In My Eyes Only
Summary: Michael
hides an unknown anguish as he revels in Maria's presence.
Author's Notes: This is not like me
at all but in some twisted reality where I live I think it is still happy.
I lie awake at the soulful hour of 1 AM, the moon my only company. Its glow casts a pallor about the room, illuminating this object and that, choosing without discernment which receives the grace of its light. The shadows created from its penetration stretch across the carpet menacingly, their implied threat causing me no fear as I quietly await her arrival. She comes every night, without fail, but I always doubt if she will, still unable to trust in her habit. My chest tightens as I stare silently at the door from which she should enter. If I squint just slightly, I can almost make myself believe that her form is evident amongst the shadows; that she stands just outside my room watching over me.
I tear my eyes away from the doorway, focusing instead on the rays of soft light flowing in through the open window. It remains open throughout the seasons, somehow that small offering to the night making me think that it will be easier for her to enter. I have only known her for three years, the first two tumultuous at best as we rode the roller-coaster ride that was our relationship, the third crushing as I fell beneath the weight of my own misery. Not many recognized the devastation that I mired in, I hardly noticed it any more myself. To focus on the problem only served to give it body, make it real… something I was still not prepared to accept. Only she gave it truth with every visit, recognizing the pain I suffered, unselfishly providing much needed comfort without my ever having to ask.
Concentrating on the imperfections marring the moon in sky, I do not hear the door open to signify her entry, am not aware of the sound of her feet padding lightly across the worn carpet, the arrival of her in the doorway of my room preceded by no warning as my head snaps to her attention, my mouth falling open slightly, wondering if she is really here.
"Hi," I murmur softly, staring at the sight of her bathed in silvery moonlight as she steps towards me slowly. Her hair frames her face in soft curls, each strand shimmering in the iridescent glow that has suddenly lit my universe. It is always this way when she arrives, the pains of the day fading into unawareness as she soundlessly steps towards me, the smile on her face erasing any troubles that cloud my mind—she is here.
"What took you so long?" I whisper.
She merely soothes me with a gentle smile, snapping the clasp on her robe to let it fall to the floor in billowing folds. Free of the cumbersome garment, she leans onto the bed were I impatiently await her touch, sliding her hand along the outline of my body under the sheet as she joins me beneath it. She is perfection, the very definition of exquisite as she lays her form on display for my examination. My hand falls on her leg, tracing the path of milky while skin as it surges upwards. Every curve brings a new discovery for my enjoyment, the slight divot at her hip where the bend in her body betrays her instinct for modesty even after all this time, the flawless expanse of skin across her stomach where my head has met the waiting embrace of sleep too many times to count, the molded outline of ribs pressing against flesh as if the beauty inside of her pushes against its caged enclosure.
My gaze shifts as it follows the rippling path chasing down her breasts. I always pause here, the softest forms I have ever born witness to stirring me into rapture with every meeting. My finger approaches slowly, circling the budding mound with trepidation as I grow ever closer to my approaching destination—her face. Lowering my head to her chest, my tongue elicits a soft sigh of contentedness from her mouth, plastering a permanent smile to my face as I give her joy. I bury myself here, yearning to lose my sanity against her, to float away on the blissful moans surrounding me.
Gingerly, almost afraid of disturbing the delicate balance of desire and devotion I have achieved, I raise my face to hers, staring into her eyes for an endless moment as she silently calls me to her. As always happens at this moment I am suddenly scared. I try to meet her lips, attempt to push aside the trepidation flaring within me, but find it too powerful for even my strongest urges tonight, swelling up from my depths to drown my thoughts in its power.
"I… I can't…," I moan lightly, dropping my chin to my chest as the tears I struggle to repress prove their superiority over my will and spill from my eyes.
"Shh," she whispers, reaching up to cradle my head in her hands, pulling me down to the softness of her chest as she caresses my hair lightly. "It's okay, you don't have to."
My body convulses beyond my control as wave after wave of anguish surges towards my shores. I am never able to give voice to the true source of my sadness, knowing fully what causes it yet unable to express that truth to her; to do so would be to admit that I am weak, that I am not the rock I so stoically display, and I fear that if I admit that to her I will have to admit it to myself—something I do not think I will ever be prepared to do.
The whispers from her throat are soothing to my tormented soul, washing over me calmly, a stark opposition to the tumultuous storm crashing inside. I close my eyes as I sink further against her body, my face relishing the soft feel of creamy white against sun-kissed brown. Slowly she lulls me towards sleep, the only peace I am able to find is wrapped in her arms and she accepts this fact willingly, wordlessly giving me what I need without any thought for herself—selfless beyond definition, the last thought passing through my mind as I lose myself to sleep's hand is that I will never match her perfection.
~~~~~
My favorite time of day is early in the morning after her visits, when she is still sleeping in our bed and I can prepare a feast to surprise her. Today is no exception, and I regretfully pull myself from her arms upon awaking to play out the tradition we both adore. As always, I will cook enough food for four people, and as always she will eat none of it, smiling as she watches me push the food around my plate, silently encouraging me to eat while she fingers the lip of her favorite coffee mug. It is an act, a play—carried out repeatedly to interject a semblance of normalcy into the travesty I call a life, her playing along as she tries to push me into full-fledged living that I forcibly resist.
"It's ready," I call, knowing she is lying awake beneath the covers by now, smiling as she listens to me clatter about the kitchen. Again, I do not hear the soft tread of her bare feet crossing my floor, am oblivious to her entry into the kitchen until I sense her standing behind me. "Hey," I smile down at her, bending to meet her waiting lips in the softest meeting.
She accepts my offering readily, returning the embrace in a suspended moment that I pray will last forever. Too quickly it passes just like all the others and I have to resign myself to hoping that this is not her last visit, that she will enter my bedroom again tonight and repeat the process that gives my heart a reason to beat.
"My mug?" she asks and I pass her the chipped ceramic before pouring a cup of coffee for myself. I never understood why it had to be that mug, the faded green glaze circling the stained lip unworthy of being held by such beauty. She claimed that particular vessel without asking on her first morning with me almost two years ago and it has remained hers ever since. Her reason is that it fits her hand perfectly, molding itself to her grasp, but I think she just likes to have something to call her own among my belongings, as if I wouldn't give her every possession I have if she asked.
Raising herself to a stool, she leans over to watch me prepare two plates of food for one hungry person, accepting my offering politely as she pulls the mug tighter towards her chest.
"It looks good," she suggests, my smile growing as the slightest compliment from her is enough to send my spirits soaring.
I take a seat beside her, fully intending to try and eat this morning as I push my fork beneath the eggs. My stomach objects at the first morsel, rejecting sustenance that it is no longer used to accepting. Tossing her an apologetic smile, I twirl the plate to choose a new selection for tasting, already knowing that my body will snub that sampling as well.
"You should eat," she scolds lightly, reaching over to detach the fork from my hand as she loads it high with bright yellow eggs. Directing the food towards my mouth, I am just about to attempt eating it for her, when the door opens and the fork clatters to the counter noisily.
"Hey man, you ready?"
"What do you want Valenti?" I snarl at the intruder, waving my hand across the countertop to remove the spilled food.
"Isabel sent me," he replies quietly.
"Sent you for what?"
"For shopping at Old Navy, what do you think?"
"Tact Kyle," Maria mumbles softly from her position at the counter. "T-A-C-T, look it up."
"Good one," I murmur beneath my breath, casting my eyes in her direction.
"Good what?" he questions.
"Not you," I grumble, turning back to him. His face is anticipatory, prepared for a battle and it almost makes me sad that I am going to give him one… almost. "Sorry, it's just that even though I think this is a terrific idea," I growl. "I happen to have other plans."
"Look, I know you don't want to go, none of us do, but we're going anyway. It's tradition man, and therapeutic—Liz is even bringing candles."
"You think I'm not going to go?" I ask harshly. "I go every fucking day, it's just not something I care to share with the general public."
"We're not the general public Guerin, we're your friends."
"Michael you really should go, for me," Maria interjects.
"You want me to go for you?" I ask with bewilderment.
"Well that'd be nice, but I'd prefer if you'd just go for you," Kyle replies.
"Fine," I mutter, my eyes trained on her as he thankfully smiles at the victory he thinks he has won and turns to leave.
"I'll be in the car, don't take long."
"God damn it," I mutter even before he has fully closed the door. "Why do I have to go with them?" I direct towards her.
"Because," she says softly, standing to step towards me. "They need you there. And you need to be there with them too."
"I absolutely do not," I complain, already weakening beneath her knowing gaze as she reaches for my hand and tugs me gently towards the door.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"I'm not doing it for you," I retort feebly.
"I know," she says smiling, the look in her eyes telling me that she does know, that she sees right through the stony façade I push forth to the frightened boy quivering behind the wall. "Let's go."
"You'll stay with me?" I ask, surprised since she has never made this journey before.
"Always," she vows, turning in the doorway to offer her mouth up to mine.
I accept willingly, pressing my lips tightly against hers as I pour the anguish growing inside of me into the gesture. 'You've done it every day for a year, today is no different', I tell myself. Taking a deep breath, I push away from her, smiling into her eyes as we leave. 'It is no different', I repeat.
~~~~~
A tiny crowd is already gathered when we arrive. Kyle hurries to open Isabel's door, supporting her with a smile and a gentle hand on her back as she straightens her skirt and paints her best mask of 'I'm okay' on her face. I sit in the car for a moment, pretending that this time is like any other when I feel the soft squeeze of her hand around mine and know immediately that this time is very different—this time she is here, she has never been here before, well… except for this first time, but I don't count the first time, I don't even like to think about the first time.
Opening my door, I stand from the car, pausing to let her slide out behind me. Reassured by the feel of her hand gripping my arm tightly, I move past my waiting friends, heading towards the reason we are all here. Max and Liz stand off to one side, Jim and Amy on the other. Both women clutch candles tightly in their hands as Max passes one to Isabel, lighting it with the tip of his finger. They acknowledge me with a nod and sympathetic smile, thankfully not saying anything as I fear that if I have to speak I will dissolve on the spot.
Turning to face forward, my eyes are unable to focus on my goal as I feel the soft pressure of her body leaning into mine.
"It's okay," she whispers, her voice carried on the wind as it sweeps past my ears. "I'm right here."
I shift my gaze towards her for a moment, hesitating as I seek out reassurance in her eyes. I find it there, resounding clearly towards me as she sends courage shooting into my trembling body. I can do this, I tell myself. I've done it before, it's no big deal. Tearing my eyes away from her angelic face, I raise them towards the stone before me. Raking my gaze over the words I have long since burned to memory, I wince as the truth once again slaps me in the face, the denial I so carefully craft after each visit dissipating in the wind swirling around us.
An angel walked among us
and we were blessed
Maria Deluca
1984-2001
Forever remembered,
always loved,
never forgotten
My heart constricts in my chest as I memorize the words once more, repeating them to myself as I stand among friends and celebrate the life that was so tragically taken from us a year ago on this day.
I want to scream that she wasn't taken from all of us, that she was only taken from them, not from me, she could never be taken from me, but I promised her that I would never reveal that. She said that if I did she couldn't come any more, that if they knew I still saw her it wouldn't work and I could never risk that. I glance down at her leaning into my side, listening to her sob softly as she sees the people she lost for the first time since her death.
"It's okay," I murmur, my turn to comfort her arriving as I feel the anguish we both know meeting and melding between us.
"Of course it is," Amy whispers, her eyes shining as she steps towards me suddenly.
I freeze as she approaches, my throat constricting as her arm passes through the daughter she lost and settles on my arm. Only I hear the low moan that escapes Maria's lips, only I see her hand raise to touch her mother's face, only I feel the sobs that echo Amy's. She is visible in my eyes only, a ghost of the love I lost that haunts me without ever stirring fear in my heart. Her parting wasn't unexpected, although with only a month to prepare I was far from ready to let her go. The doctor said her heart was quite simply too big for her body. They explained it as congenital, too much blood pooling in its chambers; I explained it as unavoidable, too much love swelling in its depths.
Amy leans in closer, gripping my body in her embrace, as I stare into Maria's shimmering eyes, watching her step away from me.
"Don't," I murmur softly.
"It's okay," Amy replies, squeezing me tighter as she misunderstands my intentions.
"Tonight," Maria promises softly, her form fading as she takes a last look at the loved ones she left behind and wafts into nothingness.
"No," I moan, lowering my head to Amy's shoulder as she provides much needed comfort for my crying soul. "Don't go," I sob. "Don't leave me here."
"It's okay, it's okay," the grieving mother gasps, rubbing my back in soft circles. "She'll never leave you, not really."
I nod against her as grief I have repressed for too long escapes my body. Knowing I will see her again does little to soothe my suffering, my knees weakening as I lean on the trembling woman for support. Seeing her every night, having her still here with me is a miracle I never thought possible and the only fact that allows my heart to continue beating. She is not real, I know that, but I am not yet able to put her memory to rest, needing to have her presence in my otherwise pointless existence. Without her it just doesn't make sense, going on, living, laughing, breathing… none of it matters any more. For now, while she still comes, I am able to have some semblance of a life, pretend that it is not real, that she didn't really leave, but I know that it cannot last forever. Eventually she will not come anymore, I know this, and I know that I cannot think about that day until it arrives. When it does, I already have the plan in place for what I must do, the act I must take to be by her side once more, until then… until she leaves me for good I will stay here, content to have her in my eyes only.