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Sharon was munching on tic tac these days, and it was all Tarja’s fault.
The Dutch were deep in addictions such as music, working out, or taking her kids out for ice-creams in peaceful Sunday afternoons. She was never crazy with toxic substances like cigarettes or drugs; maybe a bit cozy with red wine and coffee, but never those she knew if she got codependent with, she would never free herself from the sweet hell.
That was why she picked the mini-tablets of sugar-devil to replace the taste of Tarja—or rather, to quench her constant yearnings because she had gotten into the worst habit possible.
She had gotten addicted to tasting Tarja.
***
Sharon stretched in the empty bed, reaching blindly for warmth—what she got was a cold, hollow dent beside, left by the absence of the feminine form. Her lover must have had gone for an early run. It made Sharon grumpy since cuddling with Tarja meant late-morning-sex, sneaking lazy kisses when the other woman was making breakfast, and if Sharon was lucky enough, she might be able to eat out something juicier and tastier under the kitchen table.
That was why she took one tic tac in the morning, then went for a cold shower.
***
She took another two after Tarja came back home. In a pair of flattering yoga pants and a tight, soaking tank top, the Finnish woman looked glorious in her exercise-afterglow. Her ponytail was high and proud, matching the triumphant glint on her face. Her toned muscles flexed in her smooth motions of going around the cupboards, the refrigerator, then the blender. Beads of perspiration were still shiny on Tarja’s neck, abs and her alabaster chest. Sharon wondered what it would feel like to lick them all off, drop by drop, then it dawned on her that she was also thinking about how Tarja would look like after having sex—all flushed and satisfied yet predatory: it was time for Sharon’s turn.
“You’ve been reading that same page for the last ten minutes.”
“Huh? Have I?”
Leaning by the kitchen counter with a fruit smoothie in hand, lethargic and content, Tarja’s amusement was transparent; she knew exactly what was on Sharon’s mind. The older woman looked away quickly, abashed with uncomfortable warmth and jeans that felt too tight suddenly. Tarja made Sharon feel like a school girl crushing hard on the teacher, a stupid, horny teenager, and someone who was foolishly in love.
***
When the husband was away for business, it usually guaranteed more fun; that was why Sharon thought she didn’t need to take anymore tic tacs in the afternoon.
She was dead wrong. Grocery-shopping with Tarja was painful because she was familiar with the effects she was bringing upon Sharon. Clichés of overrated tropes occurred whenever Tarja bent low (the view too distracting for Sharon’s good) for a box of cereal, reaching beside her for a jar of honey, telling her the items left on the to-buy-list. Those were the moments when Sharon needed to set her jaw, count silently from one to ten, then curb every bit of her urge to pounce on the younger woman. Tarja knew what she was doing, showing off her killer-legs and sexy backside, attacking Sharon with lingering touches, intentional flesh-to-flesh pressings, and minty breaths of innuendos ghosting her ear. It was all shamelessly, erotically suggestive.
Tantalizing and agonizing.
Sharon swore with clenched-fists, that she had to wipe that gleeful smirk off of her lover’s face tonight.
But first, she needed one tic-tac now for distraction.
“Why are you taking that thing so often lately?”
“Um, uh…oh hey! We forgot the asparagus!”
***
In the evening Sharon successfully avoided consuming any unhealthy substances, because she went jogging while Tarja made dinner. The workout playlist in her phone was newly-set by her lover, each song carrying a piece of warm shadow of Tarja’s preference. Sharon smiled to herself, one cheerful step in front of the other.
The weather in Andalusia promised a lovely, breezy afternoon in the coming of March. Her little vacation in Peninsular Spain was getting a little too comfortable. Although Sharon missed her kids and hated substituting family times with face-timing or overpriced, long-distanced calls, she was willing to make all the sacrifices, now that she had the next best thing in her life to cherish and love.
“It’s not going to last.”
“Is that why you are giving me up?”
“I am letting you go because I know you. You are going to come back to me sooner or later. She’s nothing more than a fling.”
“We’ll see. You know me well, Robert, in fact I think you are the one who knows me the best but you can’t keep asking me to live your image of the perfect woman, and push me away when I am not living up to your expectations—”
“We are inseparable. I am having faith in us because we have invested too much in each other. Can’t you see that I love you?”
Her husband’s self-righteous, entitled loving was suffocating. Sharon was grateful for the long-overdue break. Stories and memories about her husband, her kids, her lover, her bandmates haunted Sharon’s mind as she treaded along the lonely sidewalk. When she reached home, darkness finally cloaked the earth with all its mystery and melancholic brilliance.
“Why the long face?”
“Just thinking about…things.”
Tarja didn’t push while placing a plate of golden comfort on the table—the paella’s heavenly smell cast away the gloomy clouds looming upon Sharon’s heart, until all she could see was the unconditional affection in Tarja’s eyes. In Sharon’s most vulnerable state—famished plus being in the omnipotent presence of Tarja—the words that were always on the tip of her tongue made it to midair.
“I love you so much.”
“Is it the adrenaline speaking?”
Tarja tip-toed and gave her a peck on the cheek nonetheless. Sharon grinned.
“You are all sticky and wet. Go take a shower or no dinner for yucky-you.”
Making a face at the shorter woman, she obliged submissively, and smiled uncontrollably like her face muscles would never get sore.
Sharon never really needed tic tacs. Even if Tarja was her weakness and addiction, she was also her cure, her pillar of support, and her fountain of happiness.
But after dinner, Netflixing and snuggling with glasses of wine, Sharon was pretty sure she had to take some tic tacs for better breath and a more kissable mouth, because Tarja was looking at her with an inviting smile, then nothing on.