I'm lying here, watching Touga sleep.
I spend every waking moment either hating him fiercely or loving him fiercely. It's tiring. But I can sacrifice a few minutes to watch this. It's amazing. For a while, the guile and deceit fall away, and he is perfect. When Touga sleeps he is an angel. His chest rises and falls evenly, and I can feel his heart beat under my hands. His lips are parted slightly, as if inviting me to take him, there, as he sleeps. I know that if I move or speak or breathe too loud he will wake up, and this moment will end.
He looks a little troubled. I donÕt know what he is dreaming, but I can probably guess. There is a long gash across his back, under my palms. I donÕt know how it got there. Touga will not tell me. Every few days, new wounds like this appear. His eye is blackened and slightly swollen. Before long, the black eye he gave me will match it, but for now it is new and fresh and painful.
I move my hand across his back, and he winces slightly but does not wake. If I could find the person who does this to him, I would tear him apart. I long to protect Touga from this new threat, as I longed to protect him from the father who abused him so long ago. Touga never told me, and I never let on that I knew, but inside I seethed that my beautiful one could be so violated. For his sake, I became fierce.
There is a story that the moon once loved a man, and he slept forever under her watchful gaze. If I could, I would hold Touga in sleep forever, protecting him from the world outside. It's funny. Touga deals with the world much better than I do. I wall myself away from human contact, while he spends his time playing their games, learning their secrets. And he is the one who is hurt, almost constantly. I guess that says something about people.
I should not wake him. The moment his eyes open, he will become the lying, womanizing son-of-a-bitch I have come to know so well. He will torment me for being in love with him, and I will hate him again. I can't help it. I lean over and put my lips to his. "I love you," I whisper into his mouth.
He stirs and opens his eyes. ÒI love you,Ó I say again, louder. He grunts and rolls over.
"Touga? Touga. Wake up."
"What?"
"Tell me you love me."
He smiles, still half asleep. "You know you're the only one I love." And then he sleeps again. I know he is lying. But it comforts me that he would make an effort.
This time, it's true.
It has to be.
I spend every waking moment either hating him fiercely or loving him fiercely. It's tiring. But I can sacrifice a few minutes to watch this. It's amazing. For a while, the guile and deceit fall away, and he is perfect. When Touga sleeps he is an angel. His chest rises and falls evenly, and I can feel his heart beat under my hands. His lips are parted slightly, as if inviting me to take him, there, as he sleeps. I know that if I move or speak or breathe too loud he will wake up, and this moment will end.
He looks a little troubled. I donÕt know what he is dreaming, but I can probably guess. There is a long gash across his back, under my palms. I donÕt know how it got there. Touga will not tell me. Every few days, new wounds like this appear. His eye is blackened and slightly swollen. Before long, the black eye he gave me will match it, but for now it is new and fresh and painful.
I move my hand across his back, and he winces slightly but does not wake. If I could find the person who does this to him, I would tear him apart. I long to protect Touga from this new threat, as I longed to protect him from the father who abused him so long ago. Touga never told me, and I never let on that I knew, but inside I seethed that my beautiful one could be so violated. For his sake, I became fierce.
There is a story that the moon once loved a man, and he slept forever under her watchful gaze. If I could, I would hold Touga in sleep forever, protecting him from the world outside. It's funny. Touga deals with the world much better than I do. I wall myself away from human contact, while he spends his time playing their games, learning their secrets. And he is the one who is hurt, almost constantly. I guess that says something about people.
I should not wake him. The moment his eyes open, he will become the lying, womanizing son-of-a-bitch I have come to know so well. He will torment me for being in love with him, and I will hate him again. I can't help it. I lean over and put my lips to his. "I love you," I whisper into his mouth.
He stirs and opens his eyes. ÒI love you,Ó I say again, louder. He grunts and rolls over.
"Touga? Touga. Wake up."
"What?"
"Tell me you love me."
He smiles, still half asleep. "You know you're the only one I love." And then he sleeps again. I know he is lying. But it comforts me that he would make an effort.
This time, it's true.
It has to be.