Chapter 36: Chapter 36

My phone vibrates in my pocket while Michael's finger is stimulating my clit during a repeat viewing of Fifty. The reviews are terrible, but I‘m still a fan. I can never get enough of that movie. Michael is my Christian. I’m going to have to buy it, theatre pricing is killing me. The curiosity of who texting me is killing me so I come up with an excuse to go to the bathroom to check my texts. I ask Michael if he wants anything from the concession stand, he says he’s fine.

I get up and walk quickly out of the dark theatre. I pull my phone out of my pocket and see a blue flashing light. I press the menu button and swipe the screen: a text. I press the text button:

SCOTT: Mom booked us private ice. She’s worried we’ve been off 4 2 long.

ISABELLA: When?

SCOTT: 2morrow 10 pm (Cheaper). I’ll pick U up.

ISABELLA: Ok, I have to go back 2 my movie right now.

SCOTT: What R U watching?

ISABELLA: Fifty

SCOTT: Biting my lip, you’re a fan too? Go figure! (Pardon the pun). C.U.

ISABELLA: I'm looking 4ward 2 it.

I delete the string of text with Scott before putting my phone back into my pocket. I step into the theatre waiting for my eyes to adjust before finding my way back to Michael. He looks at me oddly, “Didn’t you say you were going to get a drink?”

“Oh, changed my mind. I just had water from the fountain.”

He silences me from talking with his lips kissing me rhythmically while his finger resumed its arduous work. This movie inspires him, making him more in tune with my needs.

I hear Scott’s car pull into the driveway at 9:30. He’s alone in his Mercedes. I grab my bag and head out the door. Mom already knows where I’m going, and what Michael doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I don’t know what I’ll tell him if he asks me where I was, maybe the truth. I don’t like thinking about it much. Scott pops the trunk and I put my bag in before joining him in the front seat.

He puts his hand on my headrest and backs out of the driveway. I have an uncontainable grin on my face, “It’s been three weeks since we’ve been on the ice,” I mention, “Not that I was counting.”

He is smiling too, “Too long,” he comments.

“It was nice of your mom to rent it for us.”

“Thanks, I’ll tell her you appreciate it, maybe she’ll do it more often.”

His hand rests on the shifter. When we arrived in the arena parking lot, he pops the trunk and carries both our bags into the arena. We have ten minutes to get ready before the ice is ours, no coach, no spectators, and no parents. It’s just me, him, and our sport. I wear a regular practice dress and a hoodie to keep me warm. Scott wears his hoodie and exercise pants.

Before stepping out onto the ice, I close my eyes. The last time I was on the ice was at the Olympics. The image remains vivid in my memory. The pressure of making it is permanently removed and now I’m able to skate for the sheer love of the sport. I take a deep breath in and then slowly release it savoring the scent of the arena. Scott stands immediately next to me on the edge of the platform, “Are you ready?”

“Just give me a minute.”

“Sure, take all the time you need.” He doesn’t step onto the ice; instead, he remains by my side, not rushing me. He gets me.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him. I step on the ice first. He follows behind me. I slip my blades back and forth a few times limbering up my ankles before starting to move. When I pick up speed his arm goes around my waist the way it always does. He’s touching me again. I miss his touch, it reaches my core. I tear up making the wind feel cold against my face.

Scott notices, slowing us down until we’re standing still facing each other. I slide my hands into his sweater touching his strong, hard, muscular arms. He leans down as though he’s going to kiss me but stops himself. The heat from our bodies nearly melts the ice beneath us. Our non-physical moment of intimacy surpassed anything I’ve ever felt before.

The first weekend of this new living arrangement is swiftly approaching. The rule is we train for shows during the week and we move our belongings and stay in our apartment on the weekends until school starts. This isn’t going to go over well with Michael. He still doesn’t know who my roommate is going to be. The first weekend of this new living arrangement is swiftly approaching and it is time to come clean with him. I struggle trying to figure out a way to break it to him gently. Unsuccessful, I chose the ‘easiest’ way. I text him.

ISABELLA: Michael R U there?

MICHAEL: Yes

ISABELLA: I have 2 tell U something.

MICHAEL: Waiting.

ISABELLA: Uhm...

MICHAEL: What is it?

ISABELLA: I don’t know how 2 tell U this.

MICHAEL: R U breaking up with me?

ISABELLA: No.

MICHAEL: Then it’s not that bad, just go ahead & tell me.

ISABELLA: This is so hard.

MICHAEL: Do U want me 2 come over?

ISABELLA: No, I’ve been trying 2 tell U in person & I can’t, that’s why I’m texting U.

MICHAEL: Just stop thinking and type it.

ISABELLA: I’m going 2B living in an apartment with Scott off-campus. U've nothing 2 worry about, I’m still with U. He’s dating Juliet. U can visit me anytime U want, I’m sure Juliet will B visiting 2. I wait for his response but he never writes back. I keep texting him, but no response. I call and it goes straight to voicemail. I put out a social media APB. I texted Anna and Lara a group text:

ISABELLA: Michael knows I’m moving in with Scott.

ANNA: How did U tell him?

ISABELLA: I couldn’t build up the courage so I texted him.

LARA: How brave! lol

ANNA: How did he take it?

ISABELLA: Bad, he hasn’t texted back, won’t answer my calls. If U hear anything can U guys keep me posted? He has 2 contact either Jeremy or Johnson eventually right?

LARA: 4 sure, don’t worry, we’ll keep U posted.

The first weekend we go up in Scott’s car armed with two packed bags of clothes and Deborah’s credit card. Mom is giving me the furnishings from our house, so the only thing we have to put on the card is a bed for Scott. The novelty of having our very own place hasn’t worn off yet. We chose to go there first before dropping our bags off. Scott stops at the door not letting me into the apartment. I looked at him confused, “What are you doing?”

He lifts me into his arms after opening the door and says, “I’m carrying you over the threshold.”

I playfully hit his chest squirming gently in his arms, “Put me down, idiot!

That’s what you do when you get married!” He refuses to lower me to the ground. He continues walking with me in his arms across our threshold. Once we are in, he allows me to stand on my own two feet. “Can I pick the room?”

“Sure, which one do you want?”

“I want the room at the end of the hallway.”

“Sure, have you and Michael talked since you told him?” “I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut him off.

“He’ll get over it,” Scott reassures.

“How did Juliet take it?” I ask curiously.

“She isn’t happy about it, but in the end, she doesn’t have much of a choice.”

“Nothing is ever easy when it comes to us is it?” “No, I guess not. R U ready to go?”

“Yes.”

We drive to the local shopping mall. We have just walked into the store and an aggressive salesman instantly accosts us. We try to look in a different direction but he starts following us. He’s walking pretty quickly so we speed up our pace to get away from him. I get irritated with his aggression and chose to confront him rather than run away, “Can you stop following us, you’re freaking me out.” It is empowering. He looks at me dumbfounded and slithers away.

Scott points out a cherry wood veneer headboard (everything in the store was particleboard or veneer), “What do you think of this one?” He asks.

“No good,” I answer after zero contemplation. “Why not?”

“Nowhere to latch the handcuffs too,” I answer. “Point noted,” he says grinning. Eventually, he chooses a wrought iron headboard with multiple spokes to attach handcuffs to. It's perfect, and then we move on to mattresses trying everyone in the store. Finally, Scott thinks he’s got it narrowed down to the perfect mattress. He’s beaming with accomplishment. He says, “Lay on this one.”

I try the one he’s pointing to and a few more. “What do you think?” he asks.

“Honestly? Terrible.” “Why?” he sounds frustrated.

“Too soft, you won’t be able to perform good thrusts when you’re sinking into that mattress. It will affect your performance.”

“You think?” “I know.”

“Which one should I get?”

I pointed one out. It's firm but not too firm, comfortable, without too much give. “It’s all about the ride.”

“Point noted, thanks, Isabella.” “You’re welcome,” I say.

Scott turns to the lady and points to the mattress that I persuaded him to buy, “We’ll take that one!”