After too much time, I give you Part 2.
This chapter is slightly shorter (though still clocking in at over 12,500 words) only because there was no time jump. I should have said at the end of the last chapter that Part 2 would also be written from Matthew's perspective, but it slipped my mind.
Alas, I did not have a beta-reader for this chapter, so I do apologize for errors and I am sure that you will encounter them. I hope it does not interfere with your enjoyment of the chapter.
You can read more of MY story at the end.
Happy reading.
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Part II
Matthew could see her raised and dotted flesh.
In another world, he would stretch out his arm, his hand would easily find her Braille marked skin, and he would read aloud the dilation of her body.
And the best lines would tell of his love for her.
But Matthew kept his distance. He stood three feet away from her, uselessly rocking on his heels, his hands balled up into fists inside his jacket pockets.
The sidewalk beneath his boots was cracked and wet even though it had not rained in the city in several days. Therefore, the puddles below him left Matthew to assume that the pavement in front of the night-club was power-washed most nights, the force of the water rinsing the cigarette butts, gum rappers, and receipts of those who waited outside into the gutter.
The building at his back was a solid affair, made of worn stone and aged cement, its two-stories only occasionally marked with tinted windows.
Matthew's chest jumped and vibrated, rattling along with the low frequency tones blasting from inside of the stone structure behind him. The sound waves traveled through the ground, gently rattling the pavement below him, quietly disrupting his stance, roaming further up his legs, and making a home in his bones. The music wasn't particularly loud on the streets (only swelling when the front door opened for a moment), but Matthew's body felt the deep vibrations of the tracks blasting within the club just as easily as he felt the cool wind on all of the pieces of his exposed flesh.
Matthew exhaled quietly and his eyes caught the outline of his warm breath, dense but weightless, against the black night.
The night had turned cooler than he had expected, though the evening wasn't (at least by Chicago standards) 'cold', Matthew's body had not acclimated its self to the briskness of the fall yet; he was still stuck on the warmth of summer. So the night that was probably no less than 60 degrees, felt like it was no more than 40.
Mary laughed in front of him, and Matthew smiled at her joy.
Anna continued on with her story and Mary laughed once more, though this time her mouth did not close. Mary's lower jaw jumped and vibrated quickly and she wrapped her arms more closely around her chest, attempting to master her shivering, trying to hold on to the heat of her body, a natural warmth that was determined to get away.
Matthew sighed and again the night held the ghost of his exhale.
Matthew silently cursed the unexpected briskness of the night, he cursed the warmth of his own wool jacket, and, finally, he cursed Jimmy, who stood beside him, his arms and chest bare to the cool night air but for his vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt.
Jimmy had a jacket on earlier in the evening, but sometime in-between leaving Bates' (but not before storing Mary's birthday presents into the back of Matthew's car), and temporarily stopping at an all-night bakery to get some carbohydrates and water into an already drunk Sybil (and to also procure a pitiful dinner of soft pretzels and cheddar cheese sauce for Matthew and Anna), Jimmy had, quite selflessly and quickly, surrendered his jacket to Mary, whose own jacket proved to be little more than a long-sleeved T-shirt.
The better parts of Matthew knew that there was nothing behind Jimmy's offering to her, but the worst bits of him were extremely jealous that Mary's intoxicating scent would follow another man home tonight.
Matthew tried to suffocate those worse parts of him and instead focus on the fact that Mary seemed to be warming up while encased in Jimmy's leather bomber jacket; she was swimming in it, the sleeves much too long and the chest much too wide.
Matthew leaned back further on his heels to peak around the line in front of them and realized, with a pang of disappointment, that the same group of people were still standing at the entrance of the club, meaning that the line outside had not moved in over twenty minutes. There weren't many people in front of their group, but at this rate, it could be another hour before they got inside.
The walk from Bates' had been an easy ten-minute hike and, whether it was his dinner of warm pretzels, the fresh air, or perhaps a combination of the two, Matthew was aware that he was slowly sobering up as they continued to wait outside of the club.
"This is fucking ridiculous!"
Matthew turned towards the speaker, though he already knew whom it was.
"It's not even 11 yet and I'm starting to lose my buzz."
Edith, as always, gave voice to everyone else's thoughts.
Edith and Chad, Ed's sexual conquest for the night, stood slightly removed from their group, casually passing a lit cigarette between them.
Edith took another long drag before handing it off to Chad and then spoke again, "Sybil."
Mary's youngest sister looked up, a little slowly, at the calling of her name. Sybil was now able to stand by herself, the water and cinnamon roll Matthew bought her battling valiantly against the thick layer of alcohol in her stomach, but her eyes were still clouded with beer and vodka.
Edith spoke on to her inebriated sister, "Do us all a favor and go show that bouncer your tits. I'm sure it'll help us get in sooner."
Sybil hiccupped and then gave a wet laugh before she started walking towards the door on a pair of unsteady legs. However, Sybil only took two steps before Mary reached out and stopped her.
Mary spoke to her youngest sister sweetly, "Let's just stay here and wait, darling. It won't be too much longer." Mary then turned towards Edith, all her kindness now replaced with anger, "What the hell, Ed? You know how Sybil gets when she's drunk—you can't tell her to do stuff like that because she will."
Edith only laughed at Mary's sharp tone, "Jesus. Would you relax? You know I wouldn't actually let her do it… I'm just tired of waiting."
Matthew could tell by Mary's voice that the walk had sobered her up a little bit as well, but her words still came out a little louder than normal, "Then why don't you go flash the bouncer and see if that get's us in any quicker."
Edith laughed and rolled her eyes, "Mary…" Ed said her sister's name with a tone which suggested that Mary was missing something very obvious, "… I've lived in this neighborhood for over five years now—there is a very good chance that he's already seen my tits."
Edith and Chad laughed before lighting another cigarette, and Mary only responded by shaking her dark head in a disapproving way before another violent shiver broke down her spine.
Seeing her so chilled was making Matthew anxious and he leaned back to look around the line in front of them, only to find the same group still standing at the front of the queue.
Matthew started considering other options, acutely aware of the stack of currency in his pocket and the untapped potential that it held.
And, apparently, Edith was thinking along the same lines.
A cloud of opaque smoke spilled from her lips and Ed spoke aloud to no one specifically, "It's a shame really, I mean, if only one of us were worth a couple hundred-million dollars and, if only, that person could possibly use his, or her, wealth for some good and bribe the doorman to let us all in… I mean…" Ed closed her eyes and scrunched up her face, as if making a wish, "…if only, we could continue celebrating Mary's birthday instead of waiting out here in the cold."
Edith opened her eyes and smirked in his direction and Matthew felt eight sets of eyes land on him.
To be honest, Matthew considered doing exactly what Edith was suggesting as soon as they rounded the corner and saw the line already formed out in front of their destination, but knowing that it would make Mary uncomfortable, he decided against it.
Everyone was still staring at him, so Matthew finally spoke, "I mean…I wouldn't mind giving it a try."
But, just as he expected, Mary spoke up, "Matthew, you really don't need to do that. I'm sure it won't be much longer."
Napier, who stood by Sybil's side, spoke to his shuffling feet, "I don't think the line has moved in nearly a half hour."
Matthew could hear Mary's mind working for a retort.
Edith, however, was quick to agree, "Yeah! Come on Mary!" She was nearly whining now, "Let Matty use his power for some good."
This made Mary speak swiftly, "You don't know what your talking about Ed. Matthew uses most of his wealth for good." The cold air was powerless against the warming in his chest, which Mary's quick defense of him had rubbed. "Besides, what you're asking is incredibly rude…Would you suggest for anyone else to fork out money for the rest of us?"
"Fine…", Edith looked around at their small group and then quickly announced, "…if anyone here has made a couple thousand dollars today, not by doing anything, but just by existing and having money in the bank, would you please step forward and then pay off the man at the door."
A beat of heavy silence fell around them but Mary eventually spoke again, shame coating her words, "You are so selfish, Ed."
Matthew tried to tune out Edith's response. The sister's bickering made him uncomfortable and he became engrossed in the crowd around him.
Edith words had been mostly correct, although it didn't take one day for the interest in all of his holdings to accrue to a couple thousand dollars; roughly, it only took about 30 minutes. So, in the 2 minutes that it would take for Matthew to walk up to the front of the line, explain his wishes to the bouncer, reach into his wallet, and slip the man a wad of cash, Matthew would have, if his estimates were correct, already made back whatever he handed over, plus a little bit more.
Mary and Edith continued trading comments and Matthew continued watching those around him. Napier and Sybil, the drunkest in their group, were leaning on one anther while Napier continued to try to pick up Anna. Gwen was texting someone furiously and Jimmy was standing on his tiptoes, looking at the front of the line. Chad had an arm slug around Edith's shoulders and lit up another cigarette, and Matthew watched as his attention was diverted by a group of scantily clad women who passed behind him and made their way to the front of the line.
Matthew saw one of the women smile and then speak to the man at the door. Then a chain-reaction occurred. It started with the man extracting a clipboard and shuffling through the attached papers. After a minute, the bouncer seemed to find what he was looking for because he made a mark on the page, looked up at the woman, nodded once, lifted the velvet wrapped chain, and let the group pass by him as they made their way indoors.
Seeing this exchange gave Matthew a spark of inspiration, which was quickly followed by a pang of shame that he had not taught of it sooner.
Matthew retrieved his phone from his inside pocket and quickly Googled the name of the nightclub. Fifteen seconds later Matthew was texting a name and a proposition to his personal assistant at the Murray firm, apologizing for the hour and assuring him that a bonus would be in his future if he was able to achieve Matthew's request. His assistant's response took less than a minute and Matthew tucked his phone into his jacket pocket with a surging sense of pride.
"…this is just like you Ed. You think that you've been wronged by the universe and that you're owed something."
"Well, we can't all be perfect like you, can we Mary?"
"I'm not claiming to be perfect."
"Well of course you're not just going to come out and say it but that sense of perfection and superiority underlies everything that you do."
"Excuse me." An unknown man had entered into their circle, coming in between Mary and Edith, his eyes floating from Matthew, to Jimmy, and then to Napier, and then back again. This man was not the same man that was tending the front door, but he was dressed very similarly, "Is there a Mr. Crawley among you?"
And again, eight sets of eyes landed on Matthew, a ninth joining them a moment later.
Matthew stepped forward confidently, knowing the part had to play now and offered his hand to the unknown man, "Yes, that's me."
The man shook Matthew's hand vigorously, "So sorry about you, and your party's wait."
"It's not a problem. I should have realized that this club was owned by Mr. Turner, my firm has used his establishments for different events for many years now."
"Yes, and Mr. Turner hopes that you will be booking the Lumiere again for your firm's Holiday party this year."
Matthew held the man's eye and his next words assured that Mary would have a birthday to remember, "Well, if tonight goes well, then I'll certainly suggest that we do."
The man understood everything Matthew left unsaid and he nodded his head in agreement, "Yes, well then, let's not waste another moment," The man gestured towards the front door, "If you'd all like to follow me inside, I'll show you to one of our private lounge areas that we've cleared for you. It's located just off of our largest dance floor, and there your party will have access to our bottle service."
"Hell yeah!" Edith was giddy with her excitement and she stepped forward first to follow the man, "Bottle service! None of us are going to be able to remember our own names by the end of the night."
The man started walking towards the entrance and, with Ed at the lead, their small group fell in step behind him. Matthew let the others pass in front of him, steadying Sybil as the young woman started to stumble and then passing her off to Anna.
Their group passed by and Matthew found that he was alone…but for one.
Her soft, dark eyes held an unspoken question and his legs carried him towards her so that his lips only had to respond with a whisper.
"I didn't give anyone any money."
Mary tilted her head slightly, the waves of her hair falling softly over her slender shoulders but for a single dark lock, and the lights of the city, warm and clear, illumined the exposed contour of her flesh that he was so captivated by. And suddenly Matthew felt the alcohol in his blood make its resurgence, and he was light-headed as he continued speaking to her, his eyes fixed on the soft line of her neck, "I often find that a name, or even the mere suggestion of a name, holds more influence just money."
Mary's voice traded places with the music and his body hummed along with her lips, "And what does your name suggest Matthew?"
At the calling of his name, Matthew's eyes traveled up her neck, lingering on the curve of her jaw, before eventually finding the pillow lips that he longed to know.
He moved closer, and she did not back away from the heat of his body, "My name suggests many things, Mary—Power. Position. Persuasion."
His arm had lifted and his fingers were stretching out, wrapping around the lone lock of her hair, which painted a slender shadow on her profile. The tips of his fingers brushed against her silk woven skin, her pimples of cold replaced by a surging heat, and Matthew placed the rogue strand of her sweet smelling hair around her back, surrendering it to its kind.
And Matthew's gaze let go of her lips to settle into the warmth of her eyes, "And my name suggests patience, Mary."
He told himself that it was the alcohol in his system that was making him speak so honestly, but, perhaps, it was just the openness of her eyes.
Mary nodded slowly and Matthew hoped that she understood.
He continued, "And, either way, you should let me give you things. I want to give you things, and I'm in the position to do so, and, at least for tonight, I have the wonderful excuse of your birthday." His lips broke into a smile and she responded with one that matched, "So no more protesting tonight, ok? I want to give you things. Let me give you things, Mary."
There was a heavy pause between them and in that moment Matthew felt the gentle weight of the earth, and the earth felt like her hand.
And it was her soft touch. It was warm and secure. And it was greedy as she pried apart fist, making room for her palm.
Mary had given in, consented to his pleads, and showed him so by interlacing her fingers together with his.
Mary smiled at him and turned towards the door, the knot at the end of their outstretched arms pulling him behind her.
And as the man and the woman passed in front of the crowd still standing outside, the waiting crowd wondered who the couple were, and why they were chosen for admittance instead of them, and as they watched how the woman looked back at the man, and as they saw how the man's thumb traced unseen patterns on the woman's hand, the people that made up the background of this moment hoped that one day they too could find a love like this; one which demanded to be witnessed.
…
…
…
The room around him was made of lights. Lights that throbbed, lights that were really patterns, lights that cut sharply through the darkness.
The room around him was made of people. People that brushed against, people that shouted and laughed, people that danced and moved to a beat that insisted on being felt.
The room around him was made of music. Music that drowned out the question of tomorrow, music that commanded you to hold the one you love, music that deafened and enriched, turning Matthew into an organic movement of sound.
It had happened gradually over the past hour.
At first it was a measured sensation, one that started in his fingertips and his lips, but it had slowly branched out across his body, traveling through his veins and altering him chemically. It morphed into a warmth, a tingling sensation which affected his eyelids and made his cheeks feel stiff and waxy. Eventually, the tingle turned into a humming, and the buzz enabled him to sense and know his individual capillaries, so that he was sure he could close his eyes and number them off one-by-one. But that was before his body altered again, and that was before his limbs started to act of their own accord. Sometime later, he became aware that his body was slowing down, and it took him a little bit longer to down his fourth shot of vodka than it had taken to drain the fifth. By the fifth, his head had become detached, and it floated somewhere near the body that he could no longer acutely feel.
Matthew's body was nearly numb and all of his senses were severely deadened and he found his temporarily paralysis to be, not frightening or even slightly disconcerting, but, instead, only incredibly hilarious.
Its been said that drunkenness doesn't really change a person's personality but instead only exemplifies it. Therefore, despite the fact that Matthew had spent the better part of the past four years in a deep depression, his true character was a carefree one, so in his current inebriated state, everything was unbelievably funny.
Sybil and Jimmy doing their best impression of the final number in Dirty Dancing in the middle of a crowded dance floor was comedic gold. A passed out Napier, who was currently sleeping under their table with a variety of hand-drawn male genitalia on his face (Anna being the chief designer though the one that ran down Napier's left cheek Matthew was pleased to say came from his own hand), was hysterical. The sight of Edith drinking straight from a bottle of champagne while giving Chad, and everyone around her, a preview of what was to come, was sidesplitting. The image of Anna and Gwen go-go dancing on either side of the DJ at the back of the club brought laughing tears to his eyes. And the memory of Mary rapping along with remixes of gangster rap, a sloshing drink in one hand, and wearing a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses, would automatically make Matthew smile for the rest of his life.
Their private lounge area was roped off, a large man dressed in black acting as a gate-keeper, keeping others out and only allowing admittance to their party and a private cocktail waitress. Their privileged area of the club was outfitted with a large table, a long, cushioned booth, and a variety of leather chairs. And, most importantly, it was stationed just to the left and slightly above, the club's enormous dance floor, so that one only had to descend four steps to find themselves in the heart of a crowd of people practicing one of the earth's earliest forms of expression.
And everyone in their group was participating in that activity on the dance floor but for three; the first was asleep under the table, and the second was mesmerized by the third.
Mary was two feet in front of Matthew, moving, a little sloppily, to the roaring music, her dark trestles bouncing and swaying with her body, her drink of Grey Goose and cranberry making rose colored tracks down her fingers. Mary was enveloped in her own world, her hips breaking, up and down and up and down, her arms above her head, reaching for nirvana, the infectious beat supplying the quickly spoken words, which her wine-colored lips synchronized with.
And though they were in building over flowing with people, they were two souls cut from the same mold, and beneath his alcohol clouded eyes, Matthew's smile was unashamed, as he bore a private witness to Mary's drunken euphoria.
Matthew leaned on the edge of their table, his feet resting a few inches away from Napier's face and he focused on moving his phantom lips and shouting in her direction, "I didn't know you were such a fan of this type of music…You're very good."
His compliment had momentarily distracted her and Mary's lips stumbled over the next lines of the song as she broke into a smile and matching laugh. But she eventually found her mark again and caught up just in time for the track to launch into its hook.
Alcohol was a magical chemical in that, once consumed in vast quantities, it made one question their stances. For example, pop music wasn't a genre that Matthew was normally particular fond of, but, listening to it through the film of his drunkenness, it had suddenly become the best sort of artistry imaginable.
Matthew also felt the powerful urge to pull his phone from his back pocket and text someone. He had no one particular in mind (well, actually, the person he would probably be most likely to text in his current state was already standing in front of him, rapping along with Nicki Minaj while wearing darkly tinted sunglasses), but, nevertheless, he wanted to send a text to someone, anyone, and inquire about life's most important questions; like, 'Why are pizza-rolls so delicious when consumed between the hours of 1 and 4 in the morning?', or 'Whatever happened to Steve from Blue's Clues?', or 'Why didn't the Pixar lamp have its own movie yet? Surly its paid its dues.'
But the one stance that Matthew's full stomach of beer, vodka, and champagne, was making him question the most was, why on earth he had told Anna earlier that he would not be dancing tonight? Such a statement seemed ridiculous now. Surely, he had not thought through such a foolish declaration when he had originally spoken it. Especially because moving along with the music rattling through his bones seemed to be the only right thing to do. Even more strangely was that, normally, Matthew was certain that he wasn't a very good dancer, but now, leaning on a table covered with empty bottles, his toes tapping to the beat and his upper body lightly swaying from side to side, he was sure that his long-held belief was ill founded. In fact, Matthew was now sure, beyond all doubt, that he was an amazing dancer—he was just waiting to unleash his talents on the world.
Matthew felt a laugh leave his lips for no apparent reason.
His drunkenness was nearly complete now, only a few more would make him forget the night that had just begun; However, Matthew wasn't quite there yet. While the alcohol in his system was blurring seventy-five percent of the world, the remaining fourth swam in front of his eyes in sharp relief; the haze of alcohol was making him observant to the obscure. He noticed he had a smudge on his boot that looked like the state of California and that Mary's top took the consistency of dark-water as she moved. He realized that his palms were in the shapes of ugly squares and that a fine peppering of nearly translucent freckles dotted her shoulders. He noticed that his teeth felt altered and tingly beneath his tongue and that Mary's lips kissed the air when she said his name.
How Matthew longed to be the air.
The song turned over, the new track containing no words, only a pleasant grinding, a pitched moaning, and a thunderous rhythm. Having no lyrics to mimic, Mary's lips stopping stirring, and she removed her glasses, revealing the darkness that Matthew knew so well.
Their drunkenness was alike; the same sloppy smile, the same reddened cheeks, the same layer of drink clouding their eyes.
Just then, Matthew thought of another certainty that alcohol redefined— the need for personal space and the natural shame of touching the forbidden.
And Mary apparently had the same epiphany.
She moved towards him and came to rest in the small space between his outstretched legs. Matthew had to look up slightly to meet her eyes and he watched as she lifted her arms to wrap them around his shoulders. He was vaguely aware that she settled her fingers into his hair, holding and lightly stroking the base of his head, as she leaned towards him.
Temple to temple, they came to a rest, and Matthew felt the outline of her lips open against his ear, and the caress of her exhale warmed him, the vibrations of her lungs as she started to speak touched him in an unseen place.
"Thanks for all of this…", Mary breathed in…and breathed out, "…I've never had such a wonderful birthday."
He was aware that he nodded and he was aware that she stood straight again, but, most of all, Matthew was aware that Mary stayed in the cradle of his legs, the gentle weight of her arms anchoring them together.
And Matthew was only alcohol.
So he removed his hands from the edge of the table and wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her closer to his body, holding her as she deserved to be held, the alcohol in his blood assuring him that his actions were right.
And, positioned as they were, Matthew leaning on the edge of the table, Mary standing straight between his legs, he was at exactly the right height to fulfill a fantasy. So, with the burning in his system urging him to do so, Matthew captured the moment God had provided and he buried his face in the soft curve of her neck.
And he was unashamed as he breathed her in, and he did not restrain from knowing the silk texture of her hair, and he was shameless in the way that he rested his lips against her jugular, siphoning the warmth from her body, willing his slow mind to remember the taste of her scent, its richness, its purity; and still, the alcohol in him continued to assure him that all was well.
The burn in their blood made them simple creatures, their minds untangled from worries, from the concept of shame and guilt, their bodies doing only what felt right.
They stayed like that for a long time, Mary's cheek resting on the crown of his head, Matthew knowing the flesh at her neck, neither acutely aware of how they held the other, but each sensitive enough to the reality, to the force, of what rested between them. And yet, both remained silent and both gave their assent, as the pressure between them slowly broke their bones, making them into something new.
The promise to prolong their blissful state is what broke them apart.
Their cocktail waitress was beside them, dispersing another round of clear drinks, and Mary and Matthew broke their entanglement so that they could fuel their subconscious once again.
The waitress's reappearance caused the others to return from the dance floor as well, none of them aware of the intimate moment that had just occurred between the woman and her employer, and a moment later they were all standing in a lopsided circle, laughing for no reason but the drug in their veins, arms outstretched towards the center, toasting Mary and her health.
He could no longer taste the fermented grains nor could he feel its burn but, as he caught the sight of Mary tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and smiling widely in his direction, Matthew felt his body tremble.
However, Mary's attention was dragged away from him as Anna stepped in front of her and shouted over the music.
"I demand a dance with the birthday girl."
Anna did not wait for a response before she grabbed Mary's arm, pivoted on the spot, and started leading her out to the overcrowded floor, Sybil and Gwen following quickly behind them.
Jimmy grabbed a discarded beer, one that Matthew was fairly sure he had drunk out of earlier, and sat down heavily at the edge of the booth. Jimmy pulled out his phone and as Matthew watched his thumbs start moving rapidly over his phone's surface, a person to Matthew's right placed a hard and wet kiss on his cheek.
Normally, this type of physical contact while in public would startle him but in his inebriated state, Matthew discovered that he was unfazed, and as he laughed stupidly and turned towards the right to see who had kissed him, his mind was only thinking about whether or not he should return the favor.
He discovered Ed by his side, a confident smile aimed in his direction. She leaned towards him and shouted, "You throw a pretty great party."
He responded, his lips feeling inflamed, waxy, and slow, "I didn't do anything."
"I beg to differ."
Edith's words were not slurred, nor were her eyelids weighed down by drink. Matthew knew that she matched her consumption with everyone else, and, yet, she looked unchanged. And then it clicked. As she stood confidently in front him, her head titled to one side and looking the very picture of sobriety, Matthew realized (more slowly than it would have taken him normally) that she was one of those people, meaning that she was a professional partier—one whose brain could drown in alcohol but whose body and movements showed no sign of it.
Edith continued explaining, "You got us in the door, which, by the way, I'm still curious to know how you did, you got us this amazing lounge, and, look around you man...everyone is shit-faced and having a great time, and it's all because you are picking up the bill."
"Would you all have not gotten shit-faced if I wasn't paying the bill?"
She paused, taking a short moment to think over his question, before smiling widely again.
"Well, yes, we still would have, but, and I know I speak for everyone, it'll be wonderful waking up tomorrow and not cringing at the thought of looking at my credit card statement."
Matthew shrugged his shoulders, or at least he thought he did, "Well, I'm happy to be of service."
"Are you?"
Edith responding question was so quick and so unexpected that Matthew paused, trying to work through the thickness in his head, his bewilderment obvious in his response.
"…Yes?"
"Good," Edith's smile was stretched across her face, "because I need you to do me another favor."
"OK?"
"I need you to take Mary home tonight."
At this Matthew had to laugh, "Wait, wait…Now, I know that I'm drunk, so I could be mistaken, but I'm fairly certain that I remember you telling me just a few hours ago that sleeping with your sister would be a bad idea."
The smile fell from Edith's face and she let out an exasperated sigh that matched the emphasis she used as she rolled her eyes, "Jesus Matthew! You've got a one track mind don't you?"
"I've got a one track mind?..." and the alcohol made Matthew bluntly speak his mind, "…Forgive me for saying this Ed, but I feel as if you're in danger of taking of your pants at any moment."
Edith paused, taken aback by his frankness, but only for a moment. She then let out a hysterical laugh, "Well, well. Look whose come out to play."
Matthew smiled, "I'm not sure if I've ever met someone who was so incurably horny."
"It's a wonderful sickness and the coping mechanisms are fantastic, but, anyway, I'm not telling you to sleep with my sister."
"But you said…"
"I only want you to take her to your place, put her to bed, and then shut the door on your way out."
"Oh…OK…I can do that."
"Great! Because I don't think I can't babysit both her and Sybil and also…" Edith turned to look over her shoulder, and Matthew noticed that Chad had sat down on the booth next to Jimmy, "…fulfill my ambitions for the early morning hours."
Ed turned back to Matthew "Anyway, with Rick being gone, Mary will need someone to make sure she gets someplace safe to crash." Edith then added in an off-handed manner, "I told Rick that she could come home with Sybil and I and sleep it off on the couch, but, I mean, she's got her own room at your place, and Rick's not here, so…" Ed paused, looking for the right words, "so…fuck him."
Matthew and Edith laughed in unison.
Edith asked him for confirmation, "Fuck him, right?"
"Yeah…fuck him."
A sober Matthew might not of done it but he was not himself, so he wrapped an arm around Edith's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his side, and she responded by twisting an arm around to his hip, so that the two friends were side-by-side, facing the dance floor.
Edith laughed once and then spoke again, "I mean… look at her."
And Matthew abided to her command.
Despite the alcohol clouding his eyes and despite the vast amount of people on the dance floor, Matthew found Mary easily.
Somewhere in the deep swamp of his mind, Matthew vaguely remembered Mary declaring to both he and Sybil that she 'only danced ironically,' and now, seeing her at work on the crowded floor, Matthew understood her meaning.
While most of the people on the floor were dancing in a way that Matthew thought should be reserved for the privacy of a bedroom, Mary stood in a stark contrast. Though the beat was loud and heavy, her movements were light and carefree. She twirled, she jumped, she clapped, she waved her arms and skipped, she did throwback moves that hadn't been used seriously since the 80's, and most of all, she laughed.
She was full of joy, her happiness contagious, floating across the room and attaching to Matthew's lips.
At his side, Edith continued talking, "She would not be having this good of a time if Rick were here."
Matthew's eyes were glued to Mary as she danced amongst her friends, "Then, let's make his absence another reason to celebrate."
It was as if their waitress had heard Matthew's softly spoken words because she returned to their table a moment later and on her tray rested their next round.
The promise of drinks acted like a signal fire, and Mary and the others returned to their lounge as soon as the song was over, their faces flushed from dancing, laughing, and drink.
The clear liquid slid down his throat smoothly, and as Matthew bent down to place his shot glass on the table, the room around him started to tilt. He quickly steadied himself, and though the floor beneath his feet felt like unsteady water, and though he was sure that he could fall over at any moment, all Matthew could do was laugh.
After taking a moment, he looked up and saw Mary gathering her raven hair into her hands, making a quick knot of it, and securing it high atop her head, her actions creating a perfectly disheveled bun.
She quickly explained, her words thick, her eyes unfocused, "It's just so hot in here".
And he quite agreed because as Mary walked towards him, ringlets of darkness already coming loose and falling across her forehead, Matthew was aware that his flesh was catching fire.
Then she was before him, her drink occluded eyes holding him as she reached out, and Matthew felt the gentle kiss of her fingertips against his hand, and the flames which burned hotly inside of him, licked deeper, turned richer, melting him down.
They were cheek to cheek again and Mary's whisper flooded his mind.
"Come dance with me."
Her request was a demand and he gave his consent slowly.
And as Mary turned away, holding him by a few fingers as she descended the steps leading to the floor, Matthew witnessed an image he had dreamed about for months and one that would now keep him up at night.
It had been there all night, hidden by the thickness of her hair, but now it was revealed, bare and naked, to his starving soul. It was the color of cream and it lay open before him, beckoning him with its silent seduction.
Though Mary's wine-colored top was high-necked in the front, it plunged in the back, revealing a deep ravine of her exposed flesh. The tightness of her necklace against her throat was explained as Matthew saw the two chains, both the color of molten gold, knotted and then free falling down her bare back, swigging like a pendulum, dividing the smoothness of her down the center.
There were the vertebrae he longed to number.
There were the muscles he longed to knead.
There was the blank sheet flesh he longed to inscribe with his name; his fingertips the only ink, his lips the only brush.
And as she continued to lead him, heading for the center of the crowd, her spine shifting in the shadows as she walked, Matthew suddenly wished he were sober. He wished his eyes could focus, he wished his mind was unclouded, and he wished he could remember the atlas of her bare back.
Mary stopped walking and turned, hiding what had ensnared him, placing her wrists on his shoulders, and started moving to the insistent beat pouring from the speakers.
And Matthew discovered that she could dance in another way; one that was not at all ironic, but only hypnotic.
Matthew reached out to hold her as well, his hands nearly wrapping around her slender waist, his finger tips touching what was bare, her breath hitching at the contact, his matching exhale cracked but rectified.
And following an unspoken course, both of their bodies started heading in the same direction.
Knees bending, arms wrapping around, hands fisting hair and supporting backs, feet entangled, bodies pressing…pressing…pressing against.
And though their moving forms met at all of their angles and at all of their planes, the intimacy of their connection lived within their eyes; icy blue melting the black, the darker claiming the lighter.
And the buzzing of alcohol in his mind, shouted over the music, assuring him, over and over again, that the way in which he touched her, and the way in which he held her, was not at all wrong.
Could Mary hear it as well?
Did the alcohol within keep her better judgment at bay?
Because there was something in the way that she touched him, something in the way she held him. It was hard and needy, like she wanted to bruise him, the swollen marks leaving him with a reminder of the things she could not say.
But Matthew still heard her unspoken desires and he only responded with tenderness.
It was one body keeping time with another, both shifting, swaying, and twisting with a measured urgency.
And the urgency had nothing to do with the burning growing deep inside them, but only because time was a monumental force, and it was moving against them. The sun would rise, ending this night and the drug in their blood would slowly fade away, and with that bitter knowledge, Mary and Matthew's tangled bodies and inebriated minds spoke of their souls as they tried to live a lifetime of love in these few stolen moments.
Matthew's head was spinning; spinning from drink, spinning from emotion, spinning from pain, spinning and spilling from the affection and desire for the one in his arms.
And though their bodies told a tale this world could easily define, their gazes, locked intently on the other's eyes, held something that words lacked; a silence that shouted to all who looked upon them.
The room lived around them, people brushing against them, their feet trending over bits of forgotten paper and sticky wetness, the house lights dancing and shifting as their bodies continued to trade information.
And Mary's fair skin created the perfect canvas for the lights of the room to create, and as the two continued moving to the deafening music, beautifully resonant and magically spiritual, Matthew watched as her flesh blossomed into a piece of art.
Yellow beams peppered her arms.
A blue haze covered her neck.
Red kissed her shoulders and purple transformed her hands.
Orange lit up her face.
How much? How much would it cost to be the light, to be paint or the brush that enlivened her body?
How much?
Matthew would pay it gladly.
And as Mary turned away from him, Matthew saw her naked back painted in emerald green before he pressed an open hand against the center of her ribs, and pulled her securely against his chest once more.
He felt the pull of her lungs beneath his palm, labored but deep, and Mary placed an open hand across the one splayed against her torso, making their connection more secure.
They were two creatures made out of things laced in alcohol, and Matthew buried his face in the nape of her neck, and Mary clutched his hand like it was the only link tying her to this world.
Matthew felt the words swell in his chest, he felt the confession moving up through his body, growing warm in his mouth, knocking against his clenched teeth, demanding to be spoken aloud.
It would be so easy to whisper the truth of his heart into the bud of her ear. It was centimeters from his mouth, a perfect beacon for which to confess, and Matthew felt his body tighten in the anticipation of spilling his soul for her to see.
Bursts of lightening covered the room now, and Matthew saw her move in slow motion against his body, the flashes illuminating her neck, her shoulders, and his eyes took a million snap-shots in time as he gathered the breath in his lungs that would be released baring his love.
He moved across those centimeters, positioning his lips directly above her ear and spoke.
"Mary…"
His voice was week, his throat parched, his lungs strained under the weight of his declaration.
"Mary…I…"
She stilled in his arms, the movement of her lungs pausing against his outstretched hand.
"I…"
The strobe light switched off, and the room was cast in a bright, amber glow.
Mary pivoted on the spot, attaching her drink-occluded eyes to his, and Matthew thought that this was better—he wanted to look her in her depthless eyes as he told her of his unfailing devotion.
He smiled and then laughed, his chest overflowing with joy, "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to tell you that I…"
And in that moment Matthew saw the drink leave Mary's eyes. She sobered up in an instant, her gaze clearing of all obstructions as it tore the drunkenness from him as well.
Her features were soft and serious as she moved towards him, erasing what little distance there was, her arms wrapping around his shoulders once more as they came chest to chest. And in the depth of her clear, dark eyes, Matthew saw that she understood.
Though he had not spoke it aloud, Mary had heard it anyway; perhaps it echoed in her body as well.
Her face moved towards his own, her full mouth parted, her dark eyes trained on his lips, and Matthew readied himself for the woman he loved and the kiss she would bestow upon him, telling him that their shared love was just the beginning.
But for the second time in one evening, Matthew prepared for a kiss that never came.
Mary stroked the back of his head, curling her fingers through his hair, and brushed her porcelain cheek against his as she whispered in his ear.
"I think this night is getting away with us, Matthew."
And that was all it took for the memory of his promises to rain down upon him, and the bubble of euphoria he had lived within popped, the shame that replaced it, breaking his weary bones.
Could she feel his heart breaking against her chest?
Matthew swayed and faltered but Mary kept him standing up right.
He was supposed to be keeping her out of trouble, not leading her towards it.
He had promised her, he had given her his word, that he would not let her make a fool of herself while in her drink-compromised state, but instead, he had been holding the floodlights, marking the path in glowing ink, and pointing towards the direction of foolishness, urging her to fail, to fall in the direction of him.
But Mary had saved them both, and the regret that she had been forced to do so made Matthew cringe with his disgrace.
He wanted a future with her, not just a single night. He wanted her trust, her respect, and her love and Matthew blamed the alcohol for encouraging him to hold her and touch her in forbidden ways.
So, with the his final drinks of the evening already coursing through his veins, Matthew entwined his arms around the one that had saved him once more, and he buried his guilt stricken face into the bridge of her shoulder, taking his final dose of her scent.
Her face was in his chest, her hands continuing to rake through his hair, as Matthew broke away from her.
He composed himself and forced a smile that was a lie, "Yeah, Umm…You know, I think I'm going to stop drinking for the night." His slow mind formed a quick excuse, "I've got a lot of work that I need to do tomorrow. But you should continue celebrating. Birthday's only come once a year."
For a moment, Mary's perfect brow was crumpled with her confusion, but she eventually caught up with him, seeing his excuse and recognizing the ruse they lived together day after day, their best lies reserved only for the benefit of the other.
Mary shrugged her shoulders and Matthew tried to pay no attention to how her voice cracked, "Yeah…of course if you have work to do then it might be for the best if you stop, but… you're going to stay out with us, right?"
His was quick to respond, "Of course, of course!" There was no way he was going to leave her to fend for herself, "But I'm just going to stick to water for the rest of the night."
She nodded slowly, and Matthew saw the drink leak back into her watery eyes.
He spoke again, needing an excuse to get some distance from her, "Will you pardon me for a moment? I'm just going to use the restroom."
Her next shrug was less convincing and her reply was whispered beneath her forced smile, "Yeah, of course."
Matthew told himself that he had nothing to do with the hurt outlining her eyes as he spoke once more, "But thank you for the dance."
He urged her with his pleading eyes to see that he was trying to protect them from themselves, but Matthew couldn't stop the next words that fell from his mouth, "You were lovely…an enchantment in the form of a woman."
And his heart shredded into a million pieces as he walked away from her, leaving her alone on a crowded dance floor.
And Matthew remained true to his word, toasting the woman of the night only with water for the remainder of the evening. He continued to dance, though he dared not touch her again, choosing to partner with her sisters and her friends, the remainder of his movements missing all traces of the sensuality he had employed as he moved across her responsive body. He willed himself to speed up his sobriety as he had to continue fighting the screaming voice in his body telling him to hold her while he still had the chance and the fading excuse.
But Matthew continued to catch Mary's eye, the only part of her he dared to touch, and as he witnessed her body become more and more drugged by drink, he hoped that she understood the reasons behind his distance.
He prayed that Mary understood that his devotion to her was too great, too consuming, to have alcohol be the catalysis that catapulted them deeper into each other's arms.
Matthew loved her too much for that.
…
…
…
It was just past 4 in the morning.
Her legs, long and lean, were wrapped around his waist.
Her arms were grasping his shoulders, her fingers digging into his chest.
The curtain of her sweet smelling hair was falling over him, tickling and kissing his face as he moved.
Her laugh was beautiful and throaty, soaked in drink, pressed to his ear.
"Onward, faithful steed."
"As you wish my lady."
Mary was slung across Matthew's back, him carrying her piggyback style as he had been, on and off, since they left the club.
Matthew, his hands full of Mary's thighs, kicked the heavy door shut behind them, the loud bang echoing off of the glass walls of his home, causing Mary to break into another round of hysterical laughter.
She laughed, full and hard for a moment longer, before shushing herself and talking in what she thought was a whisper, "Sshhh, Sshhh!…We'll wake Quinn."
Matthew adjusted her nearly limp body and started walking through his darkened home, heading towards the room where her books lay dog-eared, where a pair of her slippers, worn and flaccid, lay discarded on the ground, and where a bottle of her shampoo, smelling of blossoming roses, made a white ring against black tile.
He chuckled lightly, the smile not having left his lips since they left the nightclub, "Don't you remember? She's not here. She's spending the night with Elsie downstairs."
Mary's questioning response was shocked, "She is?"
Matthew laughed again at the surprise in her voice, the vast amounts of alcohol in her blood greatly affecting her memory.
"Yeah, remember, we peeked into Anna and Elsie's guest bedroom and saw her sleeping when we dropped off Anna a minute ago?" They passed Quinn's empty bedroom, "You don't remember that?"
But Mary's mind was an oil slick, her thoughts intangible and constantly shifting from topic to topic, "I want some more cookie dough."
"I think you already ate it all."
Edith had succeeded in her quest to get Mary very drunk and it had been Matthew's self-appointed responsibility to keep her both happy and, perhaps even more important, out of trouble for the remainder of the evening.
They closed the bar down at 3 and after Matthew settled a bar tab that even made him pause for a moment before signing his name, their group staggered drunkenly into the streets of Lincoln Park, the still lively neighborhood showing very little signs of the early morning hour. Mary easily accepted that she would be staying at The Pearl for the remainder of the night, and as Matthew, Mary, and Anna, made to depart from the rest of their group, Mary hugged and kissed everyone (some receiving her affections twice after she lost track and started over again) thanking them all for coming out and celebrating her birthday. She gave an especially large hug to Edith and, with a big grin stretched across her face, blissfully wished her sister 'happy fucking' before the others, all of them living near the club, started walking in groups to their selected destinations.
As Matthew, more sober now but not daring to risk driving home, made to hail a cab, Mary loudly declared that she wanted a snack. Anna, happily drunk as well, agreed with Mary's desire, spilling the truth that she and Matthew had not gotten to have a proper dinner; a truth that Matthew wished the alcohol would dissolve from Mary's mind. And so their group of three headed in the direction of the all-night bakery they had visited earlier in the night, Mary climbing onto Matthew's back when it became clear that she would not be able to walk in her heels.
There were others just as drunk as Mary in the bakery, and as they waited in line to order Mary kept on leaning around Matthew and telling the same group of middle-aged men that it was her birthday, and every time the drunk men enthusiastically wished her 'happy birthday' as if the previous four times she had told them had never happened. Mary then proceeded to tell the couple in front of them that she and Anna were sisters, the drunken couple easily accepting this though Anna and Mary could not be further apart in their appearances. Mary then launched into a very convincing story of how she and Anna grew up in Paris until they were, respectively, five and four, when their parents divorced and they were forced to move to the States with their mom and her Greek lover. However, as Mary continued explaining to the amazed couple, she and Anna still spent most of their summers in the south of France with their father who owned a lovely cottage and lived happily with his partner of nearly 20 years, Alexander.
When it came to be their time to order, Anna and Matthew both got blueberry muffins and Mary happily declared that she wanted a 'fist-sized ball' of cookie dough. The teen working behind the counter was unfazed by this request, brushing it off with a casually spoke 'no', not bothering to site the various health codes her request would violate. Matthew was sure that this bakery, whose hours of operation consisted of the time between 10 at night and 7 in the morning, was probably very use to getting strange requests from the drunks coming in their shop only after the bars kicked them out, but he was also sure that not everyone who requested a 'fist-sized ball' of cookie dough also slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the tip-jar, which is exactly what Matthew did, maintaining eye-contact with the teen as he did so.
A minute later they were outside sitting on the questionably sticky surface of a city bench, Matthew and Anna devouring their muffins, Mary's long fingers covered in the sugary-sweetness of chocolate-chip cookie dough.
The taxicab ride back to The Pearl was quick, the streets almost bare of all other life. Anna was starting to doze but Mary continued to entertain Matthew in a variety of ways. She insisted that she was 'freeing' the packaged sunflower seeds, which she extracted from her purse, as she poured the kernels into her hand and tossed them out of the speeding cab window and yelling 'be free my babies' after them. Mary also passed the time by explaining that the cartoons on Nickelodeon now a days 'are shit, with the exception of SpongeBob' when compared with what they grew-up watching. And finally, the last few minutes of the drive she spent trying to convince Matthew that she wasn't really 'that drunk' and insisting that she prove it to him by having him quiz her on basic multiplication. She did very well, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that eight-times-four wasn't thirty-four.
Matthew roused Anna, tipped the driver handsomely, and with Mary perched securely on his back, the three walked into the empty lobby. However, once inside, Mary insisted that Matthew put her down so he could 'time' her and see how long it would take for her to run across the lobby and 'touch the elevator'. She was sensible enough to remove her heels and Matthew heard the quick slaps of her bare feet across the polished floor, her hair (down once more and shielding her naked back) flowing behind her with the wind she created, her laugh growing fainter as she sprinted across the space.
Now, with Mary wrapped around his back once more, Matthew caught sight of her still bare-feet as they passed by his bedroom, heading for the next door.
"Where are your shoes?"
A pause. Her breathing.
"I think…I gave them to Elsie."
"Why?"
Matthew let go one of Mary's legs to quickly open the door leading to the guest bedroom.
"I don't know… it just seemed like a good idea at the time."
Matthew made for the bathroom, knowing that Mary kept a toothbrush there.
"Do you remember where you put them?"
She laughed against the nape of his neck before she answered, "I think… I put them outside her bedroom door…I think."
He let go of one of her legs again to flip on the lights and with the room cast in a clear, white light, Matthew stopped at the edge of the vanity and rotated, bending slightly so that Mary could easily slide from his back to the polished counter. Once he felt her gentle weight lifted, Matthew turned back towards her. He took a moment to see his outline reflected in her dark, heavily lidded eyes before he began searching for her toothbrush.
"Are you drunk?"
"Umm…" he was opening drawers and rummaging around in them, "…I was earlier in the night but I'm not so much anymore."
"Did you still have a good time?"
"Of course I did. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun, but the important question is whether or not you had a good time?"
Her voice was slowing down, "I had a blast…but I'm not sure if I'll remember any of it."
"I bet you'll remember the first half, but I wouldn't count on remembering the second."
Matthew discovered her toothbrush tucked inside the fifth drawer he tried, "But your sisters were taking pictures, so you'll have those to help you remember what you forget."
Mary was growing quite, her eyelids drooping more and more.
He coated the brush with toothpaste before handing it to her, "Here, why don't you brush? I know skipping for one night won't hurt, and I've got a feeling that your mouth is going to taste pretty awful in the morning no matter what, but you might as well since you're still awake."
Mary agreed silently, pivoting towards the sink at her right, and Matthew watched her set about cleaning her mouth.
She was starting to lose the battle against the chemicals in her blood, her motor capabilities becoming delayed and then stalling altogether. The craw of the brush was painfully slow across her teeth, her body swaying against an unseen force, her eyelids closing to the rhythm of her strokes.
She spat in the sink and then turned back to him and Matthew, seeing the unfocused, dizzy look in her eyes, knew she would fall asleep at any moment.
Her speech matched her sluggish movements, "I'm done."
A thin film of toothpaste covered the sides of her mouth and made a small, milky trail off of her lower lip, falling over her chin.
Matthew grabbed a washcloth, stepped in front of her, and turned the lever on the left side of the sink. As he waited for the water to warm, he was acutely aware of Mary's eyes on him, the alcohol in her system having removed all of the shame from her stare. She gazed at him boldly, openly, making the foot of space in-between them feel like only a few inches.
Her whisper stirred the air, "I'm so glad we've become friends."
He met her eyes, his smile bashful, "Me too."
She continued, her head swaying slightly from side to side, "You mean so much to me."
The world paused and settled deeper into time, her simple remark cradling him sweetly.
She overcame the alcohol tripping her tongue and continued speaking, "Do you…Do you realize that?… Do you realize how much you and Quinn mean to me?"
The drink within her was removing the filter from her mouth, letting her speak freely without care. And Matthew was enchanted by her honesty, her words casting a spell, unchaining his heart.
Matthew's voice was hushed, cracking with his amazement, "I…I did not."
"It'll be very hard for me to leave you."
The weight of her words cut him deepest in the places she could not see and as Matthew raised the warm cloth to her red lips, whipping away the mint-scented film, he heard himself speak the words shouting in his mind.
"It'll be very hard for me to let you go."
Matthew continued to caress her face, the moist cloth the excuse to maintain their contact. He wiped away the black smudges of her makeup, he cleaned the unseen sweat from her brow, he removed the bits of the city clinging to her cheeks, leaving her skin the texture of finely knitted cashmere, a devastating softness he tested with the back of his fingers.
Was it the alcohol making her lean into his touch? Did the drug cause her to release such a heavy sigh? Was it the fumes in her blood, which made the color rush to her cheeks, her flesh turning the color of his desire?
"Is it still my birthday, Matthew?"
It wasn't.
"It is."
"Then, can still ask for something?"
His heart swelled in his chest, spreading to every corner of his body so that he felt it in his shaking knees, knew it in his struggling lungs, tasted it on his dry tongue, heard it in his strained ears.
Matthew's answer came without voice, so he spoke it again, "Yes."
And Mary's lips moved beneath her heavy eyes, "I want you to kiss me."
He was dreaming, he must be dreaming.
He'll remember the world's beauty at that moment. He'll remember how the night- sky outside of his window looked like crushed velvet. He'll recall the coolness of the marble beneath his hands and the way it refused to take his warmth as he moved in closer. He'll remember the white fireworks in her eyes, dancing and exploding with her every blink as she repeated her request.
"Kiss me, Matthew."
He did not spare a moment's thought, the siren's call of her behest over-powering him, turning his will to dust.
"Kiss me."
Her exhale caressed his lips, and as Matthew looked up into the eyes of the woman he loved, wanting to know the exact color her eyes would take as their lips finally met, Mary lost her balance and nearly fell to the floor, Matthew catching her by the shoulders at the last moment.
And he'll remember the world's cruelty at that moment. He'll remember how the black-night swallowed his happiness. He'll recall the bitterness of the room and how her breath smelled of mint and drink. He'll remember her vacant, glazed-over eyes, the slurring of her words forever a reminder of her intoxication, the alternation of her mind, which, alone, had brought about her request of him.
Matthew steadied her and then moved slightly away, needing the distance, but not daring to leave her unattended.
"Where are you going?"
He didn't respond; he only buried his face deeper into his shaking hands.
"Matthew…", The alcohol had made her shameless, and she repeated herself , "…I asked you to kiss me."
"You don't know what you're saying, Mary."
"Yes, I do."
His rebuttal was swift, "You're drunk."
Hers was delayed, "…So?...Kiss me."
"You don't mean it."
"Yes I do!" Mary was shouting now, her voice echoing off of the tile and the marble, and Matthew forced himself to look at her.
The room was plunged into a heavy silence as she slowly gathered her thoughts, "I know what I'm saying, Matthew… and I mean what I say."
After all of this time, living this delicate push and pull day after day for months on end, the bluntness of Mary's request was startling, her honesty shocking. Matthew had been sure that it was only the drink behind her words, but now he was starting to doubt. It's said that drunk words are sober thoughts, therefore, could it be that drunken requests are also sober wishes?
Had he not been listening to her body earlier as they danced? Had he not heard what her arms, what her hips, had said?
But Matthew remained silent, the movements of his shaking head making no sound.
Mary's voice was stronger, steadier, and Matthew thought that her eyes seemed less obscured, brighter.
"Kiss me, Matthew…Because I want you to… Just like I've wanted you to kiss me everyday, since the first day we met."
The meaning of her words would truly settle into him later, carving up his skin, shredding his muscles, prying open his ribs, and infesting the tissue of his heart, but now, feeling the crater of distance between them, Matthew only knew the cruelty of her confession.
He only knew the burden of what could not yet be.
"Stop."
"Kiss me, Matthew."
He covered his ears with his trembling hands, "Please. This isn't fair, Mary."
"Kiss me!"
"Stop, please."
She was bemused, "Why?"
And Matthew found his courage, the strength to deny the one he loved.
"Because this is too important!" He shouted back at her, "Because it'll be cheap and stolen! Because I told you that I wouldn't let you do something foolish! Because it would be tainted with alcohol!… And because you won't remember it…"
Matthew paused and steadied himself. His heavy breathing filled the air before he lowered his voice to a rough whisper, "…and I could not bear to have you forget something that I will treasure for the rest of my existence."
Mary's eyes were unfocused in her silence but Matthew had found his courage and he moved towards her as he continued to speak, his hushed tongue stroking the air.
"And furthermore, you're too important to be simplified and boxed into a single moment in time. You're too crucial to my existence, the cast around my once broken-heart, and I can't risk losing you…" Matthew found himself counting the trembles besieging her mouth, "…not even for the chance to kiss your lips."
He came to stand in front of her, matching his breathing to the sound of her un-blinking eyes.
Matthew continued speaking freely, trusting the density of the vapors covering her eyes, understanding that the alcohol would wash away his words from her memory, but needing, after all of this time, to say them aloud.
"You're the definition of beauty, the fodder for poetry…the foundation of what everyone feels in their chest when they say that something is 'lovely'."
Carefully, Matthew reached out and took her hand, his body trembling at the recognition of her touch, the magnetism of his blood reacting to the polarization in hers.
His voice remained soft, steady, and he spoke to her fingertips, "I want to learn what forever means, Mary,…but only if you are the one to teach me."
Matthew grew quiet, and after a taking a moment to breathe, he dared himself to look at her.
And, just as he expected, Matthew was alone in the room, the form of the woman he loved only a placeholder for her intoxicated mind.
The echo of his confessions to her still hung in the air but Mary's glazed-over eyes could see no traces of it, and Matthew watched in slow motion as the truth of his affections fell to the ground at her feet, the conviction of his words making no dent against her amour of drunkenness.
With a final effort, Mary spoke, "I think I'd like to go to sleep now."
And as she swayed, Matthew catching her as she finally lost the battle against sleep, he knew that the chemicals within her would burn his words away from her mind and there would be no trace of them when she woke.
Matthew gathered up her lifeless body and strode across the room, carrying her in the way that a groom carries his bride, before gingerly placing her in the center of the plush bed.
He returned to the bathroom filled two glasses of water and searched for a bottle of aspirin. He helped himself to a dosage of the pills and drained both of the glasses, knowing that hydration would be his best weapon against the unavoidable headache. He portioned out another dose and filled the glasses once more before returning to the room where Mary lay sleeping, placing his gifts to her on the bedside table.
He retrieved the wastebasket by the bookshelf and a blanket from the closet. The basket he placed on the floor beside the water and the blanket he unfolded and casted lightly across her unconscious body.
With nothing else left to do, Matthew gazed down at her for a moment longer. Mary's body was confused, the outline of her legs and arms beneath the soft blanket jutting out and resting at awkward angles, but her face was serene; her brow as smooth as undisturbed water, her eye-lids as delicate as flower petals, her lips lose and pouting with her unconsciousness.
And Matthew found himself wishing many things at that moment.
He wished she truly did enjoy herself tonight. He wished she could sleep through most of the sickness that would soon find her. He wished he could be apart of all of her future birthdays, if only for the excuse to give her things. He wished she would forget everything that he had said, and, yet, he also wished that she would remember.
Matthew was suddenly aware of his weariness, of his extreme fatigue. He was tired and not from the early hour, but from this song, this endless dance. How long could they continue like this? How long could they fake smiles and elude emotions? How long could they lie to one another, especially after a night like tonight when it was so clear that they each desired more? For her it may only be a kiss, but for him it was a lifetime.
Though Matthew would show the sands of time the meaning of patience if Mary asked him to, he knew that he was cracking.
Matthew turned and looked out the darkened window. Soon the sun would be making its slow appearance in the east, so Matthew took is last fill of her before turning and slowly walking towards the door.
"Matthew…"
He turned quickly, stunned that she had spoke.
Mary's eyes were still closed, her mind suspended in the delicate place between waking and dreaming, her voice husky with fatigue, "…you should have kissed me…who knows how long it'll be before I ask you to again."
And with that Mary's breathing grew deeper, her inspirations becoming the same measure as her expirations, the Sandman successful in dragging her into the darkness of sleep.
Matthew smiled and continued walking. Once he reached the door, he placed his hand on the knob and turned, speaking to the sleeping woman.
"No…I was right not to kiss you…"
Mary did not stir and Matthew wondered if he ever appeared in the filaments of her dreams as he made his final whisper to the night.
"…I love you too much for that."
And the sound of the closing door matched the echo of the quickly beating heart that belonged to the woman who had heard his words through the haze of alcohol.
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And there you have it.
Again, I would like to apologize for any errors. I want to correct them, but my eyes just stop seeing them.
This chapter was VERY Matthew and Mary heavy, which was fun but very daunting. I try to make their interactions special and vivid and it was a challenge to maintain that heightened sensuality throughout the entire chapter.
Drunk Mary may or may not be (but probably is) based off of the writer of the story…
…Hey! What can I say? I'm a hell of a time and my husband reminds me that I do these things.
This story does have an end in sight but I've still have some bits to write before it comes to a close.
The next chapter will be from Mary's POV and we'll learn whether or not she heard/remembered Matthew's "I love you". The chapter will also feature a fight between the two because it's impossible for two people to harbor such hidden passions and for it to NOT come to a head. But the question will be, whether or not their argument brings them closer together or further apart.
I want to thank you all for your amazing support. Just last week this story reached over 200 reviews (nearly all of them positive/constructive), which, to me, is just mind-blowing. NEVER did I think that this story would be so well received and I'm so humbled by your generosity and praise.
And when it comes to what happens with Mary and Matthew in cannon, all I have to say is…
Just keep writing…Just keep writing…just keep writing.
Thanks again. Love and Cheers.
RighterB out.