know was possible. I had been waiting for him all of those evenings. And I wanted to see him. As the days of the week dragged on, I thought more and more about what had happened. He had been so sweet, so romantic, so hot. I hated this. I was starting to think that I had overreacted. I did not know what had been going on with him at the office and I had not let him talk. I wondered if I would get the chance to let him explain it, or if I had lost my chance forever. Maybe I should give him a second chance.

I scolded myself. I had written a book about a second chance. Some person I was if I wouldn't do it in real life.

Still, I had processed some emotions with the passage of time. I felt strongly that no one was going to walk all over me. It mattered that people treated me with respect. I felt like I had proved to myself that I had a backbone and could stand up for myself; I was not going to put up with bad treatment. But something more was going on. There was something below the surface, I could feel it. And I felt like I was now hurting myself by not talking to him. And possibly hurting him.

Searching down deep, it was a fact: I was still attracted to him. I wanted him in my life. I wanted to disassemble him, find out what made him tick. He seemed like he needed someone to love; he didn't have anyone. And that made my heart hurt.

I didn't feel like I could give him a second chance right now, however, because of the court proceeding. It was better for me not to be in a relationship, especially a new one, for Roberto's sake. So the decision was easy; yet seeing him today was going to be hard.

Walking into the classroom early, I was relieved to see that no one was there. The ante room was empty, and I went in, undressed, put on my white waffle robe, and waited. After a few minutes, I heard the noises of people arriving, chairs scuffling around, and people taking their seats. The professor knocked on the door and talked with me for a moment. Today, she wanted movement. I was to walk around and they were to sketch me in motion, moving from pose to pose.

I tried to remember to breathe.

Last time I exited, I did not look around; I had looked down, modestly. This time, I wanted to, I wanted to hold my head high and look him straight in the eye.

But I couldn't.

I walked to the middle of the class, dropped my robe, and began a series of poses, holding each until the professor said, "next pose, please." Each pose had movement, like swinging an arm or turning a head back and forth. Because of this constant movement, this class session, I got a lock on where Jake was seated. At an easel, in the back. His blue eyes were on me, and every time I looked at him, they seemed to have a different expression. At first, they were blank, studious, analytical, an artist flicking his eyes up from his paper, to the model, then back again. But as I moved and the poses changed, his eyes went to anguished. Then pleading. And then, worst of all, his sexiest stare, intense, unblinking heat, his hands down, not drawing, just watching me naked, moving, for the other art students to draw. But for him, it was my body on display.

Before, I found modeling for an art class to be almost asexual. I thought about the list of things that I needed from the supermarket. But this time, all I could think about was Jake's hands on me, his lips on my skin, his fingers making me come. The caresses he gave me, the way he was thoughtful and honest.

Dammit.

I was going to give him a second chance. Once this case was done, I was going to do it. But I needed to figure out a way to tell him.

In what seemed like no time at all, the professor called time, and I went back and changed. This time, I hurried, instead of taking my time, and when I was done, half of the class, including Jake, was still putting away their art supplies. I walked straight over to him as he was putting his pencils in the box and then packing up his bag.

"Hi," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Hey," he responded, looking at me with an unreadable expression. I felt a little hopeful.

"Can we talk?"

He looked at me with heat, and longing. My heart leapt. But then he shook his head and let out a sigh, picking up his art pad and his supplies. "It's not a good time, Lucy." And then he walked away from me.