| THE UNSAID |
He turned to see her, the Aphrodite who managed to capture his heart with every fleeting glance. She was kissing a boy who would never know her as well as he knew her -- had known her.
He instinctively stepped behind a stone wall, stopping to find his heart being wrenched downwards to his belly and his breath catching in the webs of searing ache in his throat. It was disheartening, to say the least.
He dared not utter a word, not even to the secrecy of himself. He leaned against the sharp rocks of the wall, closing his eyes and thinking about her lips pressed against his own. They tasted sweet and natural and comforting. They were a brisk fantasy that life had managed to push far from him after that fateful night, as far away from his reach as long as his remembrance allowed.
He was the older, more experienced boy and she was the younger, more innocent girl. Then why was he caring so much for this little girl?
She, the centrepiece on his mantle of infatuation, became a pitiful obsession. He only allowed himself the quick rare gaze at her dark-haired beauty after that one night. Both knew full well of the throbbing desires wanting to seep through their skin. Both wanted to consummate their secret connection. The aching passion that neither would be able to share with one another was blatant, but only in the two lover's eyes.
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A rainstorm brewed outside, threatening to share their impromptu affair. But neither would yield to the warning. They couldn't.
She lay on the carpeted floor, him resting overtop her. Her bosom swelled and he could feel her heart racing against his own chest. He felt her under him, squirming and trying to free herself from the awkward situation, but amply knowing that it was not awkward at all. She had wanted this from their first meeting, from their first argument, from their first song together.
"Please," he whispered in her ear. "Let me show you."
She shook her head, reluctantly. "You can't..." she stammered. "We can't." Her nerves tingled in deathly anticipation as his lips neared hers. "No!" She turned her head to the side and his lips caught the curve between her neck and her jawbone.
She stifled a moan as his lips traced her jawbone and attempted to meet her pouted mouth.
"I need this," he told her hoarsely, kissing her neck and reaching his hand up to her dark waves of hair. "I've been waiting so long for this. Please, let me show you just how much I need this."
Surprising her better judgement, she found her hand trailing up the side of his torso. Gradually and simultaneously painstakingly, her hand moved into his lightly tanned hair and down his neck as it pushed his head forward, fervid lips tenderly brushing against her own. She allowed his tongue entrance, and slowly and rhythmically it moved against her own.
"I love you, Brady," she sighed against his smooth cheek.
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And through the course of their lovemaking he had forgotten to tell her those words that were in his mind since the first day. I love you, Chloe. He had been so caught up in finally touching her, feeling her move against him, feeling himself inside of her, sliding into their own confusing mess of bliss. He had forgotten to tell her the ultimate reason why he had wanted all of this.
It was too late. She was only standing across the narrow street but was worlds away from him now. It was too late to say anything after the night she had given a part of herself to him and he had forgotten to be polite, to be grateful that she would have deigned to give him so much.
He eyed the couple again and noticed the devotion shining through the other boy's eyes, in plain sight and unconcealed.
"I love you, Chloe," he uttered too no one in particular. He took agonizing steps away from the wall that separated him from her reassuring voice, knowing that he was to blame for the unwanted distance.
She turned towards the familiar mixed scent of water and sweet sand and sun that the wind carried to her nose. It was a scent that reminded her of a frightening but much needed revelation months ago. She saw nothing but a stone wall that seemed to have an apologetic story to tell her, a story that was too late for her to hear.
She smiled slightly, recalling a boy who she had once loved and who now seemed so estranged. Then she bowed her head, knowing that she was to blame for the unwanted distance, for giving herself to him so easily and expecting the heavens in return.
"Chloe," the other boy called to her softly, "Are you alright, love?"
She grinned painfully at her new joy. "Surprisingly," she replied, "yes."
As both older boy and younger girl turned away from each other and walked unknowingly further and further apart, a string of fear clung to both of their hearts. Both felt the same fear of the other's eyes pouring once more into their own and capturing their soul, as on that night when the storm howled outside and the milieu between them silenced the wind against the glass panes.
It was a strange symmetry that always comforted them both during the denouement of any tempest.
Sad and apologetic but still oddly comforting.