Chapter 408: Foppa XXV--Slightly Open Door

“Oh God,” Peter moaned into the back of Jo’s neck, strands of her damp hair stuck to his lips and he breathed in as her hand reaching behind her on the side of his ass encouraged him faster and deeper into her body. He reached in front and slid his hand over the parts of her he couldn’t see from his position, her soft tummy, and her large breasts. She muttered something and he groaned, “Oh God…” But he stopped himself from saying three more words.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t say them, or even that he had been about to. Those words were so precious to women, he thought about it, and he slowed down, glided in her body, kissed the back of her shoulder. Why couldn’t he say it? Women loved to hear those words, they begged for them, waited for them, used them too many times so that they drowned their meaning. Although point of fact, he couldn’t remember Jo ever using them herself.

It scared him. She would probably laugh at him, especially if she hadn’t said it first. Jo cried out and tightened and trembled in his grasp, always she came first, often more than one time and Peter closed his eyes and began to concentrate on himself, in case she wanted him to finish, or she got the idea to bite him or claw him or something.

Long drawn out, heated, blinding pleasure, Peter held onto her, he sighed and groaned and then in a flash, all of it over. Gasping, his thighs burning, his lower back and his ass, he let go of her and rolled onto his back. “Did you like that?” he murmured and he looked at the red marks on her skin from his fingers, the gleaming droplets of sweat beaded and smeared over it, shining in the dim lamp light. Goosepimples and quivering, he grinned and pulled the comforter over her body.

“You’re sweet,” Jo said, a little dully, perhaps exhausted herself. She pulled the whole blanket around her and slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. He’d never known her to cover up like that before.

“Hey you want me to turn up the heat hon?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

“Sure,” she replied. Again she sounded a little monotone.

Yawning, Peter got out of bed and went to the thermostat to crank up the heating. He glanced out of his window and saw no snow either in the air or on the ground. He saw the traffic down below, lights flashing and blaring, and he saw the steam coming up from the manholes on the street. Cold and dry outside, no ornamentation no point.

He stretched and went back to bed, pulling the sheets around him. Jo didn’t come out of the bathroom however, he heard the shower turn on. With a groan, Peter slid out of bed and pulled the sheets off. If she were in that much of a mind to be clean and dry he might as well provide her the same in the bed. He tossed the dirty sheets into a corner of the bedroom and he stretched fresh ones over the bed.

With a grin, he went to the bathroom, he just wanted a dirty little peek, but to his surprise he found the door locked. He jiggled the handle a little as if that would make anything different. Well it was her comfort, he supposed and he went to bed meaning to stay awake and wait for her. The thought of her gorgeous body, the shower water hot and steaming, the pure comfort of it ensconced his mind and when he closed his eyes he fell asleep.

Peter woke up, the blanket over him, the room warm, the heater purring but he was alone in the bed. Frowning, he looked at his clock, past one in the morning. He groaned as he swung his sore legs out of bed and stepping into his slippers. He found Jo in the living room, asleep on the couch with another blanket. Worry crept into Peter’s mind more than anything, he thought about picking her up and carrying her to bed, or waking her up and asking her what was wrong but he did neither. Feeling somewhat confused, he went back to bed, wondering how she would seem in the morning.

Hey there?”

Jo smiled, her glasses on as she read the newspaper, a glass of orange juice and a bowl of fruit on the table. The smile glittered with friendly charm and Peter felt a little better. He crossed his arms and smiled back.

“Morning, honey.” She said and went back to the paper. “Leaving soon?”

“Yeah, in an hour or so,” Peter replied. “I just need to pack a few things, have some breakfast, how you feeling?”

“Eh,” Jo replied, eating a wedge of melon, “Better than these poor people in India, did you hear about this Peter?”

“Um, no?”

“Yeah, there’s something close to a civil war starting it seems like, the religions or politics, the army panicked and fired on a village. A lot, a lot of dead moms and babies, I don’t get it.”

“The politics?”

Jo shook her head, “No why a bunch of men with automatic weapons would get scared of unarmed women and children, not a man among them, that’s what the headline says.”

“I don’t know,” Peter said quietly. He didn’t want to imagine something like that, being a soldier, young and untrained or old and bitter, aiming at the round face of a child or the plump breast of its mother and pulling the trigger. He imagined it would explode, all of it in red. “Jo I don’t want to think about things like that okay?”

“Okay, sorry,” Jo replied slightly affronted. “I’m sure you’ll see it in color on Dateline later or something.”

Peter went to the fridge and grabbed the eggs and milk. Jo didn’t say anything to him, she continued to read the paper as he made himself some scrambled eggs. As he ate breakfast he glanced at her, she gnawed on her bottom lip, a line between her eyes, she looked pained. “Don’t read anymore about it if it bugs you, hon.”

Jo shook her head. “I’m thinking about it, but look here, the President says he wants to send in troops.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah sounds about right.”

“Yeah so a different army can shoot up more families?”

“Hey I don’t like it, I’m not even American,” Peter replied.

“I wasn’t getting after you,” Jo replied.

“Why did you lock the bathroom last night?” Peter asked, not expecting to say it.

Jo blinked. “I wanted some privacy.”

Simple enough. It could just be left at that, Peter thought. It should be left at that for things to stay the same. Something pricked at him inside, a warning, and he ignored it completely. “And you slept on the couch too?”

“I just wanted some privacy.”

Peter blinked rapidly, feeling his cheeks warm. Somehow he felt left out of something, or as if he didn’t understand something he should, as if people were laughing at him for not noticing. “Oh.” She went back to the newspaper and he could tell she didn’t want to talk about that any further.

“God, some guy plugged his wife and daughter for insurance?” She said. “You’re right Peter I should just chuck the real “paper” the Weekly World News has better stuff. I’d rather hear about some family in poverty claiming a guardian angel resurrected their Yorkie than some of this tripe.“ She closed the paper and took a long drink of orange juice.

“Did I do something wrong last night? Was I not good enough, was I not considerate, did I hurt you or something?”

Jo shrugged. “No I just needed some space okay? You were great Peter, as usual, you’re always great baby, you blew my mind, rocked my world, all of it honey.”

“That’s not too comforting,” Peter said, and he knew he should just shut up. He felt destructive, however, he knew he was teetering on the edge of something, he needed to leave on a roadtrip, he should just leave things as is.

“Well dammit what do you want to hear?” her eyes flashed and she took off her glasses.

“I don’t know!” Peter replied, knowing it had started now. “You’re just acting kind of weird, I’m a little bit worried.

“Peter there’s nothing wrong, okay?” she said it quietly with quiet worry on her eyes.

“Okay, that’s all,” Peter said.

“Oh look it’s in the real news too, the angels are bringing road kill back to….”

“I just want to make sure that nothing’s going on like, like last time.”

Jo squinted. “Last time?”

He could feel his heart pounding, and his mouth dried. “Yeah, I mean don’t me be afraid to tell if it’s like last time, I’m not, I’m… I’m better prepared now, I mean, you can tell me anything, I don’t want it to be a fiasco…”

“A fiasco?” Jo snapped. “That’s all that was to you, a fiasco?”

“No!” Peter said quickly and he stood up. “No that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?” Jo asked.

Terrified, that’s all Peter could think, he was terrified, mostly because he knew how badly he was handling this. “I mean, look I mean if you’re pregnant again or something, you can tell me, you don’t need to be afraid, if you’re getting rid of it and don’t want me to know, it’s okay, cause I understand….”

“Peter I’m not pregnant.” Jo said slowly and then her voice rose. “And why would you assume I would be getting rid of it?”

“Well last time…”

“Last time I had a miscarriage and it about fucking tore out my soul, and you think I got rid of it?”

“Well…” Peter’s hands trembled and he saw her eyes fill up with angry tears.

“Why would you assume that?”

“Well a friend of mine said that women like you in that condition might be afraid to…”

“Oh BULL SHIT!” Jo yelled. “A friend of yours, what a teammate or something? I mean even you assuming I had an abortion and passed it off as a miscarriage to you is just, its just insulting. You’re saying I’m some sad bitch who gets off by manipulating a man’s feelings like that, like some bitch who fakes pregnancy for marriage you asshole?”

Peter had seen her mad, but not ferociously furious as she stood before him right now. “Jo I’m sorry…”

“Oh sorry don’t cut it mister,” she snarled and she stormed out of the kitchen, he heard his bedroom door slam.

Peter closed his eyes and then he slowly stood up. He still couldn’t understand why he got this ball rolling. “Jo,” he said at the door, “Jo look I’m a guy, I’m a jerk, really I’m sorry.”

“Oh I bet you are,” Jo muttered swinging the door open and coming out fully dressed with her purse.

“Jo what’s going on? Where are you going?” Peter asked.

“I’m leaving.”

“Where?”

She stood at the door way. She looked at him dry eyed now and red cheeked. “Look I’m stupid okay, and we held this out too long okay? If it weren’t for the pregnancy who knows were else we’d be right now okay?”

Peter’s heart stopped. “What? You’re leaving?”

“That’s what I said dummy.”

“Why?” What else could he say? He felt cold and stunned, he felt wet all over and prickled and uncomfortable in a way he could never remember feeling before, not like this.

“Peter it’s for the best really.” She held out a hand weakly.

“How?” Words still wouldn’t come to him.

“I’m thirty six years old, Peter, I’m… I’m not even into hockey that much, I don’t, we don’t, we’re just….”

“Just what?” Peter cried and now he felt angry, now he felt steamed because in her helpless eyes, in the slump of her stance, her fingers weak, her wrists hanging weak, in all of it he could see something familiar. He understood it completely and it pissed him off, at her, at himself at the whole fucking cowardice. “You’re running away? After how perfect we are together, you’re running away? You’re scared?”

“I’m not scared of anything!” Jo exclaimed.

“Of course you are!” Peter yelled. “You’re terrified, look at you! You’ve probably been waiting for something, for an excuse to run out!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jo muttered and began to turn around.

“What about your stuff, your things, your clothes, are you just going out or are you going home?”

“Home,” she stepped into the hallway. “Maybe I’ll, maybe I’ll…”

“Jo!” Peter shouted, his voice cracked.

Her shoulders slumped and she stood still.

“Don’t go,” he said softly his throat tickling. “I need you.”

Slowly she turned around and she looked at him and her eyes were red, tears streaming down her cheeks and he wanted to go to her and hold her and kiss her and keep her but he didn’t want to feel the sting of her pushing him away, if that’s what she had a mind to do. “You don’t need me,” she whispered, “No one does.”

She turned around again.

“Jo!”

“Just get rid of my stuff if you want, or keep it I don’t care, maybe I’ll come back for it I don’t know, I just can’t…” Her voice drifted away her footsteps to the elevator he heard the bell of it arriving, the doors sliding open, and it took her away from him.

Peter just couldn’t understand, he didn’t know what to do or even how to feel. Could a label even be put on the shitty shattered banging in his chest and the swirling in his gut as if he were about to vomit. The only thing he could do was stare at the door, slightly open, the way she left it.

Maybe she’ll be back, he thought, she needs her things right…. But Peter knew enough not to deceive himself anymore because maybe that’s what he’d been doing this entire time.