I could stare into his hazel eyes forever, watching the myriad of colors swirl within the depths; coalescing. They were bedroom eyes, silent words spoken every time dark lashes flittered closed. There was something magic in them, irresistible as they bound me; capturing me within their tawny gaze. Mesmerized, I was powerless to separate my eyes from his; locked within the reflection of mirrors that expressed the same enchantment.
Breathless I waited, each minute movement a sign I eagerly deciphered. I was entranced, bewitched. He intoxicated me with his nearness and every breath I took brought me higher then I was before. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe him; godlike to vague a term. He simply was. His mere existence a testament to the good that humanity had to offer the world. Perfection at its most elite.
Perhaps my judgment is biased though; perhaps it’s tainted by the most basic emotion but it does not change my personal truth. I will never again love another the way I love him. He has opened me up, stripped me of my pretenses and returned me to the roots where I began. His strength has become my own, my weaknesses his vulnerabilities but in turn everything I am-is everything he will become. Already it begins.
Chapter 1:
Teardrops fall as moonlight filters through the skylight, staining everything pale in its effervescent glow. I hold my breath, praying not to startle the wondrous creature lying beside me; fingers trailing lightly over bronze skin pulled taunt. A gentle exploration of features familiar to me. The tips know the way, following the curve of his stubble covered cheek to the bow of kiss bruised lips where they linger for a moment longer. The feel of him underneath my touch is sinful, forbidden but it makes me crave it so much more. He’s become a part of me and moments like this are rare; all too easily destroyed by the inevitable interruption of the real world. My phone rings, disturbing the ambience of the darkened room, music faded into the background to accompany the evenness of his breathing. He’s magical. Even as I touch him I doubt the reality of him, his substance. Together we create our own fairytale whose ending is waiting to be written.
Echoes of music vibrate over and over again, sending pulses through the thick layers of blankets upon which we lay. I can feel the faint tremors-all to easily ignored-until he rouses from his state of drowsiness.
“Answer it,” he murmurs, face turned into the soft down of the pillows cradling the dark locks tainted with silver threads. Without a word, I fumble blindly in the dark for the illumination that glows dully from the screen of the phone tucked haphazardly beneath the blanket tossed carelessly across our trembling forms. With a scrape, the phone slides open to expose the glare of light, number lit up unnaturally bright as my eyes adjust to the addition of color in my otherwise colorless world. Seven digits glare menacingly from where they sprawl across the width of my screen, taunting me with their aching reminders of previous commitments and other lives yet to be lived. With a discrete sigh I answer, voice tainted with the pitiful hopes that somehow there was a mistake. Any mistake would do. A hideous joke gone wrong but there was no laughter; only the soft tremor of her voice as it traversed the lines between us.
“I know he’s there.” Numbly I nod despite certain knowledge that it couldn’t be seen. “But if you see him remind him we need milk at the apartment.” That was it. I don’t say anything until after the click of the phone.
“I haven’t-…..” seen him. But it was already too late. She knew. I didn’t need to say a word; it was obvious from the smug insolence that radiated from the faint voice still echoing in my ears. I sigh, softly, the breath expelled quietly past chapped lips lightly bitten. With absolutely certainty I turn towards him in the dark, the warmth of his body radiating towards me as I reach for it, laying the flat of my palms along the curve of his back to close the sparse distance between us. I rest my cheek against his wiry chest, stifling the smallest of giggles as the hair tickles my nose, burying it instead into the crook of his neck that smells so perfectly of him. It’s musky, spicy with the most delicious subtle hint of car oil and grease lodged beneath the slick sophistication. For a moment it distracts me, like so many other unconscious things he does. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him; words whispered on the breathy release of air that I’d been holding. The moisture of it beaded against his skin, warm, each syllable carried by the weight of my sigh.
“You’re daughter,” I start, voice lowered to barely audible, the pitch of it quivering as the words trail into silence, “Wanted me to remind you to bring home milk.” The domesticity of the message was quaint, endearing even but it brought up a painful reminder of stolen time. Slivers of shaved hours spent together whenever we could take them. These were the times I would remember when all else was gone and we both knew that our time together was coming to a close. At least this time, there would be others when we rekindled our passions and reinstated our desires. For now I granted him the freedom to leave, unable to meet the tender gaze already apologizing for having to go. I couldn’t. Not without crying and I refused to allow him to see me cry again, tears running down my cheeks as I attempt to wipe them away without drawing attention to myself.But he knew. He always knew.
With a kiss that stole my breath he rose from the bed with masculine grace; all sleek muscles hardened under years of intensive labor. My eyes follow his every movement, memorizing them despite already knowing them by heart. It’s routine, each nuance of it emblazoned across my minds eye, but I still find beauty in this particular dance. First comes the addition of his shirt, my hands clutching the navy material tightly even as I draw it over the sweep of his shoulders. I devour the sight, scraping bitten nails over the broad expanse of his chest, circling the pebbled nipples before allowing my touch to lead me to oval buttons. One by one they are redone with care, lips blazing a trail downward to the indent of his navel and then further, to the hollow his hip. As I pass along the unmarked flesh I leave behind a small reminder of my love, red barely visible.
Too soon he is fully dressed, legs clad in the familiar khaki Dockers stained with working class affection. A smudge of sauce here, oil slicked knees from the Rotisserie. All of these a badge of courage for each day successfully completed within the confines of the Deli. Each stain a reminder of humble origins I can never forget. Down the stairs I follow him, feet dragging noiselessly along the carpeted floor-a prisoner to their cage. He reaches for me, arms twining tightly about my waist, my own about his neck so that I can once more press my lips to the pulse beating so steadily there. A fraction of a second and he’s gone, lingering warmth that flees too swiftly. Another memory to line the walls with until I can see him again. Tomorrow never felt so far away.
Chapter 2:
Fragments. Its all my mind could grasp as I felt the breath catch dangerously in my throat, blocking the passage with the solid wall of air that formed as the meaning of his words sunk in. Panic set in well before anything else. A tangible reality in the nightmare that had enveloped the rest of my rose tinted existence. My heart screamed ‘no’ with every thundering beat, the pulse of it so loud that I could hear it over the dull bass that pounded from the speakers so cleverly hidden. Im not sure which happened first: the cadence of his voice as it shattered my reverie or the splintering of my heart as it collapsed in on itself, all of its nurturance put into hands that had so easily rid themselves of it.
Everything spun crazily on its tilted axis, the world falling sideways though perhaps it was me. Fingers clutched at the handle of the door, stroking it absently, tightening and loosening around the smoothness of it in erratic harmony to the skipping beats of my broken heart. The warmth of the car, a cocoon of heated air, depleted itself as I cracked the door open a fraction of an inch with every intention of running. Instead I froze; turning desperate eyes towards him. Afraid to cry but more afraid not to I was caught in a paradox of emotions.
Nothing more then a whisper of a hiccup passed my lips, willing myself to reign in the crumbling control I felt slipping through my fingers. I failed before the attempt was ever made. The first of many tears escaped from behind the rapidly blinking shield of my eyelids. I could feel the moisture gather, swell outward and then leak downward past a guard of dark lashes; leaving them wet and stuck together in clusters. “You…” I stutter, having trouble deciding between incredulous outrage and horrified understand, “Can’t do this?” Outrage won out and it dripped from my voice like so much venom, so many months of protecting him spilling forth in the spew that erupted from my mouth. The filter that separated the decent from the indecent was gone; words formed in the mind slipping easily past the safeguard of my tongue to dangle there precariously. Sharper then knives. Sharper then the betrayal I felt so keenly inserted into my empty husk of a soul.
“You haven’t done anything yet. I’ve been dealing with it. I’ve been the one they’ve talked about…the one they blamed. The harlot. The hussy. The home wrecking whore. I needed you and you…you can’t do it?” It felt so real, the anger. Like I could curl my hand around it and hold it, glowing in its intensity, fuel it and feed it until it consumed us both. A pyre of my intent. Even before I heard him I felt him, felt him like I felt myself. It caused an ache so deep I cried out, part pain part suffering; completely feral in its animalistic response
“Please don’t hate me.” As the words died away it was like they took with them the very motion of everything until it stilled. I stilled. Cold air drifted across my flesh but it didn’t invoke a response. Im not sure anything could have at that moment but perhaps Im lying to myself. He always invoked a response from me, whether it be physical or emotional. The reaction was always the same. I tried to curb my natural tendency to forgive him anything, fought desperately to hold onto the seemingly fleeting emotion that had riled me. It was a battle I was destined to lose but still I was gallant in my attempt.
I couldn’t talk, words would betray me, stab me in the back when I so desperately wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me. I tossed my head, side to side, up and down, trying to clear it of the unpleasant thoughts that were conjured there. They congealed, clogging my senses, shooting into my veins like an unwanted drug until my blood throbbed with the intensity of it. He was so intimate a part of me, a disease that invaded me and subdued me, took away my strength when I most needed it. He was debilitating, a disability I clung to like a lifeline.
With a concentrated effort, I forced myself to move stiff limbs, parts that felt frozen and numb. They responded sluggishly, unwillingly to my commands. Even though pain flared up, an inferno compared to the cold emptiness inside, I stepped outside of the car. Whispered words were shut inside the tight confines, barred from me by my own decision and I lumbered forward with graceless motion; feet scuffing the pavement so they would follow the familiar path to my door. Whatever he said was lost to me, like I was so certain he was forever gone as well.
Chapter 3:
Tipperary Hill. Where he grew up. He talks about it all the time and says he wants to take me there. Someday. Loiter in the park until the shadows lengthen and watch the lights go on below us until the entirety of downtown Syrcause is lit up. Sounds beautiful. Id love to share that with him but it seems that all my dreams end with 'someday' anymore.
We keep promising that someday we’ll take that trip; someday we’ll leave the dingy dull gray streets behind us for the brighter lights of another place, another time. Someday has yet to happen but Im finding that Im content with that. Here is bright enough for me, since here is where he is. This is one of our ‘happy’ periods. How odd to say that we cycle through emotions like the seasons cycle with the changing of the months, but its true. We are artists and our canvas is life, dominated by our desires. Painted bright with the intensity of our feeling or dulled by quiet interlude in which we’re apart.. Blue days alternating between the bright kaleidoscopes of color that erupt whenever we collide.
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Saihetei
this is my travel journal.
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