24 Lonely Souls

Her fingers traced over his. The feeling of soft skin gliding across her fingertips proved sensuous. His hands were milky. Tenderly, she followed the outline of his index finger down to his wrist. Her hand effortless slid over his knuckles and veins, down to the base of his hand. She watched the muscles under his skin tightened when she touched him too lightly. She also watched the shadows shift and change with each movement she made.

It was so nice, she kept thinking. It was so nice to explore him to her satisfaction. The secrecy of it all relaxed her. He was asleep, or at least he was playing at being asleep. He often did that, she mused. He must have known that traversing his body with hers while he was unaware was her guilty pleasure. There was no pressure to perform, to make sure he was as comfortable as she desired to make him. No, when he was sleeping (or pretending to be asleep) she could be free to fumble, to be indelicate.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The first time he caught her, she had been so embarrassed. He never caught her again. Yes, her husband knew a great many things about her, and yet he still remained her steadfast supporter. He was too good to her; too good to be true.

Winsomely, she leaned over him. Still in a slumped sitting position, she lowered herself down further. So close she was that her inky tresses spilt from over her shoulder and fell in her face. The ends of her hair dragged against his chest. 'He's awake now for sure,' she mused with a self-satisfied grin.

Calmly, she brushed the hair from his forehead, and kissed his brow. He smelt so nice. No man should have the right to smell so nice. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled with equal force. Her warm breath ghosted across his face, and he remained still.

'Such restraint.'

A discordant string stirred in her heart. 'How could I ever repay his kindness?' It was painful to think about all of the things he had done for her and how little she had given back. It had not been her intention to take and take. She wanted to give back to him what she took, but she did not know how. She had so little to give. She had no money or valuables. He had married her as a broken woman. He had married her knowing that she could never completely give herself to him – not when a large part of her was missing, forever searching for what she had lost.

'For what I have thrown away,' she caustically rebuked herself.

There had always been a third entity in their marriage. It was ghost – an invisible being that came between them. It was a faceless disembodied soul that forced the two apart, creating distance in their marriage. If the ghost had been a real tangible object, then it would have been an emotional affair on Hisana's part. There would have been foul play in their marriage. But, the entity separating them was only a phantasm of her mind. It was a memory – a desire she wanted to keep alive. It consumed her body and mind. It ate away at her like a cancer. It cloaked her. Guilt was her bonnet; shame was her jewelry; and self-loathing was her dress.

Despair rose in her stomach, and surged up into her throat as her thoughts fixed on the inequity of their relationship. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his neck. "I did not return all I took." Her kisses became more feverish in execution as she explored his jaw-line. "Forgive me someday, please," she murmured once she had reached his ear.

She withdrew slightly, and glanced down at him. Any uncertainty she had once harbored washed away from her. He was definitely feigning sleep. She could tell for his lips had sloped into a frown, and the lines of his face had tightened. His breathing had also become far too soft for a sleeping man.

Contrition came in waves as she watched him. 'You will survive me,' she thought, watching his chest rise and fall.

'You will find someone again, won't you? Someone worthy of what you have to offer. Someone who can give all that they receive.

'I wish I could find someone like that for you.

'I wish I could have been that person for you.' She caressed the side of his cheek; her touch was feather-light at first, but slowly it began to grow heavy until she was stroking the side of his temple. Absently, she raked her fingertips across his scalp. The sensation of his hair against her skin always felt so rewarding. Even when it had stiffened from sweat, it felt nice to bury her hands in the inky tresses.

She drew closer so she could smell the fragrance that always lingered in his hair. It was distracting, and she was a woman who desperately needed to be distracted. It was so nice, she thought, fighting back the pain emanating from her chest. She swallowed the cough to the best of her ability, and kissed the side of his head.

He felt so warm, so inviting. She noted dreamily. She wanted to stay with him; she wanted to stay by his side, but she could not. He made her want to be better – for him so he could be happy. She wanted to see him laugh and smile.

She curled herself around him on the futon. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her right hand absently traced circles on his chest. It was comfortable next to him. His reiatsu enveloped her like a pulsing blanket. He did not suppress his spiritual energy well while he was sleeping or when he was feigning slumber.

Tiredly, she glanced up at the ceiling, and she wondered if it was possible that they were just two lonely souls who just wanted someone to share in the loneliness. 'But if we're together then are we lonely?' She thought a moment and smiled. 'Not when we are together. It goes away, at least for me, when you're here. Even when you are not saying a word. Everything starts to make sense. It is not perfect, but it improves. I hope I at least gave you that much. I hope I at least gave you sanctuary from the loneliness.'

Her mind narrowed on the tense she had just used – "gave." She shivered at the thought. Had she willingly resigned herself to death? So easily? Did she want to die? She was sure that's what the others thought, or at least desired. She was a problem for the Family. Her death would be a proverbial sigh of relief for them. But, she did not want to die. She had not fully repented for what she had done to her own family. If she died now, then she would never see her sister again. She would never feel the satisfaction of extending to her sister a better life – of trying to make amends for her previous transgression. Atonement had not been reached nor would it ever if she died.

Dying did not solve any of her problems. It only made them worse. Anyone who thought she yearned for death was a fool.

"You're crying." The observation was made in a low gravelly voice. She stirred once the sting of its flatness wore off.

She tilted her head up on his shoulder and met his gaze. "I'm sorry. I've been doing that a lot lately it seems." She wondered briefly if too many tears could cause skin erosion…

He shook his head in response. "Go to sleep. You need your rest."

She managed a half-hearted smile, and gently untangled herself from him. She rolled over to her side of the futon. The sheets there felt cold and biting against her warm body. There was no comfort to be found, but it would have to suffice she thought soberly.

She did not, after all, want to erode his skin with her tears… She suspected there would be a few more nights when she would mentally wrestle with her impending death. She wanted to save his shoulder for when those nights came. She had a sinking feeling that it was going to get much worse before it got better.

"Good night," she murmured, hoping that he had already fallen fast asleep.