The Construct Of Love: Chapter 3
This is a polished draft from my debut novel, The Construct Of Love. Final version may differ.
My Bed’s Got Room (Working Title)
Is this a miracle?
Gorgeous, naked man.
Fell from the sky.
Landed on her car.
Unharmed.
Tow truck. For a second—unfaithful disbelief. But they made it home.
No one saw a thing.
Some would call that miraculous.
Others impossible.
Yet, it happened.
The larger question…
How could anyone survive a fall like that?
And why would someone agree to be transported in the trunk of a wrecked car?
Clarissa and Delphine should be asking these questions.
But they’re not.
It hasn’t even crossed their minds.
They’re too busy thinking about him.
“My 'I’m totally glad I dumped him' ex-boyfriend left these. They’re clean. You can have them, but only if you want,” Delphine says, handing him a pair of faded jeans and a snug white t-shirt.
There’s a delighted expression on their stranger’s face as he puts on the clothes.
Clarissa instinctively turns her back to give him privacy, then catches herself—realizing how pointless that is.
Delphine, meanwhile, is seated comfortably on the couch, eyes devouring him like dessert.
The clothes fit like they were tailored.
With an odd, poised confidence, he studies the room. His gaze lands on the small but tasteful dining set Clarissa purchased some time ago.
Delphine is her second roommate, and though the place is technically Clarissa’s, Delphine has left her mark. The framed photo of them windsurfing in Mexico. The table statue of Aphrodite that subtly clashes with Clarissa’s Artemis sitting harmoniously.
“You have a lovely home,” he says.
“Thank you,” they reply in unison, glance at each other, and laugh.
“So… um, do you… have any recollection of what happened?” Clarissa asks.
“Afraid not.”
“Do you remember anything?” Delphine presses.
“Just the falling.”
“That’s it? Not where you’re from? Who you are?” Clarissa probes, now sitting beside her roommate.
“I know my name,” he says.
They sit up straighter.
“What is it?” Delphine asks, eyes wide.
“Pascal.”
“That’s the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard,” Clarissa whispers—though she knows it isn’t. Not really. It's not beautiful or ugly. It just... is. But somehow, it stirs something in her chest.
“Pascal… Pascal…Pascal,” Delphine murmurs.
He turns to her with a look so intensely focused that, for a moment, the room seems to dissolve. Everything else vanishes. Delphine catches her breath and grips Clarissa’s arm.
“I need to talk to you,” she says, pulling her into the bedroom and closing the door.
“What?”
“He needs to stay here.”
“Oh God, yes.”
“Good. Why?”
“Because… because…” Clarissa stammers. “Just… because!”
“Yes! Exactly! Because! Sweet, mercy, baby Jesus-grows-up-to-die-on-slabs-of-wood-rise-from-the-grave-and-transform-into-the-super-undead because!”
Then, knowing exactly what the other is thinking, they blurt at the same time:
“He’s sleeping in my room! Your room!”
“Ok, wait, wait.” Clarissa throws up her hands. “What are we doing?”
“What is wrong with us?” Delphine chuckles.
“Right? I mean, here’s this guy—”
“He fell out of the sky—”
“And landed on my car—”
“Naked.”
“Unharmed.”
“With the best abs on the planet.”
“Not a single scratch.”
“And a wicked awesome rock hard dick.”
“Such a nice penis,” Clarissa adds.
They lock eyes.
“He’s sleeping in my room!” they shout again.
“Why should he sleep in your room?” Clarissa growls.
“Because I found him!” Delphine snaps.
“On my car!”
“So?”
“So?! So, he sleeps in my room!”
“You know he’ll be more comfortable in mybed.”
“You mean with you in it!”
“How dare you!”
“You haven’t thought about having sex with him?!”
“I’m thinking about it right now!”
“I knew it!”
“And you haven’t?”
“What?!”
“Oh, I see. Still in denial. Can’t admit how you really feel?”
“I’m in touch with myself!”
“The bathtub faucet certainly knows it!”
“You’re a whore!” Clarissa shouts.
Delphine freezes. The silence is instant.
Clarissa’s face falls. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not a whore,” Delphine says quietly.
“No. Of course not. I’m sorry.”
“Whores get paid to have sex.”
“I know. You’re not a—”
“I have sex because I enjoy it.”
“You do. I didn’t mean what I said.”
They pause.
Laughter starts to rise between them.
“What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know. There’s just something about him.”
“…and then some.” Clarissa suddenly notices the look in Delphine’s eyes.
She bolts for the door.
Delphine lunges, grabs Clarissa’s shirt, and pulls her back. She throws herself forward, reaching the door. Just as she grabs the handle, Clarissa grabs her waist and yanks her back. Delphine braces against the frame while Clarissa dangles like a backpack, pulling with all her weight.
“Stop! Stop! Look!”
Clarissa lets herself fall to the floor and crawls between Delphine’s legs, peeking into the living room.
Pascal is on the couch, fast asleep.
They stop struggling and creep toward him.
Clarissa touches his neck. “He’s alive.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Delphine says, rolling her eyes.
Clarissa runs her fingers slowly over Pascal’s face, then across his lips.
“Knock it off. You’ll wake him.”
Pascal shifts to his side, turning his back to them. As he does, his jeans slide slightly down, revealing the top of his perfect lower backside.
Clarissa smiles, eyes locked.
Delphine grins.
“Let’s take his pants down and look at his butt,” she whispers.