Chapter XIX: Another Reverie

Morgan Blackthorne

For the weeks I stayed with Near, I was certainly confused. I didn't know what I wanted, or how to protect it. I did have one vague idea of what I wanted. It had long, blonde hair, golden eyes, and lips that tasted like chocolate. I fantasized of him often, when I was alone.

And after those few weeks, I knew what I wanted. I missed him to much not to want him. There was no denial there was something there for Near, but it wasn't enough. It would never, ever be enough.

I stared at my damp hair, and my snow white skin glazed with water in the mirror still fogged from hot water from the shower. My hair now reached my waist. Piles of black curls. Piles of weight, holding me down. I decided to lose the extra weight. I grabbed the scissors adjacent of my right hand, and in one foul swoop, cut my hair up to my shoulders. Mountains of hair fell away from my shoulders, and it seemed that the first time in years I could really see my face. I smiled. I was actually kind of nice looking.

I didn't know where I was going, but I decided to dress up like I used to. I grabbed a baby blue Dior dress. It was from 2005, not exactly in season, but it was my favourite. I slipped on a pair of white wedge heels. I applied make up for the first time in weeks. Light blue eyeshadow, brown eyeliner and mascara. My hair bounced in light curls with its new found weightlessness. I'd forgotten how vain I had used to be. I liked it.

I snuck out the door without any notice. I wasn't sure where I was going, or why. But not for long. When I saw it, knew exactly what I was doing.

I saw a flash of gold hair flare from under a black motorcycle helmet. It caught in the wind, slapped against the owner's scowling face, and fell back onto leather-clad shoulders. I bit my lip furtively. I could feel my tongue dancing hotly behind my teeth. I followed him, almost running, but I was surreptitious about it. All he had to do was turn around and he could have seen me, but he was not exceptionally observant of his surroundings.

I followed him through the parking lot of the motel, quietly up the stairs, maybe only ten feet or so behind him...And caught my hand on the door before it shut closed. He didn't even notice the absence of the slam. I laughed inwardly. Suddenly I felt exposed, vulnerable; it was strange to be in his presence again. I wasn't sure how to get his attention, but I could just stand there like an idiot all day.

"Ello," I said quietly.

His eyes and hair whipped violently in shock. His eyes were red, and swollen, and the scar surrounding his eye and crawling down his neck had begun to lighten. The creases in his face untightened, almost in relief. As though, he had been waiting, looking over his shoulder, just waiting for me to reappear.

"Is...it okay if I come in?" I asked hesitantly.

His head jerked in a nod.

I quietly closed the door behind me, not taking my eyes off the ones staring at me. I slowly approached him. The heat, and the extreme energy radiating off him body was overwhelming. Every detail of his body was fascinating to me; the flat planes of his very developed biceps, the way the ends of his honey blonde hair rested just below his shoulder, and his long slender fingers clutching his helmet with intensity. I felt, that in that moment, if I did not touch him, I would die.

The tips of my fingers grazed the rough skin of his burn scar, down the bridge of his nose, and to his rough, warm lips. I bit down on my own lip firmly. He didn't even twitch; he stayed perfectly still, like a statue. I ran my fingers through his sunny hair. It glittered even in the dim light. My heart fluttered and thumped lowly in my chest; I felt almost nauseated by the intensity of his presence. My palm rested ob his neck. I could feel the hot blood lightly thudding a pulse against my thumb. My other hand touched his cheek lightly and hesitantly, but yearning. The thumb rested on his still lip.

I pressed my body against his own. The top of my head touched his nose; I could feel his nostrils flare slightly, and his chest rose with a deep, heaving breath, inhaling the scent of my hair.

Like a phantom, he vanished from my touch and reappeared on the other side of the room, slouched against the sofa, his eyes locked to the ground.

"Mihael," I coaxed.

His eyes locked mine. I stared at the red rings surrounding them, harsh and angry.

"How has anything changed?" he said slowly. "Why are you even here?"

"Everything...has changed," I said. "For years, I carried around as this...baggage. It's like I had a suitcase for everything. A bad childhood, death of my brother, and then, all of this Kira stuff, it was just more and more."

"How has this changed?" he asked.

"I was selfish," I explained. "It was always about me. It was always about my feelings, always about what I wanted. I kept going off on all these stupid paths, and neglecting the obvious road."

"Paths," he repeated.

"They all," I hesitated. "Lead back to you."

"I was always yours," he said softly. "But are you mine?"

"You are now," I said softly. "Body, mind, and soul."

I jumped at the sound of knocking at the door. The energy was suddenly sucked from the room. Without a word, he walked towards the door, and opened it. I walked into the bathroom, and closed the door slightly, leaving it only slightly cracked. I stared at myself in the mirror. My pale skin glowed like a ghost in the fluorescent light. Slowly, I undid the buttons on the back of my dress, and slid it over my head. It fell lightly to the ground. I observed my my body in the mirror. WIth less hesitation, I discarded my underwear onto the floor. I felt cold, and exposed, without a stitch of clothing on. I grabbed a white, scratchy towel and wrapped it around my body.

I stepped out of the bathroom; Mihael was still talking to what looked like the owner of the Motel. Apparently, he had seen me following him, because he was cracking jokes about a "lady caller." I snuck past him, out of sight, and sat down on the firm, squeaky mattress. Mihael murmured one last time at the strange man and closed the door slowly. He approached me, his eyes glued to the floor however; it took him a moment to realize my lack of clothing. He stared at me, wide-eyed, and stopped just a foot in front of me. I released my grip on the towel.

It fell to my ankles. I shuddered, feeling the heat of him against my own bare skin. I grasped the sides of his face with my hands, stroking his cheeks with my thumbs. His arms locked on to me suddenly, grasping at every part of my body. I kissed him hard and hungrily, gnawing his lip lightly. One of his hands gripped my hair lightly, while he broke my kiss, and grazed lips over my face, down my neck, and up to my ear. He lightly nibbled my earlobe, and sucked my lips in a slow, wet kiss.

I slowly reached for the fastenings on his shirt, but he gingerly grasped my hands.

"...I don't have a condom," he explained.

"Well...maybe..." I stammered. He seemed to understand what I was thinking.

"Are you sure?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," I said, with surprisingly little hesitation.

He leaned down on top of me on the bed. I brushed a lock of golden hair behind his ear, smiling slightly.

"I love you," I said softy.

"You don't know how long I wanted to hear you say that," he said quietly. "Years."

He kissed me slowly and gently. I slid his shirt off his well built chest, admiring the firm planes, even the ones still marked with scars. I attacked his pants, and then his underwear, until we were both naked, revealed completely to each other. He kept his face buried in my hair, while he made love to me. I kept my eyes locked on the ceiling, but I couldn't focus on anything. My surroundings were a blur.

Our bodies shuddered with climax. We released a simultaneous breath, breathing in deep each other's scents.

"Let's go home," I whispered.

"Fuck LA," he added.

"But...I don't know if you'd want to," I began. "I want to see my parents. They don't know anything about this."

"That's a sudden change of heart," he said, with raised eyebrows.

"I have a feeling the story isn't over, either."

END OF PART 3