Session Ten: It's Not Over.
I'm pretty mad. So mad that I'm even mad at the captain and Jack and Jose. I'm mad at them because their words just aren't consoling. Stupid inanimate objects. I'm mad because my manicure didn't turn out like I wanted it to and because there are way too many stoplights in the city and because interest rates are set to rise and because species of butterflies are endangered. But mostly, I'm just mad at her. She didn't even have the decency to call. Nope, she had Skyla Barker, formally known as the dinosaur, call. And did the fossil call me? Nope. They called Charles. My appointment has been rescheduled for Saturday. Saturday? I knew I shouldn't have mocked the homeless kids. It never turns out well. Because, the doc spends her Saturdays with them. Where would that leave me? I'll tell you one thing, that doesn't leave me talking to a patriarch of an evil super powered family when I should be doing other, semi-important things.
So I am here. Because that's where I should be on a Friday afternoon, and I believe they need to hear from me that Saturday just doesn't work for me. And since the doc obviously has never heard of a phone, or at least answering one, I'll have to make for certain she gets the message. None of this is really working for me. Even my legs have been extra heavy lately. They just don't understand that they can't always walk towards her, but they're happy right now as I scale the eleven stories that are separating us. My head is the thing that's pounding, that and I guess my heart, but me and my heart still aren't talking.
I really hope after today I can find a masochists anonymous, because I am really going to need it. I'm pretty sure I could make president of that club no hands down. And if they disagree, I'll just introduce them to the doc. You always lose, unless it's masochism you want to win, when you fall in love with the anti-Christ, the anti-Christ who you see as an angel. I'm pretty sure that's blasphemy of some degree. Maybe that's my karma problem lately. It figures she'd be involved.
So, in the last two days, Charles has taken away my crayons and Freddy refuses to drive me to random coffee shops in the middle of nowhere, but not really, to ask them if their mochas are instant. They're both against me. And so is the weather because I had to walk the two miles in the rain. I know somewhere in my head I remember that rain is never a good omen. Though, if you ask a lot of people, the last month hasn't been that great of an omen to me.
I walk through the door, that I'm pretty sure the universe is telling me not to. I wonder when I stopped talking to my head too. I wonder what you listen to when you're done talking to your head and your heart. It better not be instinct. Who knows what my instinct would do. "You're all wet." And usually such observations aren't as unbearably annoying as they are right now. Then again, it usually has different meaning. And not usually coming from a nearing a hundred year old woman.
"Yeah, well." What is that idiot for again? You'll probably have to change to translation in this case. You can't even speak idiot right. Way to be. "The rain does that to you." I wonder where the saying raining cats and dogs originated. And if it's from that terrible song, I'm going to be a little disappointed.
"You can't go in there." I'm pretty sure I am experiencing déjà vu. "She has a new noon." What? It's only been two days. I mean, is she in that much demand? And if so I am shifting the curve. Shut up, Davies. One semester of micro economics and you think you're a big shot. Remember that one time you thought you could trade bonds? Yeah, hang the head in shame. The point of the matter is this is my time slot. That is my doc. And I want her back.
"It'll just take a second." If she can't catch me when I'm drunk she sure isn't going to be able to catch me when I am sober. These legs were made for running. Trust me; they've had a lot of practice. She's sitting behind her desk writing. Hey, she never writes things down when I talk. Should I resent that? Seriously? She replaced me with that? Oh, come on, Doc, you could do better than that. You can do better than me. "You." Stop laying all over Hank. He does not like fat middle aged men. You are so not his type. "I'll give you a thousand dollars to get lost." I hope he doesn't drive too hard a bargain I only brought four thousand.
She's standing now in front of poor Hank. Poor Hank is always in the cross fire. She even teleports in front of this guy. Maybe I should just cut him a little. Screw the money. "Ashley, you can't just come in here and bribe my patients." I don't see why not. It is kind of, semi, a free country.
Just ignore her, Davies. You know, like the way she does you. "Two thousand if you never come back."
He stands nearly knocking the doc over in the progress. Stupid oaf. Cutting is looking better and better. "You got a deal." Idiot. The doc's time is worth more than that. Someone should really teach him the dynamics of supply and demand.
"Here." Go buy yourself some hair plugs or something.
He greedily grabs the hundreds from my hands. "Thanks." Just be happy if you've never seen a nearly fifty year old, three hundred pound, man skip. It's not pretty. Remind me not to offer large supplies of money to one ever again. And to get that hypnotized out of my brain. I hear they can do that nowadays.
I'm so lucky that looks can't kill. Well, I'd be dead a long time before this, so I guess, I'm not all that lucky in this particular moment. "What?" She's going to take the stun off the lasers soon, Davies. At least I'll go down in style. Who doesn't want their cause of death to be listed as lasers? "It's not my fault money runs the world." It is my fault that I use it to my advantage as much as possible. Got to use what you have. I was told that's in the Bible somewhere. Can't argue with that.
She's biting at her lip now. Who knows what kind of super powers she could be ready to unleash. You really did it this time, didn't you? "It's your fault when you barge into my office and bribe my patients?" Not really, I turned off my brain and heart and stuff. If you're going to blame anyone, it should be yourself. Last time I checked you owned my limbs and organs. Couldn't get here without them.
Yeah, pot calling the kettle black, Bugs Moran. "I got bribery from you, Doc." Like a plethora of other things.
"You need to go." Well, that's a little presumptuous. Who is she to talk about need? Who is she to talk about what I need?
"No I don't." And I walk closer to her. She needs to understand. I didn't climb up eleven flights of stairs for nothing.
"Ashley." Shut up, heart, we still aren't talking. We aren't talking because of this very situation. "I need you to go." But why, Doc?
"I need you, Spencer." And I know you know that, just like I know you're the first thing I've ever actually needed.
"We talked about this." I guess I missed that part.
"No. You talked about this." And then walked away. Walked away again. Walked away like I meant nothing.
"Ashley –"
"It's my turn to talk, Doc."
"Ashley –"
"I'm not letting you push me away." We are face to face now. I can smell her breath and I can feel her breath slightly against my face, and I'd never complain about a thing like that. "I won't be pushed away." I can tell she is going to walk away, but I can't, I won't let her. I grab her hands and hold them firmly in my not too big hands, and she doesn't fight me. She doesn't fight me for once. "This is where I belong." And I point to Spencer's heart with our hands still entwined. Because that's the only place I can imagine being. That's the only place worth being. It's the only place when I dream. "Right here." And I need her to understand.
"I annoyed you a couple of weeks ago."
I step closer. "You still annoy me."
"You should go." I should stay.
"I can't sleep, Doc."
"I can prescribe you something."
"I just need you." I lay my forehead against hers, because really it was just too tired to carry anymore, it's all just too heavy. "You're eyes are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Because if she's going to run again, I just don't think I can keep up this time, and I want to make sure, that even if she is far away, she'll always know that. Because it's the first thing I think of, and will be the last thing I think of, and no one tells her enough. "It might be cliché, but you take my breath away." She always has. "All the time." Every second of every day.
"I can't do this." But I still don't know what this is.
"Do what, Doc?"
"I just…" But I don't hear, I don't hear her voice, because there is no sound, nothing. All there is is everything, everything breathing in time with me to the point that I'm sure that there's only one set of lungs between us, but I don't know how because I'm sure that my heart has stopped beating; I'm sure it has stopped functioning because I hear that that's the only way to reach heaven, and I'm sure if this isn't heaven then there is no heaven, just this angel, this angel pushing the ocean into my soul with her lips. The lips that she has placed on mine. And this time I'm aware, I'm so aware.
And it takes me a moment, a moment to memorize the slight curve of her lips and the way her nose gently brushes hope against my face, before my lips unfreeze to push back. And her mouth moves against mine, and it's slow and languished, like maybe she's memorizing too. And our lips dance, dance like we did once, unsure but wanting, and I'm scared now, like I was then, that I'll never let go, because our lips are fusing together, so close together, from the pure heat that she exhumes, and I'm so unaware whose mouth opened first, but blissfully unaware, because the only thing worth knowing is she tastes like cinnamon, but so much more, she tastes like stars and smiles and all those dreams I've been missing while I couldn't sleep.
And her arms are wrapped around my neck and her hands are through my hair, trailing the paths she burned there long before today, paths that are just for her. And my arms are around her waist holding on, holding on so tight, because there's absolutely no other way to hold dreams of the ocean, to hold an everything. And I'm opening my eyes for just a second, just for a second to make sure that it's really her, really her and not another dream that has me crying at the end, because waking up is so painful, and I realize she's beautiful even with eyes hid away even when I can't see much of her. Because it's really all of her. And I realize that I am going to be forever jealous of her reflection and her shadows and the wind and everything, everything that gets to steal glances of perfection. Because that's what I am sighing into, that's what my heart has stopped beating for, all for my perfection.
And I really don't think my legs can hold me up much longer. They've always been weak when it came to her, and I push her down onto Hank, but it's more like I lead her down because it's unlikely that I could ever push her. And it's so cold the moments that are lips are apart but she pulls me back down, and I've never been so happy to be pulled anywhere in my life, and I'm sure I'd let her pull me anywhere, and I'd go blindfolded if she asked, and I'd never ask, I'll never ask because we just are, we are just here. And I'm hovering over her because I'm so terrified, so terrified that my weight will be too much for her, just too much, and she'll open her eyes, and I'll know it's over. But again she pulls and I am more than happy to oblige, and I'm pretty sure my skin has disappeared somewhere because it feels like we're more soul to soul than skin to skin, and I think that's a beautiful thing to be.
And my hands are traveling, traveling on their own accord, but I'm sure she asked for it in the moan she elicited when my leg fell between hers, and I can feel my experienced hands shake like newborns, because really they are, they've never been near anything like this, not many things have. And they slide, they slide under barriers they never thought they would, and touch porcelain, or so it would seem, but soft, perfect porcelain, and I can feel her breaths and heart beats in sync as my hands relish over her stomach, over her stomach, because my hands are too inexperienced to touch anywhere else, or maybe I'm just too afraid, too afraid, of eyes opening.
And she's biting my bottom lip and pulling me closer, and I feel like there is so much more space I can be pulled even with these barriers of skin, and my air is getting harder and harder to come by. "I'm getting married." I can hear her mumble against my lips, but she makes no attempt to pull them away. "I have a baby." But she's still kissing me. Kissing me stronger than any hello kiss could ever be and more passionately than any goodbye kiss will ever be.
And I know, I know she is asking me to do it, because maybe it'll hurt her a little bit too, and maybe I'm the strong one for once, maybe she needs me too, maybe she needs me to do this for her. So I pull away, but I don't move far, because that would just be too hard, and I just couldn't do it if I tried. I hover, I hover above the entirety of what matters in my life. Because I'd do anything for her. And I whisper the one thing that's been in my mind since I entered this room, "I love you, Spencer."
And I know she's crying, and I know, I know it's because of what I said, but not because of me. Because words like love don't hurt all by themselves, words like love only hurt with every other thing attached. And she pulls me down again, but our lips don't meet. She's hugging me close to her as she cries, and I am ready to allow my shoulders to absorb any tear that falls from those eyes, because really, my shoulders have belonged to her since the first day her head claimed them. "I'm so sorry, Ashley." She says but makes no effort to untangle our bodies.
"You should be." And I feel her stiffen beneath me, making me smile because I can feel it at all. "Giving my session time to an aging fat man. I'm much better eye candy."
"Ashley, I – "
"Save it for dinner, Doc." Because I know for a fact that mocha was instant, and even if it was good, mochas made from instant never beat mochas made with amazing machines of deliciousness. It's a rule of life.
"Dinner?"
"Yeah, that mocha was terrible." I'd probably say that no matter what at this point, though.
She laughs and it vibrates through me and I feel even more entwined in arms that I'll spend days in the company of their shadow touch. "Oh is that so?" I nod, caressing her hair with my chin. In all fairness, everything seems terrible right now but this. "How's tomorrow at eight sound to you?"
Like I've never heard a better offer in my life. "Perfect." Just like you, Doc.
She shifts and I know my times up. Don't wreck this, Davies. So I stand. I let go of that warmth, because she needs it too, you know. I can't hog it forever. "Time's up?" And she smiles at me, from the couch, like she's grateful, and I don't know how she doesn't know that I'd do anything to make her smile like that. Even face the cold.
She nods at me, but makes no movement to leave the couch. Poor Hank. We molested him a little. Whatever, he's a man, he probably enjoyed it. Still, I should write him a thank you/apology card later. Or have Charles do it. He already thinks I'm crazy. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ashley."
"I'll pick you up." Because I don't think you'd be safe if you came over again. I don't think I'd be safe. "We'll go somewhere nice, or something."
"That sounds nice."
"That's because it's time with me."
"Maybe." Okay, stop smiling like Christmas came early, and move. And no, not towards her, towards the door, you dimwit. "Alright, yeah." The door, Davies. "Bye, Doc."
"I'll see you soon." And I finally reach the door and I'm out it, even though really I'm still in it. And I smile at Skyla Barker as I exit the office, because really, it's just a beautiful day, even if my hair is still wet, even if the butterflies are still endangered, even if my interest rates are going to rise.
It's just a beautiful day because every raindrop that falls on my head, as I walk the two miles home, tells me that I'm still alive, so alive, and I can barely feel them at all, because all of my senses are still living in ten minute increments, where I am sure I was in a place, the only place that matters, the place where dreams live and breathe and are free.