Remember That I'll Never Forget
Memory is a strange thing. There are things you forget a second after they happen, which barely register and that you don't even miss because they were never really there. And there are things you don't ever get to forget because they're written in your brain in this special kind of indelible ink that won't ever fade away. Like the smell of burning flesh or the taste of sad kisses.
They burnt her skin and marked her and the frying of her nerves didn't hurt as much as saying goodbye to him now, while his mouth trails kisses across her stomach and her fingers bury on his hair.
This night, this that's happening between them, it's got the makings of one of those memories you try to bury in the back of your head, even though you know all along that it just won't work that way and that something, anything, will manage to dig it up. Flashes across your eyes.
She didn't scream, when they burnt her, but she wants to scream now, for him, just for him because this is Jack and he will hurt her, before the night is over. He won't even realize he's doing it but he will. She can't make a sound
Nothing about them is rushed or rough but it's not missing anything. It hasn't been a long time in the coming because they've had no time together, almost no time at all, and it's not like those other times with those other men. There's no laughter or tears or fear of getting caught, there's only him and her and his eyes staring at her, his chin propped on her belly.
She cups his face with both her hands and doesn't smile at him, but her eyes tell him what she can't – won't – and she pulls him near, kisses him for lack of words and doesn't hope for this to be anything other than what it is, an indefinable fluke.
Their tongues tangle as his hands circle her waist and she holds onto his shoulders. His skin is sticky but so is hers and it doesn't matter anyway, nothing matters but his body against hers and the thoughts that just won't leave her mind. Juliet has spent over three years learning mistrust and deceit but this is real and real is something she's missed.
He bites her lip, hard enough so it will sting, and her eyes close. She likes it and he likes that she likes it and then the air catches in his throat. He winces and she flips them over. Now straddling him, she brushes the amazingly straight line on his lower abdomen with her thumb and licks a path from his collarbone to his earlobe. The skin under her fingertip is raised and mad and his skin is like sand and salt.
She lays both her hands on his chest and watches him, measuring him up. She opens her mouth but the words die on her lips; his hands lower down and they grip her hips now, lifting her up and she knows he's fine. Still, she's careful, slow, almost tender as she lowers herself on him. She never liked to be on top – she's Juliet and that's how it goes – but she would for him. This is different, more, in a way less, but his hands hold her steady and he wants this as much as she does.
She sighs, closes her eyes and can't help but smiling as they start moving together. It's not love, but it's the more that she hasn't had in forever, maybe ever, of being with someone merely because she wants to. Not because she's lonely or scared or wants something from him, just because he's there and he looks at her with something resembling love – not real, but let's play pretend, it doesn't need to be love because this is [has to be] enough and love would only break them anyway. They're not meant to be, here or anywhere else.
She feels it building in the back of her head, down her spine and into their joined bodies and they take it a little faster but not too much, he hasn't healed yet and she's been walking wounded for so long. They don't close their eyes; they only have tonight.
Ragged breaths and no sound at all, he thrusts into her and every time is a little bit better than the one before and then he's there, and she can finally stop thinking and it's this moment of nothingness and everything and just… he's Jack and she comes first. He flips them over this time and it's better because her spine stopped holding her straight.
He lays open mouthed kisses on her neck and her pulse quickens once more. She wraps her legs around him and digs her heels on his back, his thrusts become faster and then it's over, his mouth next to her ear and she can hear him breathing hard.
He rolls over but their limbs are still entangled and she can't find it in herself to let go of him, just like he apparently can't let go of her. His hands are shaking as he touches her skin, everywhere, and the lines he traces on her shoulder won't ever fade away. She won't need needles and ink to remember the exact feeling of him.
Oh, and this is how it started: words are hard when you're saying goodbye.
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May 16, 2008