He's in my arm, like a rag doll all soft and limp. The heat from the fire in the chimney is burning my face but not his, as it's nestled in my neck. Sami has tried so many times to speak to him, I had to ask for EJ's help and he's managed to remind her of the other children's needs. Apparently, she's reading them a bedtime story and Will's quietness has started from there. He turns and looks at the flames, at the tapestries they create endlessly. He whispers "She's good at telling them, you know, the stories. She was making so many mistakes, but she never forgot. They must have missed her so much..." "Who?" "The kids. Sometimes I wish I wasn't born, not so early at least. I have wasted so many lives..."
I thought he was better, I thought he had healed. But the darkness is still there, and as long as his mother will make him feel guilty, it won't go away. I want to scream my love, to help burn these doubts and lies to ashes. Instead, I brush his hair, my fingers tracing soft circles on his skull. I send waves of tranquility, hoping like hell that it will be enough.
He looks sunburned, now, his pale skin is so red, like a mask of heat. He pivots on the couch, to face me and adds "But I like my life, even though it's imperfect. I still feel I have many things to offer. To the world... to you, maybe. Something other than my pain." I can't even answer. He's come like a comet in my life, turning it upside down and now I'm different and vulnerable. That is one of his gift, this weakness that I feel, that scorches even more than the heat.
He's silent and I wonder. My neck is burning up, maybe from the fire, maybe from his arms around me. I want to be his, to thank him for all he's done, to replace all that dark with light and beauty. The room is empty, but I don't want to stay any more minute. I don't want that dream to end.
He lets me lead him to my bedroom. He's standing, strong and poised, like a mountain, the only one I can ever climb, that I can circle with my arms. But when I kiss him, with all the fever I feel in me, he starts moving. His gestures are slow but efficient and we are soon almost naked. The blanket welcomes us, hiding me from his gaze, allowing me to bare myself entirely. I take his hand and guide it to me. I feel it tremble, I see his eyes give up, but he doesn't stop. His smile is the first leaf in the book of my love life. If I can, I'll make him the sole character in it, until the end.
His body is like a harp, each string I stroke producing a different sound, a moan or a whine. I fell it blossom, under my fingers and I inhale his perfume, I savor his taste. I feel his nervousness and his arousal and both unite in a vibrancy that forbids me from going too far. I've felt his erection, that he's offered me with the innocence he doesn't realizes he possess, but I've moved away, not to overwhelm him. There are still boundaries I cannot cross, cliffs where I don't want to fall. I let my lips map him, make him melt. I search for that door in his head, that leads to his heart. I won't enter until he lets me in.
For the first time in my life, I feel adored. I am worshiped. I cannot continue hating myself when he's showing me how happy I make him feel. I am waiting for his intimate touch, for his invasion, but it doesn't come. "Sonny?" "Yes?" I love his voice, I can hear so much in it. I lose myself in its beauty for a moment. Then, I try again "What shall I do? What happens now?"
And he doesn't answer. He stops and he stares and I sit on the mattress, to meet his eyes. I ask "Do you want to come inside me? I've dreamed about that for years now, and it was such a secret, I thought it would never happen." He's shaking. The words are stuck in his throat and he dislodges them slowly. "Will, I want to, it hurts me not to, but not tonight. Tonight is about you, about discovery. There are so many other things we can do first." He brushes my thigh with his little finger, curved like a coma, sending unbearable spasms throughout my body. He's right, I'm not ready for much more. But I don't know much. How can I ask?
His eyes are displaying his desire. I have found the door, and it's all blue. My hand moves back to his legs, I open them slightly. His eyelids are heavy, hiding his emotions but I can still feel them and they guide me. He's so beautiful and so bright. I switch the light off. All that's left are our bodies, our touch. His hands slide on my back, the tip of his nails grazing it slightly. I handle us both now and the pleasure is engulfing my thoughts, leaving only sounds and skin, up until he explodes, right here in my hand, coming with a high-pitched cry.
I thank him with ghosts of exhausted kisses, and he laughs, his voice free of anguish, his muscles relaxed and grateful. I know we are both messy, both emptied, yet I don't want to leave the bed. I need to hear him say his pleasure, I need to tell him mine. Because we have connected on so many levels, I don't want to tear any of that. We have created something beautiful, something secret and precious. And I have to believe it will be strong enough to help us endure anything, to confront all the obstacles that are hiding around us, in this very house.
And somehow I know we will.