Chapter 48: The Lies She'd Tell

"Tell me you at least gave him a blowjob," Emma says.

Portia shakes her head, "He said he wanted to take me out and treat me like a goddess."

"He'd change his mind if he knew you were underage."

"He doesn't have to know," Portia says, "I'm going to call him today."

"So soon? You'll look desperate."

"I don't care," Portia shrugs, "Anyway, I think he's different from other guys. He's not a college student, he has his own business. And he's so hot, Em. He has the most intense eyes..." Portia trails off, getting dreaming as she thinks about him, about kissing him again.

Rainier gets positively giddy at the sound of her voice, and he doesn't bother trying to hide his pleasure in her call.

"I thought if you weren't busy tonight, we could out," she suggests.

He scraps his plans to work late into the night and tells her he's completely free. "What time can I pick you up?" he asks.

She hesitates, then says, "Let's meet up there, okay? At the Santa Monica Pier, around seven?"

Rainier agrees to meet her, telling himself she's just nervous about being picked up at her home by a man she just met a club. But the evasiveness in her tone reminds him of a woman he'd loved who had cheated on him and the lies she'd tell to cover her affair, and of a man he'd dated who had a wife he'd kept hidden from him. He stares at his phone for a moment, as though he expects it to divulge her secrets, then shrugs it off. He's being foolish to suspect her, he thinks.

"You look lovely," he greets her as they meet on the pier, "More than that," he corrects himself, "You are absolutely breathtaking." Even that doesn't do her justice, he thinks, she's like the sun itself, radiant, almost too much to look at, yet he can't look away.

"You too," she says, then blushes, "I mean..." she doesn't know what she means, or why she's so awkward around him. You're better than this, she reprimands herself the way her mother would, say something witty or charming, don't just stand there smiling. But the normally glib Portia finds herself wordless under the his bright blue gaze. "Skeeball?" she manages to squeak, gesturing at the games nearest at hand.

When his attention is turned to the game, Portia's social grace returns and she's able to chat about inconsequential things like their musical tastes and favorite foods.

As the sky darkens and the neon lights up, they go out to the end of the pier to watch the sun sink into the Pacific.

"You've told me a lot about yourself tonight," Rainier says, embracing her, "But I don't know your last name, or how old you are..."

"Art--Archer. Portia Archer," she says, wishing she'd come up with a name before he'd asked. Maybe there would be no harm in him knowing her real last name, but if he knew it, he could easily use it to discover her real age. "I'm 21," she says. If she's going to lie about her age, she might as well make herself drinking age while she's at it. It's what her fake ID says, after all. "How old are you?" she asks, turning the question around.

"I'm 26, chère," he answers.

"Wow, that's like, almost 30," she blurts before she can stop herself. Since she and Emma turned 16, they'd targeted mostly college guys for their attentions, and the occasional encounter with older men at nightclubs for fun. But this, actually dating a man nearly ten years older than her...it's a little scary, Portia thinks, but also very exciting.

He laughs gently and kisses her cheek, "Not quite," he says.

"Let's go back to your place," Portia suggests.

"So soon?" he asks, coming in front of her for a kiss, "It's still early. We could do dancing, have a few drinks..."

It's early, but Portia has an agenda she wants to complete before she runs against her curfew. "I don't want to dance," she says, "I want you."

Rainier has had his share of very forward, sexually demanding partners, but something about Portia's rush toward his bed bothers him.

His own desires make it easy for him to push his concerns aside and take her back to his place.

"Your phone," he murmurs, feeling the vibration from her pocket against his thigh.

Portia sighs heavily when she sees who the caller is. Her father would pick this moment to pester her. "What?" she asks harshly as she picks up.

"Your mother isn't here," he says, "I need to know the name of the place where we get that salad. You know, the one I like..."

"Did you try looking in the drawer with the menus? Next to the fridge?" Portia fumes, deciding her father is functionally retarded. 

"Thank you, sweetheart," Bill says brightly, "Be home before 2."

"Who was that?" Rainier asks, remembering her evasive tone when he'd asked to pick her up.

"Oh, just...just a roommate. I share an apartment with some other students," Portia says, letting the lies pile up.

There's the evasive tone again, and Rainier suspects the 'roommate' might be a lover. But having competition for a woman's love has never deterred him before, and it's certainly not going to keep him from Portia.

"You haven't shown me your bedroom yet," she purrs suggestively.

Let it be him, Portia thinks as she lays down beneath him, let it be tonight. Portia lost her virginity over a year ago, and has had sex with a variety of partners since, but she's never gotten from it what her friend Emma has. It hasn't been bad, but it also hasn't been particularly good. Undaunted, Portia keeps trying. It's the only way she'll ever discover what he big deal is, why everyone seems to want it so much. She closes her eyes, lays back, waiting for it.

Portia opens her eyes when Rainier stops suddenly and lays by her side.

"This is your first time?" he asks, doubt in his voice.

"No, of course not," Portia says, "Why would you say that?"

"Chère, you're all tensed up, like you're bracing yourself for an invasion," he says, "Don't be embarrassed. If you aren't comfortable, we don't have to do this."

"But I do want this," Portia says, "I want you."

"Mmm, your body says otherwise," Rainier says.

"I'm just nervous," Portia says, "Please, don't stop."

Rainier leans toward her, kisses her neck, her breasts, "When I was 19," he says, speaking to her between kisses, "I had a lover, an older woman. Much older. She told me that most young men are terrible lovers, selfish oafs who take what they want and give nothing to their partners. She said she wasted too many years enduring mediocre sex until she learned to get what she wanted from it."

"How did she learn that?" Portia asks, wanting that information mare than anything.

"She didn't say," Rainier says, "I only know what she taught me about making love to a woman."

"Show me," Portia demands. 

Rainier lifts her up so they sit face to face, "It's like a dance, ch ère, you have to move with your partner. And don't be afraid to take the lead. You move, and I'll move with you."

"Like this?" Portia asks, leaning close, caressing his cheek as her lips meets his. His lips respond to her, parting for her as she sends her tongue in to find his. It becomes a game; she touches him, kisses him, and he responds in kind.

He holds her as she sits astride him, guides her with his hands as she takes him inside her. She gasps, surprised at her own pleasure. She gets it, now.

When she thinks she finally understands what it's all about and that it can't possibly get any better, he lays her down beneath him and shows her how much more he has to give.

"I want this to never end," Portia sighs, holding on for one more kiss, "But I have to go."

"Stay with me," Rainier says, "Your roommates don't need you like I do."

Portia glances at the clock on his bedside table; she's coming dangerously close to breaking the very liberal curfew her parents have set for her.

"I can't," she says, making herself pull away from him.

He follows her to his door, "I can't convince you to stay? What do you have there that I can't give you?" If her 'roommate' is actually a lover, after tonight, Rainier is more than sure he can take her from him.

"I just...have things I need to do early tomorrow. It's best if I go home." She kisses him one last time before rushing out his door, regretting all he lies she's had to tell. But if he knew the truth, tonight would never have happened, she tells herself, and tonight was worth every lie.

She's lying about something, Rainier can't deny it to himself any longer. Maybe it's just another lover, maybe she's married, though it seems unlikely. Whatever it is, he has to get to the bottom of it. If she won't tell him herself, there are other ways to find out.

____________________________________________________
Note:
Yes, I did age Portia up to YA for this chapter. Sim age stages are very clearly defined and transition sharply from one stage to the next. In real life, we age gradually and physical and mental maturity come at different rates for each of us as individuals. Portia (and her friend Emma) are written as 17 year olds, getting close to 18, who can pass as older, and keeping them in the Sim teen stage which is visually obviously not adult just wasn't working for the story.
Also, squick factor played a huge part in my decision, as well as the legal issues involved in publishing pictures of even cartoon teens in these kinds of situations. Hollywood uses young adult actors to play teens for a reason, and I'm going with that example.
I hope the change from the last chapter Portia was in to this one isn't too jarring. But it had to be done.

Chapter 47: Undetectable Injuries

"I'm fine," Heather insists, "My husband--"

"You may have undetectable injuries. This is just a simple gynecological exam to make sure you are okay, and to collect evidence against your attacker."

"I just want to see my husband."

"He's in the OR, Mrs. Gutierrez. We'll let you know as soon as we know anything."

That's the first time anyone has ever called her Mrs. Gutierrez, Heather thinks as she lays back for the exam. You like fucking that cop, bitch? Esparza's words come unbidden into her mind, and she sobs.

"We can provide you with a list of excellent rape counsellors to help you through this," Dr. Frasier informs her.

"I'm pregnant," Heather blurts suddenly, remembering, "I just took the test this morning." It seems like days, weeks ago, but it was just hours.

"This early into the pregnancy, there shouldn't be any problems," the doctor says, "But we'll run some tests to be sure."

"Mr. Gutierrez is in critical condition," Dr. Frasier informs the only family Heather and Ulises have, "He's in the OR now. Mrs. Gutierrez is being questioned by LAPD," the doctor nods toward Pable, and LAPD officer himself as he says this, "She'll be out to see you as soon as she's done."

Pablo was one of the first responders to Heather's 911 call, but his family relationship to the victims put him off this case. He's here purely as family, waiting with Heather's brother for news.

When the doctor disappears again, Coby realizes he should call Rebecca and let her know what happened.

Heather has had to relive her rape several times over now, telling the cops who arrived at her house after Pablo what happened in detail. Now, after her exam, she has another cop to face, one who wants clarification.

"He said he wanted to send a message to your husband," Kezia muses.

"Yes. Ulises is a cop, like you. He'd arrested Esparza in the past." Heather has been telling as much of the truth as she can, without divulging the real issue Esparza had with her family, that Ulises had beaten  Esparza down in her home when he attacked her the first time, and then let him go to protect her from being arrested herself for her drug dealing. You like fucking that cop, bitch? Heather cringes, still hearing his voice. He's dead, she tells herself. He can't hurt us, and he can't give his side of the story.

"So, your husband tells you about every arrest he makes?" Kezia asks in a doubtful voice, "How did you know that your attacker was someone your husband had arrested in the past?"

"He doesn't tell me about every arrest," Heather says, "We just happened to see Esparza once when we were out, and Ulises told me about arresting him." She fidgets as she tells the lie. Why can't they just let this go? There's no love lost between LAPD and the Esparzas, after all.

Kezia jots some notes down in her pad. "That's all for now, Mrs. Gutierrez," she says, "I'll let you know if we have more questions."

"You know, you're a crap feminist," Rebecca accuses while they wait at the bar for service.

"Don't play that card," Trace admonishes, "I've always been a strong feminist."

"Yeah, in your head you are," Rebecca laughs, "But when it comes to trusting an actual woman to make her own decisions..."

"That's not what this is about," Trace defends himself, "I haven't questioned anything Heather has done until now. But she wants me to give up my daughter to be adopted by a cop."

"You gave up your daughter before she was born, Trace," Rebecca reminds him harshly, "You know you have no business coming down here to interfere in her life now." Rebecca smiles to herself as she speaks. Coming to interfere in Heather's life was exactly what brought her down here. But she was doing that as friend, not because she felt like she had some rights over Heather or her child. "Look, I get where you're coming from," she says, "I came down here to try to stop Heather from marrying the guy. But I was wrong," that wasn't as hard to say as she thought, "And I've seen him with Laurel. He's a great father. And you aren't."

Trace's face moves through several expressions before he speaks again. "I'll think about it," he says.

Rebecca's phone vibrates against her hip. "Coby," she answers, "Didn't you get my text? I'm out with a friend." He face falls when she hears the news Coby has to tell her. "I'll be right there," she says.

"How is she?" Rebecca asks, joining Coby in the waiting room of the hospital. She can't help but notice Coby's companion, but doesn't mention it. There's obviously going to be a discussion about that, but not now.

"She's being questioned. Ulises is in the...wherever they took him. They haven't told us more than that," Coby says, exhaustion and grief obvious in his voice.

Having nothing else to say, they all just sit and wait in silence.

Finally, Heather comes out to join them. "He's still in critical condition," she says, tears starting to form, "They won't let me see him."

"Come home with me," Pablo says gently. His wife Jennifer took Laurel to their house with her before they brought Heather and Ulises into the hospital, "You need to get some sleep. The doctor will call you as soon as there's news."

Heather nods weakly.

"You should get a dog," Jennifer suggests. Heather hadn't been able to sleep at all, despite her exhaustion. She just lay in their single guest bed, holding her phone, waiting for a call. She's so tired now, Jennifer's words seem to come out in a meaningless jumble. 

You like fucking that cop, bitch? 

Why won't it stop?

Shortly after Jennifer serves a breakfast that Heather doesn't touch, she gets the call she's been waiting for. Ulises is out of danger, and conscious.

"Mariposa," he says weakly as she takes his hand, "Are you...?"

"I'm fine," she assures him, "I've just been so worried about you."

"I failed you," he says, closing his eyes, "I'm sorry."

"You didn't fail me," Heather says, "It was my fault. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't--"

"Don't blame yourself," Ulises says, grimacing pain as struggles to sit up.

Heather leans forward, holding him close. "You're alive," she sighs, "The doctors say you'll be able to come home in a few days. And we're going to have a baby."

"What?" Did you just say..."

"I'm pregnant. I was waiting to tell you, yesterday. I was making dinner..." Heather stops there, because that's when it happened. You like fucking that cop, bitch?


Ulises kisses her deeply. 'I love you," he whispers.

"I love you," she answers. Everything will be all right, she promises herself, as soon as he's out of the hospital, everything will be back to the way it was.

Chapter 46: Beauty is Beauty

"C'mon, Portia, it's summer! You can't just spend the night at home playing piano. Sigma Chi and the TKEs are both having keggers tonight."

"Don't you ever get tired of frat parties, Emma?"

Emma laughs, "Not until I get tired of frat boys. Which will be, like, never. C'mon, don't make me go alone."

"I want to do something more grown up than a stupid college kegger," Portia says, "Let's go to the Warehouse."

"There better be some hot guys there," Emma says.

"Okay, so two of the hot guys are dancing with each other," Emma assesses the the situation as the survey the club, "That leaves the two at the bar. I told you we should have gone down to frat row. Even in the summer, it's more hopping than this place."

"I'll take quality over quantity any day," Portia says.

"You're assuming we've found quality here," Emma says, then collapses into a giggle, "One of them is coming here to talk to us! He's cute, too!"

The cute guy introduces himself as Jack Russell, and Emma is quick to claim his attention.

Portia goes to the bar, leaving her friend to get acquainted with Jack.

"Do you mind if I join you?" the lone single guy left in the club asks as he takes a stool near hers.

"Are you here alone?" she asks.

"No, I'm with them," he says, gesturing toward the gay couple making out on the couch near the dance floor, "But they don't really require my presence at the moment."

His voice is very serious, Portia thinks, but he has a wry smile that suggests he's quite amused by the situation. She also can't help but notice that he's drop dead gorgeous. "Do you have a boyfriend?" she asks.

"Not for quite some time, now," he answers, looking very directly at her with his bright beautiful blue eyes, "I tend to be more attracted to women. But, you know, beauty is beauty."

Portia flushes under his gaze. You never meet guys like this at college parties. "Your accent is lovely," she says, "Are you French?"

"Belgian," he answers, "My name is Rainier."

"Je m'appelle Portia," she introduces, herself, blushing a little though she knows her French is perfectly accented.

He tilts his head and smiles at her. "A lovely name. You speak French?"

She nods enthusiastically, "I've been to Paris. And Brussels, too. You must be from the south. Of Belgium, I mean."

Rainier nods, "You're the first person I've met here who knows even that much about my country. Everyone else just wants to talk about waffles. Let me buy you a drink." 

Portia gladly accepts the drink. Her mother trained her since childhood in the ways of the socialite, to always be charming and have small talk for any situation. For the first time in her short life, she finds herself without words as she simply stands and stares up into his beautiful eyes.

"What do you do, Portia?" Rainier breaks the short silence.

Portia fumbles for an answer, wondering what to tell him that won't send him running away from her. "I'm studying music," she says, "At USC." That comes fairly close to the truth. She will be studying music at USC when the summer is over and her first semester of college begins. "What about you?"

Rainier smiles and tells her about the game company he and his friend Dag own.

To the horror of most of her girlfriends, Portia is an avid gamer, and immediately latches on to this point of connection between herself and the sexy Belgian, telling him about her favorite games with all the charm and poise she learned from her mother.

"Is something wrong?" she asks as Rainier just stares at her.

"Wrong?" he asks, "You're stunning, absolutely beautiful. You're sophisticated and well-traveled, and you speak French. On top of that, you're a gamer. You are almost too perfect. I'm afraid you're going to disappear in a puff of smoke."

Portia struggles to maintain her poise and not start squeeing her excitement at him. "If those qualities make me perfect," she says with a flirtatious smile, "Then  you must be perfect as well, as they describe you as much as me."

They finish their drinks and move out to the dance floor. Portia notices that Emma has disappeared somewhere with Jack; she would worry about her friend if Emma didn't do this kind of thing all the time. Instead, she loses herself in her dancing. Portia is an accomplished pianist, but as much as she loves playing music, she loves feeling its rhythm move her through dance even more.

"You move beautifully," Rainier whispers in her ear.

After the dance, they retreat into a dark corner of the club. He kisses beautifully, she thinks, opening her lips beneath his, inviting his tongue into her mouth. She reaches under his jacket, exploring his chest, his back. His kisses her neck, teases her earlobe with his tongue. "Come home with me," he whispers.

She wants to, more than anything. "I can't," she sighs, "I have to take my friend home. But, there's an alley behind the club, we could go there if you want to, you know..." That alley is probably where Emma went with Jack, Portia thinks, they've both been there before.

"I won't say I'm not tempted," Rainier says, "But you're the most amazing woman I've ever met, a dream come true. Taking you into some filthy alley is not the way I want start this with you. Let me take you out, just you and me. Let me treat you like the goddess you are."

Portia sighs and lets her head drop against his chest, "You're so wonderful, Rainier, you know that?" She squeezes her arms around his chest, and he caresses her hair. "I'd love to go out with you. Give me your number, and I'll call you."

Rainier scribbles his personal cell number on his business card and hands it her, kissing her hand as he does so. "I look forward to your call," he says, his voice polite and his blue eyes gleaming above his wry smile, "Don't keep me waiting."

Chapter 45: Pink Hell

A steady beat accompanies her slow drift back into consciousness; as she comes fully awake, she realizes it's his heartbeat. She lifts herself up, and he awakens beneath her.

"What time is it?" he asks sleepily. The sun is high and shining through the picture windows. For a moment, just this moment, everything is right, everything is like it was before and they are simply together. It won't last, he knows, there's too much shit they have to work out before they can get back to normal. But right now, waking up together in each other's arms, right now, everything is good.

"I have no idea," she says, "I haven't slept this late since--"

It comes to them at the same time, the house is too quiet, they should have been awakened hours ago. "Trill," they say in unison, jumping out of bed to rush down to the nursery.

They both sigh in relief when they find Andrea in the nursery with their daughter. 

"I didn't want to wake you," he says, smiling, "So I spent some time with my niece."

Jacklyn goes back upstairs to shower, leaving the brothers in the nursery with Trill. "When you didn't come back last night, I figured she either killed you or took you back," Andrea says as he lays Trill back in her crib.

"Thanks for checking on me," Nico says with a wry smile.

"I'm glad she didn't kill you, brother," Andrea says, clapping him hard, too hard, on the shoulder, "Though you would have deserved it."

"We still have a lot to work, I don't know that she's taking me back yet," Nico admits.

Andrea nods. "I hope she does. But don't fuck it up this time," he warns.

Andrea leaves while Nico makes breakfast, giving the couple privacy. Jacklyn tucks into her pancakes hungrily, while Nico stabs at his, not eating.

"Not hungry?" she asks when he pushes the plate away.

"No," he says, "I've been a little off lately," he says. By which he means sharps pains in his stomach, nausea and vomiting. "I'm fine," he adds when she shoots him a concerned look, "I'll be all right once I get out of that pink hell."

"Pink hell?"

"Debbie's place. Everything is pink. It's like living inside a dessert. It's no wonder I can't eat," he says, deliberately making light of his suffering. It's the guilt, eating at his insides. Or it's divine retribution, punishment for his sins. Either way, it's his pain to suffer, and he's not going to use it to get her pity.

Jacklyn laughs at his description of Debbie's condo. "Now you're making me want to throw up," she says.

After she gets her dishes into the washer, it's time for some serious talk.

"Here, I want to give this back to you," she says quietly, putting the engagement ring her gave her into his hand.

"I can't take this," he says, trying to give it back to her, "It's yours, Jacklyn."

Jacklyn closes his fingers around the ring, refusing to take it back.

"Nico, I still love you," she says in a soothing voice, "And I miss you like crazy. But you hurt me. You hurt me real bad, It's going to take a lot of time, and a lot of work, for me to ever trust you again. I can't have this hanging over my head the whole time. I hope we can get back there someday, but it's not a sure thing."

Nico fumes, stung by her rejection. "You could keep the ring without it meaning we're engaged," he protests.

"No," she shakes her head, "I can't. Don't take it so hard," she says, caressing his cheek even as he pulls away from her touch, "I am letting you out of pink hell, after all," she soothes him with a smile, "We're just starting over."

"You still love me?" he asks, wanting heart it again,.taking her in his arms.

"Even though you don't deserve it, I do," she sighs, "You make feel so...mmm," she doesn't get to finish her sentence, as his lips find hers and they melt into a long, sweet kiss.

"My brother called," Andrea tells Debbie, "Jacklyn is taking him back. He'll move his stuff out of here tonght."

Debbie leaps off her treadmill and into his arms. "That's wonderful news," she sighs, and kisses him as though they were the newly reunited couple.

Andrea sets her down gently, "I thought she might, but I didn't expect it to happen so fast. And now you get your apartment back."

"What about you, Andrea?" Debbie asks, "Are you going with him?"

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Andrea asks. He'd moved in here along with his brother when Jacklyn kicked Nico out, and Debbie never asked how long they'd be staying or what would happen when Nico finally left.

"I've really enjoyed waking up with you every morning," Debbie sighs, "Not to mention having you in my bed at night, and knowing that you'll be here for me...Do you want to move in with me? For real?"

"I do," Andrea says.