She Comes to Me (NSFW)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction and Creative Writing' started by r.zent, Aug 1, 2013.

  1. r.zent

    r.zent Member

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    Keep in mind that this is an EXTREMELY ROUGH DRAFT. It is just the beginning of the story and it has not been edited with so much as spellcheck. So critiques are welcome but if it has to do with spelling or grammar, just know that I have not gotten that far yet and I'm not a complete idiot lol. This is mostly for help to make sure that the story flows and whether or not it is interesting and easy to follow that sort of thing. Any feedback is MUCH appreciated!!


    Late at night she comes to me--only me. She is mine in those moments, scarce moments gone too soon. I let the chemicals run through me. She gets closer with every rushing beat of my heart distributing the venom through my body. I poison myself for her, with her. Sometimes she takes so long that as I drift in and out of consciousness, I may begin to lose hope. As I close my eyes in defeat I feel her water drifting above me. I hear the rain falling on my bare mattress. I open my eyes and find her knowing smile. How foolish I am to think that she will not return. She is always there for me when I call to her. She beckons me from the other side day and night begging me to let her find me. She wants me almost as badly as I need her. She always comes, and she always brings the rain.

    My name is Naomi Britzi. I am possibly the only blonde haired, blue eyed Italian in New York. What I lack in italian appearance I more than make up for in my strong will, love of fine wine, and impeccable eye for fashion. That is my life: fashion. I am by far the youngest name in design but my hunger and thirst drove me to the top by the time I had turned twenty-two years old and now at thirty-two it is more impressive to hear that a model or actress is "wearing Britzi" than Armani or Valentino.
    I have a beautiful home with my live in lover Giustino just outside city limits, the sort of neighborhood that you buy into more for the name than the atmosphere. I of course still have my flat between my office and main store. Giustino often asks about the day that I will slow down and become "Mrs. Giustino Campanelli". I always tell him that he might as well get used to the fact that he will always be, "with Ms. Britzi." Giu is the strong and silent type, a large chiseled man that is the perfect accessory to most evening wear. While he is a good man I would rather be designing clothing for Gianatta, the kind that look nice as the slide onto the bedroom floor of my flat.
    Not only am I on top, but I have become the definition of it. I am the mogul of the modern fashion world. There is not a single contender in this fashion race for me anymore. They have all consceded to sending me expensive scotches and cocktails at after parties with a cheers and a tip of the hat. Interviewer after interviewer have asked me with trembling voice and shaking hands, "Now that you're on top, are you going to take it easy?" I smile and give the same answer every time, "Now where's the fun in that?"
    "Okay Ms. Britzi, I poured you a cup of coffee and have Damon on stand by to make more whenever you are ready that way it's fresh, I have a color coded list of your missed calls on your desk, and Paul said that he had emailed you some concept pieces that he had been working with in your LA store. Is there anything else Ms. Britzi?" My sputtering young pup of an assistant spouts at me as I calmly take off my coat and lay it on my side table.
    "You're shaking aren't you Helen." I say looking straight at her avoidant eyes.
    "Oh I just have a bit of a caffeine buzz I'm sorry Ms. Britzi I will work on it."
    "I wasn't criticizing Helen. You are doing a fantastic job." I say smiling.
    "Thank you, thank you so much Ms. Britzi!" she says bowing as she makes her way out of the room.
    My office looks out over hustle and bustle of the entire city. Donald Trump himself doesn't have an office as nice as mine. In fact Donald Trump himself sent me a fruit basket last month asking to have a meeting as he was eager to pick the brain of "the most innovative fashion and business mogul that he had ever witnessed". My secretary enjoyed the expensive and exotic fruits and nuts and I enjoyed an overpriced cup of coffee with the man. I ran the show and we spoke more about classic movies and music than anything else. I doubt that he noticed until I was long gone.
    The secret to my success is that there is no secret. I am very good at what I do. I speak well, have a nice figure, and design the most beautiful clothes that anyone has ever seen. I work very hard. I opened a small store and people started buying my clothes. The same people started talking and my business grew. Sometimes people find a magic formula for success. Sometimes it simply happens. I am not stingy. If I had a secret to share that would help others I would share it. I think that I am just lucky. I was at exactly the right place at exactly the right time.
    "Ms. Britzi, I have a Giustino Campanelli on line one?" Helen's voice comes over the intercom.
    "Tell him to wear vintage Armani tonight. I'll be in my vintage Chanel. He'll know what to do." I say my voice suddenly tired.
    I am to busy looking down twenty floors to the people on the streets. I see children playing. I used to play in these parks, on these streets. They used to call me Goldilocks and Moonface. I had few real friends. I had no respect. Now I find it hard to remember my first name. Ms. Britzi runs the show now. Even when Giustino is working himself into a frenzy of passion atop of me he whispers in my ear, "Britzi... Britzi..."
    A shudder runs through my body and I am reminded of the photos that Paul has sent to me. I quickly print them and put them in my portfolio. I answer my missed calls, sort through a final set of busy work and head out early to stop by my flat, I have to drop off the next six months rent and I would like to pin up these pictures so that I can work on them, perhaps after the show tonight. I know the live model I want to work on.
    I step out of my office with a flushed face. She has this affect on me. I walk the block and a half to my flat and quickly pin the pictures to my wall sized corkboard. I think that Paul is onto something. Everyone is doing heat. Fire reds, blaze oranges. Maybe we need some smoke. We certainly need something different. I have felt something missing for the past year that I cannot quite put my finger on. It is November now and it still has not arrived. I had been working on a little something last week that with a few modifications would really fit into this smoke theme.
    I hear the key turn in the lock. I do not turn. I smell her. Sandalwood and cinnamon. I hear her purse and keys drop to the floor and her hurried steps to me. I also do not need to turn to know that by the time that she gets to me she will have sedated her excitement. I hear her steps halt. I turn from my work to face her.
    "You're here. Finally." She says it plainly, her emotions thinly veiled.
    "It's been three days. That hardly calls for a 'finally'" I mock her slightly as I gesture for her to turn around and undress so that I can begin fitting my newest creation to her.
    "Well it was two more days than usual." She says. Her accent curling the words. My accent is slight and tainted with Manhattan. Her's is the purest that I have ever heard. The sound of her voice is pure Florence. Her words paint pictures of Venice, gondolas and cafes. More than that it holds the fire of an Italian woman. I had heard her voice rise in passion until it was entirely in Italian, at which point I was typically dodging projectiles.
    "I've been busy." I make a last stitch right along her back pantyline and I pause. Cobalt silk on the slope of her back and full hips cause me to dig my nails slightly into her sides. Her back arches in response.
    "Are you mad at me?" I ask. She stiffens very purposefully.
    "Yes." She says. I slowly press myself like a puzzle against every inch of her back. As my lips reach her ear I whisper.
    "Prove it."
    In a whirlwind of blackened mahogany hair she turns and as her lips crash onto mine her legs are wrapped around me and I toss her onto the counter. She cannot hide her desires from me. I know every inch of this woman. I know which spots make her scream and which spots make her purr. I can control every moment of her moans.
    "I've never looked at a woman and wanted her the way that I want you. I have never looked at you and not wanted to kiss every part of you... every intimate part of you." Her voice is wet and desperate as my hands work magic under her dress.
    "You think of me with him, admit it you do." I command.
    "I do. I think of you always, oh," She begins to reach her limit, "always, always always..." She gets louder and louder until she crumbles trembling against me.
    "You'll never leave him." I don't know anymore if I am commanding her or asking her.
    "And you will never leave my brother." A flame lifts the words from her, but fizzles to a mere ember quickly with her exhaustion. Her legs are still shaking against me and she leans her head back to my shoulder. I am still as I hold her the way a mother holds a toddler.



    "You're here." I am pained with the familiarity of the words, but his are soft and warm and fall like rocks on my skin.
    "Yes. Did Helen deliver my message?" I ask the mirror.
    "She did. She's a nervous little thing isn't she." I look at him in the mirror as he wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck. I begin to apply my favorite mascara.
    "They all are." I say my voice tired as his hands feel their way up my blouse.
    His persistence finds me sitting on the counter with my legs around his waist. I focus on the painting above his dresser in the next room. The grey of the water swirling onto rocks soothes me through his movements. I begin to count the rocks slowly in my mind.
    "Britzi..." His voice comes sudden to my ear and startles me. I nearly made it to 13 this time.


    We walk into Aquarius to a flood of red and orange. My dress is knee length and burnt sienna. It is loose and drapes between my breasts down to my navel. It is not my favorite dress but it looks nice with Giustino's deep brown double breasted Armani suit. His strong hand guides me to our group. I look to his face where I find the same lips of Gianatta. The same lips as their mother. Usually I find comfort here. Goosebumps rise all the way down my spine.
    "Ms. Britzi! You're here!" Frisco Porter smiles largely at me lifting his glass of champagne in my direction. It is probably his fifth or sixth drink at this point in the night. He is a charming drunk though and I excitedly kiss his cheeks and hold his face in my hands.
    His thick frames are nothing compared to his bifocal lenses. They must have been a nightmare for him going through puberty but now with his wealth and eccentricities I find them handsome. He has no hair on top of his head but two black wooly worms for eyebrows. He stands at about my height in heels, all of his features thin and long. My favorite are his hands. Large knuckled and calloused, I always hold at least one of them while we speak. Of all of the people I come across in the fashion world he treats me the most like a normal person.
    "My love, my love, you look handsome as ever." I say into his ear.
    "And you my dear, happen to be here with the luckiest man alive." He says to my face. My eyes well with tears.
    Among all of the darting glances I feel a lingering set of eyes. I do not have to turn to know who they belong to. I am somewhere between a sigh of exasperation and a playful grin. Cassidy Cline leans on a table top beside the bar. She spins the ice in her glass having drank the last of what I can bet was a gin and ginger. I hope that it is not her fifth or sixth one. Charm is not the word that I would use to describe Cassidy's intoxication. She sucks on a lime peel and waits for me.
    I would be lying if I said that I had not thought about whether or not Cassidy would attend the review tonight. I am never sure which of us chose the other first. What I do know is that when a twenty year old model has the gull to sneak into a prominent designer's private quarters without panties under her runway look, I take notice. With her silk blonde hair cut above her ears, her wide set cheekbones, constant pout, and large black eyes Cassidy was born to model. Her dress is short, yellow, and almost manages to hug her body in some places. Her bony frame makes it particularly hard for things to be form fitting.
    "You ought to get to her now, that's number three." Frisco says with a wink and a nod in Cassidy's direction. I send him a playful smirk of disapproval. How had he read my mind?
    "You know too much." I say
    "It's the x-ray specs. They see ALL." He says bobbing them playfully with a finger behind his large ear. I laugh at him and squeeze his hand with both of mine and walk towards her.
    "Nice dress. Looks expensive." I say leaning on the bar not looking at the girl. I pretend to read the label of the various liquors.
    "Pretty cheap actually. I'm fucking the boss." She says turning to stare directly at the side of my face.

    What she thinks is fire is a mere spark compared to Gianatta. I have a theory that while in the womb Gianatta absorbed all the genes that control intuition and perceptiveness giving her a sixth sense in this right and leaving Giustino blind as a bat. I had merely mentioned Cassidy's name among several others one night when she cut me off.
    "Is she pretty?" She asked, seemingly calm. I answered in a way that I thought was accurate.
    "She's a model." My response was clearly the wrong answer as I suddenly had to dodge a plate of pasta and catch the hand of the tiny woman before it made contact with my face. She spoke in Italian so loudly and with such speed that I could not understand a single word of it.

    "I would hardly call it fucking." I chuckle. She stands and I know that it is time for charm to dismantle the bomb.
    "It suits you. Very well." I smile and wink towards her, looking straight into her eyes, the color of the darkest espresso. She stills her movement.
    "Will I be walking in your fall line?"
    "Love, you will always walk for me." I say and put my full palm on top of her hand. The touch is enough to turn her spark into a calm pool and her lilac lips almost smile. I lean into her ear.
    "and maybe then I can show you what fucking is." I whisper, eliciting a shudder from the girl. I never have been able to leave well enough alone.

    I disappear before she can touch me. I grab my extra hot bloody mary and sneak back towards the restrooms. My people usually are slinking around here somewhere. I am hoping for someone to give me a breath of fresh air. Before I can even begin to search the faces for someone to provide me a fix I am being drug out of the building to the slight bite of air and the noise of the city.
    "You looked like you needed," Frisco holds up a needle "A breath of air." He says smiling. While I dabble in altered states I have certainly never put something in my veins. But I trust Frisco.
    "Okay. Yes." I say holding my arm out. He laughs and readies the needles. Until he sees my pristine arm.
    "Honey, baby, Britzi. Are you sure?" He asks, suddenly serious and looking into my soul. I nod, feeling suddenly like a sixteen year old girl again.
    He ties some thing around my arm and flicks the needle just like in the movies. I lay my arm out and open to him. I see my deep blue vein perk up against the thin white surface of my arm. Just as the needle pierces the skin, the most frigid droplet of water falls from above me and lands on the entry. before I can even stop Frisco the droplet is sucked entirely into my vein as though by vacuum power. He notices me jump and my eyes become large.
    "You okay? The first times always hard." He says looking me over like a doctor.
    "It's so... cold." I can only whisper as I feel ice water running through every inch of my veins, changing things along the way. I press my index finger to my thumb and realize that I cannot feel either of them. I smile.
    "I like this." my voice is only a breath. I stare at my arm. I can feel that tiny droplet of water still, separately from the drug... what was that?
    "Are you ready?" Frisco asks. I am startled, I forgot that he was there.
    "For what?" I ask dumbly.
    "Impact." He says plainly as the sound of the tourniquet snapping off of my arm causes me to jump.
    A sharp breath enters my lungs as I feel my pupils turn into dimes. I had thought that I was already feeling the full affect but I could not have been more wrong. Something begins to fall from the sky and land on the ground around me. I do not know if it is snowing or if the stars have fallen. I feel the earth's rotation, and all of the movements of the city around me, the pavement beneath me breathes.
    "You alright Britzi baby?" He asks trying to hold contact with my darting eyes.
    "Oh, yes. Yes!" I say ecstatically. I love the brightness of the lights, I love how my hands can grasp the wind, I love the damp wind kissing my lips.
    "I'm gonna let you ride this for a minute, if you need me I'll be at the table. I'll cover for you." He says squeezing my shoulder.
    The metallic clink that follows his exit is met by chills down my spine. I look up to see not the dark night sky as I had expected, but a large ceiling of aqua colored water. It is so beautiful, and it makes me feel secure. I let my arms go limp and find that they float weightlessly. I see my loose curls being lifted around me, dancing slowly encircling my head. A light sound of laughter escapes my parted lips. My body slowly follows my arms and hair, lifting towards the water above me. I feel the woman's presence before I see her.
    She is on a fire escape, leaning against the edge. There is a glow all around her, as though she is being projected there. She even looks grainy and skips from time to time. Her hair is white. Not white with age but white with purity, like a gleaming field of snow. It is full and slightly wavy. She is pale and looking away from me just enough to keep me from seeing her face. She is wearing a dress that is fabulous, 1920's style with silver and every shade of blue that I have ever seen all at the same time. It moves as though she is underwater. The sudden turn of her head and weight of her gaze find me unprepared.
    The ceiling breaks and I am suddenly crushed back to the ground, billions and billions of gallons of water cascading over me with the force of Niagra. The water touches every piece of me, not an inch is unkissed by its presence. I feel it becoming a part of me as it runs over and through my skin. It presses past my lips and I can breathe for the first time. I am alive.
    As suddenly as her eyes made the water touch me the metallic clink of the door opening takes it away. I am suddenly aware that I am sitting rock heavy against the brick wall of the restaurant. I drive my attention towards the villain who opened the door and took her away from me. Giustino grabs my wrist. His hand is the desert and I can hardly stand the sight of him. As his hand makes contact with my skin I feel the droplet of water press its way out of my vein and run down my arm. When it evaporates I feel completely dry and alone. It hurts to breathe air.
    "Where have you been Britzi?" He says it with a hint of passion which he quickly calms. In his attempted anger he kisses the side of my head.
    "You make a fool of me with how I worry." He says.
    As he holds me I search desperately over his broad shoulders. She is gone.


    Sitting at my desk a day later, I feel like a complete mess. I cannot believe that I made such a fool of myself. I guess that is what happens when you grow up too fast. You spend the rest of you life chasing the high of youth. I smack the intercom button with frustration.
    "Helen, could you please come in here?" I grip the sides of my head rubbing my temples with my thumbs. Helen does not take time to respond before bursting into my office.
    "Yes Ms. Britzi?" She says, notepad in one hand and pen in the other.
    "I need water. I want one of those big bottles. You know the ones with the blue label that all of those models are always drinking?" I squeeze my eyes shut trying to remember the name of it.
    "Smartwater?" She asks. I sigh loudly.
    "Yes. Whatever the big one is with the blue label that the models drink. Whatever that is, that is the one I want." I say trying not to raise my voice. I exhale hard through my nose trying not to lose my patience with her.
    "Well okay how many do you want? Is there anything else I can get you?" She begins to rattle off questions immediately.
    "Just send someone and tell them I want all of it. I want all of the smartwater." I snap louder than I should. She falls silent quickly. I feel bad, it is not Helen's fault that I am thirsty.
    "I'm sorry, Helen. I feel like there is sand in my mouth I am so thirsty and my head is absolutely throbbing. I can barely stand to keep my head up. I've already taken twice the max dose of ibuprofen and asprin and it has not even remotely touched it." I look up at her.
    "You wouldn't happen to have anything, you know, stronger would you?" I ask somewhat cautiously.
    "Oh, me? Well of course not at work I wouldn't ever bring that in here, I mean I have some tylenol in my desk." what her stammering voice didn't say her avoidant gaze filled in.
    "Helen you work in the fashion industry now, there is probably a kilo of cocaine between all those people's pockets out there. You will not get in trouble here." I smile at her, genuinely for the first time. She pulls a small pearl and gun metal container and holds it out towards me.
    "Oxycontin, Percocet, or Hydro?"She smiles.
    "Oxycontin. You're a saint!" I grab one and throw it into my mouth. As she watches me I believe that she is seeing the humanity in me for the first time.
    "Now, water please. I need to get started on some of this paperwork. And maybe reply to some of the thousands of emails that I have waiting for me. Thanks a million though Helen." I say.
    "Of course Ms. Britzi." She says before leaving me.
    I open my business email account. I really was not exaggerating the amount of emails waiting for me. No wonder my head hurts so badly. I notice that the newest ten are from Paul and decide to start there.

    Brtizi-

    Cassidy Cline's agent and publicist have contacted me ten times since 10:30. I cannot hold off much longer without going postal. I am getting desperate here Britzi as you have not returned any of my calls, texts, or emails. Is this something that I can let Richard answer for in the future? I won't do anything without an answer, but I need one ASAP as I don't know what else to do.

    Paul

    PS Wish you were here.

    My LA office is still working out the kinks of everyday and big picture issues alike. They are doing well considering that they have only been fully functional for eight months. Watching their development feels like I imagine a mother to feel as she watches her chubby legged toddler taking its first steps. Proud and curious yet anxious and fearful. Paul Krosby was once my right hand man. His is the most creative mind that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He looks like a stretched out version of Buddy Holly with more handsome features. He knows that he is the only one that I trust to make sure things are run my way, but working with Richard Derkus will never compare to our time together here in New York.
    Our minds flowed together as a unit. He was my sounding board, my guiding light, and my conscience. He kept me in line as well as pushed me far past boundaries that I had been far to fearful of. We would often stay several hours after our required work day just laughing or designing together and we would not even notice. Working without him for a long time was like trying to breathe without air. Sometimes it still is.
    I miss Paul desperately sometimes, but I truly believe that one day he will be revered as one of the most innovative minds in the industry and he will only discover his own worth and capabilities with some independence. It is sink or swim in this industry. Right now he may be barely treading water but one day I have faith that he will be gliding through the depths.

    Paul-

    Anything to do with Miss Cline should be brought to me directly. I am so terribly sorry for their badgering. I will call them right away to tell them that even with our deals that occur in LA they can contact me with any questions or final proceedings. You know she is a relentless one...


    I look up from my computer screen and to my office in front of me. I can still see the thin frame of the man pushing himself back and forth across the space in front of my desk. I can still hear the repetitive thud of the raquetball he would bounce against my wall during a brainstorm.

    I miss you Paul.

    Britzi

    Once I fix the disaster that is Cassidy Cline and make a microscopic dent in the emails I realize that I cannot wait for the water to get to me. I push aggressively away from my desk and find myself in the bathroom filling my cupped hands with water and eagerly pouring it into my dusty mouth. Soon that is not enough and I end up lowering my mouth to suck the water straight out of the faucet. Why can this thirst not be quenched? After I feel bloated and slightly nauseous I catch my own eye in the mirror. There is water dripping down my chin and my eyes are bloodshot. I quickly wipe my face and return to my desk. My mouth feeling no less dry than moments ago.
    "What's the matter Britzi?" one of my favorite PR girls asks as I walk past.
    "Is it in style this season to wear sunglasses indoors?" I ask with a playful half grin. She laughs at me. At least one of us believed that it was a joke.
    "Oh thank God!" I exclaim as a see a couple interns entering with roughly ten bags filled with bottles of water.
    "In my office, please. Thank you all so much. Here." I say handing them each several wadded bills indiscriminately as they leave. They all look shocked, confused and delighted.
    I take a bottle in each hand and lock my door. I begin to lay out all of the prototypes and sketches that have been sent to me in the past year, organizing them by things that made the cut, things that almost made the cut, and things that were shot down. I drink my water and stare at them trying to piece together what is missing. I thought that it was smoke but the appeal is dissipating just as quickly as an extinguished candle.
    I stand. I sit indian-style on the floor. I pace. I circle the photos like a hawk with a rabbit. I stare out the window. I stare at the ceiling. I stare at each photograph and drawing separately. I look at color swatches. I push myself back and forth in front of my desk. I wonder how there are three empty bottles on the floor.
    "What is the matter with me?" I ask the ceiling, finally giving in and just laying atop the pile of my last years work.


    "Gia, isn't there some disease or something where you get really thirsty? Doesn't that mean like cancer or something?" I ask, my head still in my hands as I lay flat on our bed and she cooks nearby. She smiles knowingly.
    "Diabetes. Nonno had that. Among other things. He had to be monitored all of the time, he never wanted to admit when he had a problem." She said stirring the sauce for her famous cavatelli.
    "Did you do the monitoring?" I ask. She goes silent and stops stirring for a moment.
    "You know who did." She says quietly. I do not remember the last time that I heard her say her brother's name.
    "I was busy taking care of Nonna. She was so frantic trying to fix everything and wanting to feed him all of the time. She just couldn't understand how pasta was not the answer," she laughs then before continuing, "honestly it was best that Nonno went first. Nonna took it hard of course, but Nonno would never have survived losing her. She was his sun and moon. His everything." I know that she had to wipe away a tear but for her sake I pretend not to notice.
    "It's just I cannot stop drinking. My mouth feels dusty it is so dry. I have drank my own weight in water today and it just isn't enough. And I have this headache that just feels like a million pounds of pressure pushing down on me from every direction." I say to the open room more than to her directly.
    "You are stressed." She says as she sets a plate in front of me.
    "And sometimes, pasta is the answer." She smiles at me.
    We eat pretty quietly but it does feel pretty good to be near to her. Her foot grazing mine, elbows touching softly as we exist in the same space. She does not have to tell me that this is what she misses the most on the days that I do not show up here. She knew what she was signing up for when she started this with me. I can't be held responsible.
    "Non posso dire di no a voi" She says staring at me as we are finished eating.
    "Is that a good or bad thing?" I ask smiling slightly.
    "It is bad. It is so very bad." She says caressing my cheek I close my eyes and lean into it.
    Her hands wander my body. Her touch is softer than usual today. I barely notice that my blouse is undone by the time she hits the last button. She kisses her way down my stomach. As she continues I close my eyes, focusing on what I am feeling with her and not in my head. I love the way her hair drapes over my now bare thighs. I love that her hands reach up to lovingly cup my breast. I love the way she holds my black panties tightly in her grip after removing them instead of casting them to the floor.
    "Ow!" I shout as a pain like a knife shoots through the side of my head. It hits and leaves as fast as lightening and was just as intense.
    "Are you okay my Britzi?" She asks.
    "Yeah, yeah keep going." I say lying back down.
    The moment that I do the pain is back but I try to just ignore it, to push through. I should be good at checking out during intimate moments by now, but that is not something that I want to do to Gianatta. Suddenly as her mouth makes contact with me I see a flash of beautiful white hair in my mind, like the flash of a camera's bulb. For that split second the pain goes away. I moan with relief and Gianatta takes it as a sign to pick up pace.
    The bulb flashes again and I see aquamarine colored water and falling stars. Another flash, and a vision of that dress, that magical every color dress. I writhe with the relief from pain and the heightening pleasure. A sudden flash and vision the white-haired woman's eyes and my back is arching and I am calling out across the studio, wrapping myself tightly around Gia. She crawls up slightly and rests her head just below my navel. In the breathless, trembling afterglow, my head is free from pain.
     
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