sex

This is Fiction I Swear: Part 13

Part 13: Hiding

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Darling, it’s cold now but warm in here. Tonight, shut it out. Lock the door. Look at me in the soft shadows and shed your past till the only thing left between you and me is the music. This song, it’s pretty, and I think I’ve heard it before.

He’s pretty, too, like this next to me, sleeping now when all’s through. It should be perfectly lovely now, but I’m pulling apart. It’ll never be like this again. There is nothing better than right now and my nerves are on fire. My skin is cold. My lungs collapsed. My blood shivering while by body lies still.

And the breathing won’t come. At least it won’t come easy and without hot tears rolling down my cheeks and onto my neck. My hair is wet. My lips parted. I taste the salt and the sweetness and the sharp ends all at the same time. It keeps coming, wave after wave after wave, and I’m desperate but I can’t tell if I want to end it or keep it going until the end of time. If the ceiling could open and the sky swallow me alive just like this—

But now there’s only the quiet—deep quiet—and it’s exquisite. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever known, and I can’t see it. I can’t touch it or taste it but I know what it is. I know how it makes my thoughts come softer and my fingers lie still. I only know it as passes through me. Does it exist if I don’t? Does it have a shape if I don’t give it one?

Hours ago the white turned gray. The storm blew in, and the cold grew teeth, but the four walls of this bedroom stood solid and still do. They hold out the world and breathe in and out in time with us. His arm around me, my head on his chest, our eyes closed so we only see inside. But minutes later, restless, I grab my camera.

-Why do you want to take my picture?

-I want to remember you how you are right now.

-Why? What do you think is going to happen?

-Something. Something always happens.

He doesn’t know now, but I’m right about this. I wish I weren’t because I just want to go in circles with him spinning and spinning and laughing and yelling and living and it’ll never end. Happy and shining with sun and grass and leaves in my hair and dirt on his arms and lets not stop! Friend of mine, this is perfect how it is. Don’t change. I won’t if you won’t.

For now, though, all there is is this. I’m forgetting what the world out there is like and it thrills me. So much nothing in this quiet bedroom and it thrills me. Shadows from the yellow streetlights slip in through the half-open blinds and wander the walls around us. They’re not here to take us. They don’t want to swallow us whole. They only keep us company and watch over us as we fall in and out of sleep together like children worn from a day’s games. To have this until the end of time…!

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This is Fiction I Swear: Part 8

Part 8: Squares, Circles

Lights

But it’s not stars it’s a goddamn ten by ten cement holding cell. At least we don’t have to share but you’re right across the bars staring at me, waiting for me to say something but I’m not. I won’t. It’s not fun anymore and I’m furious that you got me stuck in here and I won’t let you think for one second that I’m giving in.

When they give me my phone call I call Angelica and tell her we need to meet up later because I have things to tell her. She asks if it’s about the eviction and I have completely forgotten about that and say it is most definitely not. I know her next guess will be you. And it is. And I tell her I’ll be by later to talk about it. I hang up and she’s still saying something about a bad idea. Well of course it is.

But things get off track when they make us wait together to get our bikes back. We walk outside at the same time and I’m not saying a word which makes you furious so you “congratulate” me on my unconventional tactics to win you back.

Win you back! I stop you dead in your tracks, look you in the eye, and tell you how wrong you are but your eyes are locked on mine and you’ve got that look and now your hand is on my waist. The words are melting off my tongue and I can’t look away. Even if I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t. My eyes shut, our lips lock, and I can’t tell if my heart is beating too fast or if it’s not beating at all. Breath comes quickly, in bursts, and the neighborhood knows about us, but it’s the only one. Then there’s nothing but the gray dark of my bedroom at the 1:00 hour. The kind of dark that gives no way of knowing what’s me and what’s you. That kind of dark.

My favorite kind of dark.

And I wonder—does my name excite you? Does the sound of it sink into your spine and travel up to the base of your neck? Does it give you chills? Does it? You never admitted that much to me, but I know it’s true by the way you clung to me. You think too much about me, you said that once when we walked a long way in the wrong direction one night. It was raining and my head was down but I was listening. To know that, to know you, I knew you weren’t gone. I knew if I stayed still for a while you’d reappear, and we could start tracing circles again. You know the ones—the ones that start far apart, but get closer and closer till they’re on top of each other, entwined in perfect wholeness, then—they break apart and float parallel once again.