A Thousand Letters
"I need you," he whispered. "I love you," he breathed. "I’m sorry," he begged.
"I’m yours," I sighed, and he kissed me again, his heart broken and singing and flying into the sun.
He stood next to my bed, watching me as he pulled off his coat in the firelight, undressing as I sat with the sheets pooled around my waist, breath shallow, body on fire.
His body was strong, no longer that of a boy, but a man, hardened and chiseled by his work, scarred from the war with cuts and burns. I reached for him, tears falling as he sat next to me, my fingers tracing the ruts and tight skin. His fingers circled my wrist, and he brought my palm to his lips, eyes closed, reverent and solemn. And when his eyes found mine again, they were alive with regret, with intention.
He held my face in his big hands, eyes searching mine, and he tilted me gently, laying me down, kissing me with lips that knew me, knew my soul. Lips that had burned their imprint on me so many years before, a brand I’d never been able to wipe away, a brand that ignited again under his touch.
His fingers trailed down my body, pulling my hips into his like they’d never forgotten me, like they knew they owned me. It was his skin against mine, his lips and my own. Our legs scissored, bodies flush, hands roaming, touching, reveling in exploring every familiar curve.
His chest was warm and hard, his heart thumping wildly under my palm as it passed over, moving down, down to him, needing him, wrapping my fingers around his length. He gasped against my lips at the contact, his hand flexing on my hip, fingers digging into my skin before sliding down the back of my thigh to hitch it over his waist. And I stroked him gently, our lips and tongues moving in time as his hand kept moving until his fingers found my warm center. It was my turn to gasp, thighs flexing at the contact, relaxing as his lips moved down my neck.
When I found composure, I flexed my hand, and he did the same, slipping the tip of his finger into me, and I sighed, heart pounding with his face buried in the curve of my neck.
I could heal him, but he would ruin me. I would make that sacrifice without question, simply because he needed me, and I loved him.
He shifted at the sound of my sigh, a noise escaping him from deep in his throat that hit me deep in my belly. He broke away and hovered over me, his legs between mine shifting to open them more, his eyes on mine, noses only inches apart for a moment that stretched out. And then, he kissed me.
He kissed me with abandon, pressing me into the bed with his body as I felt the tip of him against the edge of me. With a gentle thrust, he slipped into me, the feeling taking over every sense, the moment too much, and I broke away, arms circling his neck, breath gone. He filled me, holding still when our bodies were connected, caging me in his arms, pinning me with his chest and hips, his face in the curve of my shoulder, my hands in his hair and cheek pressed against his head. We were as close as we could get, and we lay shuddering, breathing once, twice, three times before he moved.
His hips flexed as his head rose, his lips finding mine, our bodies moving together. Time seemed to speed up and slow down, my heart racing as my hips slowed and his moved faster, rocking against me, the rhythm of our bodies and hearts matching pace until they sped, until we were overcome. And our bodies broke free with a gasp and a whispered name.
The unspoken words were of no consequence for a long, singular moment.
But that moment was all we had.
As our bodies slowed, as he sagged against me, I felt the weight of his heart return, heavier than before. And he shook his head against me, the final fissure in the cracked surface that broke it once and for all.
"I’m sorry, Elliot," he whispered as he pulled away, slipping away from me like smoke.
"Why are you sorry?" I asked, though I knew the answer.
"I shouldn’t have …" He swallowed hard and sat on the edge of the bed, the pain on his face mirroring the pain in my heart. "I can’t do this to you, to me. Not now. I need time."
"Time?" I asked as I sat, my heart weak and broken. "I asked for time once, and you wouldn’t give it. I’ve given so much." The words trembled and broke.
He stood, and I watched the expanse of his back and broad shoulders flex and release as he reached for his pants. "I’m sorry. Forgive me."
"No," I whispered, an answer and a plea. I’d known our fate, knew my sacrifice, but that knowledge was no consolation. My facade fell, my braveness gone — I couldn’t take everyone’s pain like I had so willingly. I couldn’t give any more because I had nothing left.
He pulled on his pants hastily, stuffing his feet in his boots. And then he was at the window, dejected and desolate, ashamed and repentant. The rest of his clothes and his coat were in his hands as he opened the window, casting a tortured glance over his shoulder at me before disappearing into the falling snow, his footsteps vanishing within minutes as if he’d never been there at all.
17
Blank
The page is blank
Like new fallen snow,
As is my heart,
As is my soul.
* * *
-M. White
* * *
Wade
My hands lay on the surface of a mahogany table, palms pressed against the glossy surface, with my eyes on the reflection of the funeral director sitting across from me. Everything was in order, the details for tomorrow approved, and I’d just signed the rest of the paperwork, finalizing the funeral.
None of it fully reached me through the fog I’d been wandering through for the last two days.
Everything felt far away, distorted and fishbowled, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. We were all grieving differently. Sadie was inconsolable. Sophie spent her time wavering between finding calm for Sadie’s sake and crumbling, beside herself. And I was numb, grieving by not grieving, completely empty. There were too many things to do, too many people to talk to, and I was too busy to feel anything at all. Even in the dead of night, I lay in bed, not sleeping, not thinking, just watching the moonlight stream in through the window, warming to the blues and purples of dawn. And when the clock told me it was the right time, I would get up and dress to face another day.