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Part 7: Beneath the Waves
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It was the year 1992; and it was a calm year for a change. It was the calm waters after a storm, so still and tranquil you were just a tad suspicious – too immersed in the feeling of knowing chaos that a peaceful existence felt too fragile. Too used to darkness to not glover a bit at the sun; too set in old ways to not really trust new ones.
Calmness felt peculiar and strange.
Nonetheless, he tried to hang unto it; felt he had in some way deserved it. The more he hung unto the feeling, the more it integrated itself within him; tempered him into a calm sea as well.
The moment he turned his key in his door and opened it he knew something was wrong. It was not a sinister foreboding – but the way you know something is wrong when you notice something that's out of order; when you notice high black heels neatly lined next to your own sneakers on your shoe-rack.
Black heels that left no doubt in his mind; he quickly dispensed of his own shoes and jacket – threw his briefcase on the floor before he wandered further inside his own apartment, caught between a strange emotion of curiosity and apprehension.
Calmness was very far from his grasp now; foremost the sudden notion that just maybe something was seriously wrong.
The hallway smelled of something sugary – warmth from his oven being in full mode hitting him the moment he ventured into his kitchen, the air hot and dense. His kitchen occupied by a person he was unsure of; uncertain what façade she would greet him with.
She was volatile as of late; unstable and untethered. Her being had become darker – more shrouded in mystery and uncertainty. She had become a very different creature; he was never sure if she would bite if he came too close.
He knew it was another illusion; knew it was her way of trying to find her own balance. However many layers of fickle mood swings she chose to wrap herself in he recognized the very vulnerable, fragmented person within them.
Sharon was perched on his kitchen counter, legs crossed and bare feet dangling, glasses on the brink of her nose as she was perusing a fashion magazine – the window into his oven displaying something that looked remotely like scones. He felt more apprehensive now than curious; this was something new.
The kitchen was otherwise spotless; not a single little spot of even flour that told him she had been baking except for the evidence quite obvious in his oven – that and her presence.
She surprised him; they rarely showed up on each other's doorstep anymore; he had never found her merely sitting inside his apartment before. It was a new, somewhat frightening experience; and the reason he felt more apprehension than delight at seeing her. New things never tended to be a good thing when it concerned her. Suspicion lingered in the back of his mind; usually they only sought out each other when the world tumbled off its hilt – usually their relationship was a creature's comfort. Naturally he felt compelled to analyze everything – pick every little detail about her apart and wonder what made her suddenly decide to not only come to him but likewise hover around his empty apartment for just long enough to start baking.
"Breaking and entering now, are we?" he grumbled, cautiously moving further into the kitchen – not sure what this was and how he was supposed to behave. He was not sure what creature would greet him; the last time he had seen her she had been alternating between crying and stony silence. Last time she had been afraid of touch; recoiling the moment he tried to squeeze her shoulder – she had been afraid of meeting his gaze, avoiding eye contact.
There was something strange about this scenario; something that told him to be on his toes.
At his voice she looked up – a wide smile, eyes crinkled, "Technically you gave me a key decades ago."
"So you decided to come here and bake," he looked into the oven again, "scones?"
She arched an eyebrow and gave him a look; one that said he was being silly. It had no effect, the eyebrow was merely a little instrument in keeping up the appearance – there was something behind her warm eyes. That wide smile and those warm eyes were too much in contrast with what he knew – it felt like a very fragile façade – one that would crumble the moment he took a wrong step.
"I was bored," she put down the magazine, uncrossed her legs and crossed them again.
It was a lie; they both knew it.
No, she was nervous. Fingers combing strands of hair behind her ear, flitting to the edge of her skirt, smoothing non-existent wrinkles – coming to her other hand and fiddling – taking her glasses of, putting them on again. Her eyes were warm but her smile was too wide – it seemed nervous to him as well. As if she was trying to calm herself down with a smile.
Walking further into the kitchen, coming closer to her he saw her smile widening, further blossoming and deepening. It was somehow ingrained in him but wide smiles made him nervous as well; lips too curved to elicit anything but hesitation in him – what was she hiding? What dark little purpose had led her here; what thoughts propelled her into tensile smiles?
He arched an eyebrow, his own mouth pulled apart in a half grimace, half acknowledging smile.
She jumped down from the counter, fingers pulling glasses off again while her other hand nervously flittered across the surface of the counter, a little pattern that was meant to assuage herself he knew. She only made weird hand gestures when she was nervous or on edge; only when she was too occupied by something to have enough control over wayward hands that suddenly had a mind of their own.
Free from the barrier of her glasses, her eyes regarded him with something hidden – her head tilted the closer he came to her. Gray eyes suddenly seeming more comprehensive than before; no glass to obscure.
"You alright?" he asked her, almost hesitant – he was not sure if he would like her answer. It was not unlike transference when it came to assessing her sometimes; it would always overwhelm him and he would end up in the same little world she was in – he was bound to feel just as inflicted by whatever bothered her.
"Yes," she smiled, teeth white and small. Her hands smoothed down her skirt again, flittering in such a nervous pattern he felt almost forced to grip her wrists and make it stop.
Another lie; this one even more tangible than the other.
They were both creatures of habit and both too bound by their masks but usually they never bothered to lie – they swathed themselves in evasion instead. Naturally the moment something untruthful slipped from her lips it felt too dense when it hit his skin.
There was something she desperately needed to tell him but was afraid to utter; it was clear in the tense stance she had taken, in the smile – in her eyes. Her whole being screamed with something; it was not distress per se – it was not something he had encountered before, he thought – only it reminded him of something.
It reminded him of dark secrets, left in the night – too precious for daylight. One of those rare moods that had always seemed intangible to him; one of those moods where she was just as likely to pounce as she was to flee. Always the hint of something hidden and secretive on the edge of her lips – eyes sparkling warmly albeit nervously.
It was a matter of extracting it from her; he knew it would not slip past the barrier of her teeth before he somehow assured her. It was a matter of changing tactic; sometimes she needed a little encouragement – sometimes it needed to be coaxed out of her.
Quickly he stepped into her space; too hurried for her to flee or comprehend his intention. His arms went past on either side of her, a little human trap, hands on the surface of his kitchen counter behind her – standing too close for her comfort he knew. Too close for her to hide anything in her eyes; the gray irises surrounded by small flecks of barely green today; curious yet uneasy he gathered from their wide look – from the sudden smile that kept on broadening. He gave her a wolfish grin, knew she would pretend she was not ruffled – knew she would latch onto his own smile like a drowning rat.
This reminded him of the time they used to frequent the gym together, used to drink beers together. That time seemed to belong in a different universe sometimes; it felt like a very solid foundation in hindsight, one he wished had never gone in this direction. Alas sometimes relations changed throughout time; sometimes you had to give space for things to evolve on their own. Enforcing something along would never give way to anything prospering. Wild flowers flourish in their own little world; their own rules apt for only themselves and a mystery for everyone else.
Again her smile gave her away – again her eyes painted a different picture. However fickle their relationship was she would still remain somewhat readable to him.
Another step forward and his legs brushed hers. He could feel the perturbed reverberations of her breaths, feel the tension in her as she readied herself; eyes almost wavering when he continued to look at her.
She said the last thing he had expected to leave her lips.
"I haven't had sex in three years," she said in a quick breath, the words delivered with haste and a tone he could not decipher.
The words surprised him as much as the tone – as much as that wide, wide smile. Suddenly he felt as flustered and as nervous as she appeared – this was not in any way what he had imagined. This was too intimate for them; it was too close – it was deliriously one of those things they never talked about.
"You've only been separated four months"
"I know"
Was it any surprise he felt conscious of her now – conscious on a level that he rarely contemplated. All of a sudden he felt awfully sentient to how close they were – how small she appeared in between his arms. He was standing too close to her; but moving away was equally uncomfortable. He was certain he had now adopted the same look as her; the same nervous smile and the same weird look in his eyes.
"So you came here – to do what?"
Her teeth shone now and her smile turned even more anxious.
"I contemplated going to a bar – getting plastered. But I haven't picked anyone up in decades – I don't even want to have sex with a stranger. I cannot," she stopped, her eyes averting and avoiding him now, "I'm not even sure I want to have sex with anyone."
This felt like being overwhelmed by something you had in no way expected; like slick dark oil slipping beneath his skin and sluggishly moving through his blood; stealing away any notion of knowing what he was supposed to do. He watched her twitch, felt her body twitch against his arms – too close to him. It was practically a hug.
This felt surreal – but again it felt natural.
It felt novel – yet it was not something he had never contemplated.
Exciting to the point of nauseous.
It would be a lie to pretend he had never thought about her like that; they had after all started their acquaintance with a failed drunken attempt to have sex. They had laughed about it years after; but only in that way you laugh about something intimate you have done when you've been drunk – a nervous sort of laugh. A laugh meant to wash it away in a flow; meant to somehow deter its underlying implication.
They had never talked about it in any way that counted.
Sometimes she was a very vivid imagery in his mind and sometimes he pulled her forth from the depths with force; when it struck his fancy. But it had always been dark and forbidden to imagine her in explicit scenarios. During their acquaintance it had been a thing that came and went; sometimes it never crossed his mind – mostly it was a myriad of other women in his fantasies. Only because she was buried in a dark abyss, a directive claiming her off limits – signs flashing 'danger' when he approached the mere prospect of wanting to fantasize about her.
Now it felt more strange than wrong. Strange in the way you suddenly come upon a conclusion you reached years ago. They would have had sex a long time ago if neither of them had been too drunk. They would have had sex again if neither of them had been in love with other people. They would have had sex if they had not both been too noble to commit adultery.
It felt like a suddenly strange dark notion to realize this.
Air trapped in his own lungs he watched her chest rise and fall, unsteadily as well; his gaze suddenly became fixated on the small buttons that kept her blouse together. The small little buttons that moved with the motions of her ribcage – moved to the rhythm of her breaths, outlining the way her chest rose.
However much he could comprehend that neither of them were opposed to the idea he could still not say whether it would be a good idea. He was unsure whether their relationship could hold up the weight of sex being encompassed in it; was unsure whether it would be sex at all.
They had never touched much; the few times it had been tender between them had always been in the aftermath of catastrophe, had always been layered in the tensile emotion of distress. The few times touch had been without turmoil to power it, it had always been too intimate – it had always overwhelmed them and brought them into world of hesitance. Sex with her would be so much more than a friendly little caress, so much more than a simple little kiss to the forehead.
It would change the dynamic profoundly.
It would create another avenue for trouble, he was sure.
It would be something he was certain could not be taken back; unlike small little comforts in times of need.
Yet he was intensely fascinated by her now; the thought of them together had already integrated within him – it had already begun to be envisioned. Maybe it had only been awakened, he mused.
Otherwise why was he so consumed by a feeling of both nervousness and anticipation?
Without further thought his hand landed on her hip, splayed on the clothed hipbone. She breathed a little heavier at the contact, a surprised flavor to the air that left her lips. Gray eyes narrowed as they observed his hand, caught onto his arm and quickly came back to his own gaze. Shadows flickering in the depths as she regarded him.
Touch had never been with this undercurrent before.
"The last time I had sex it was angry drunk sex," she confided in him; hesitant eyes once again coming to his hand touching her hip; as if she was not sure what it was doing there – whether it had permission or not.
"You're the only one in my life I feel in any way comfortable with," her tone was shaky now.
She had never been this forthcoming before, never this nervous and sweet. It slipped into his bloodstream and felt like an ache of some kind; he felt compelled to comfort her. There was a presence about her that was fragile and he wondered whether she knew what she really wanted - wondered if she was caught in a whirlwind of indecision and feeling unloved.
It did not really matter; the natural progression for them would inevitably at some point in their lives have led to this; he was certain – it had somehow only been postponed from the moment they had woken up in that dingy hotel room years back.
It felt overwhelming, as if something inside of him was bursting to spring forth; bursting to climb out of his skin and bring forth contact between them.
He leaned forward and sealed his lips onto hers; a slow progress in case it was the wrong move – slowly approaching her, unsure himself – lips suddenly coming closer and closer till they touched. Motionless lips against lips – heavy breaths warm against each other.
A small surprised gasp vibrated against his mouth when he moved his lips, both seeking to nervously figure out their way around each other, suddenly coming out of stasis and moving. They needed to be further aligned; further connected – he brought hands to her neck and the back of her nape; kept his lips on hers, molding and slipping further in between her suddenly pliant lips.
Sex was a mere byproduct of what she wanted he realized – she seemed too nervous for merely suggesting they slip their clothes off and connect. No, the nervousness stemmed from something else – something he knew without having to ask her. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to feel loved. But it was a buried desire; not something he was even sure she had acknowledged herself. Not that love was absent in their relationship - but it was again a little dark thing they never spoke about.
He had known for a long time that he loved her but it had always been an inscrutable love – he had never really mastered to take this feeling apart and examine it. It felt like a very strange feeling of love; he loved her more than he imagined was possible but still less than what felt like being in love. It flickered in him; never really seeming to take a constant distinguishable form.
He knew she loved him in her own way; he knew her too well for her to hide it. But like most of her he never had the full comprehension, only small fragments to conclude anything from.
They were too alike in that aspect he gathered.
She was too independent to ask him to merely love her; no it was easier to tell him she wanted sex; too used to roam the savanna as her own dark creature to reveal the most conflicted inner part of herself. It was a shield of self-protection in essence; one they both wore down to the small little cells of their being.
Undoubtedly he could have her unclothed and pinned against his body and kitchen table in a manner of a second, they could be writing against each other in sweat and moans; only he knew there was a reason she was trembling beneath his hands – knew there was a reason they had both postponed this for a long time.
This felt as brittle as spring morning he surmised.
She would most likely balk at seeing him naked.
No, better to keep it slow - gentle.
Her hands finally moved from their rigid stance and came to rest on his shoulders, changing between a soft touch and a hard grip; indecisive and nervous.
His hands went in front of her, latched on the small buttons in her blouse – he undid the top three ones before he felt her inhalations becoming more aggravated, her body abruptly tense. Smoothing the fabric down he slid his hands around to her back, bringing her closer – his thumb along her waist in a caress meant to soothe.
Slowly her fingers settled into the back of his head, her mouth turned from mere participation to an insistent tug – her body coming closer and nestling into his own.
Reciprocating he pressed himself closer as well, pressed her into the counter, hands travelling down the sides of her and up under the hem of her skirt; she made a little noise in the back of throat – hands tightening in his hair.
Letting go of her lips he stopped, kept his hands on the back of her thighs – unmoving.
They were both out of breath; both with strange looks in the eyes he assumed. He felt just like she appeared; confused and aroused.
This would never work out here in his kitchen – it would be too out in the open. Too tangible and real; so he tugged her away from the counter, squeezing her hand.
They moved to his bedroom; turning the oven off and silently slipping into his bed – undressing with averted eyes. She slipped under his covers and he barely registered her bare flesh and the color of her underwear before she had the cover up to her chin, a small little self-aware smile on her lips.
Tension coursed through his body and he found it hard to prevent his hands from trembling as he undressed in front of her, watching how she could not decide where to look; eyes on him one moment and then suddenly flickering away as if she was unsure whether she was supposed to look at him.
It felt as if it was on the cusp of becoming awkward. They were both putting too much effort and thought into it – it lacked that succinct steady flow where it would naturally evolve and naturally run its course. It was partly fear that had somehow settled into his being; partly a nauseating emotion that was entirely too overwhelming. Crossing boundaries always afflicted him with a sense of nausea amidst adrenaline and exhilaration.
Mindful of her he kept his boxers on; he had a feeling she would become even more flustered if he slipped under the covers completely naked. They needed just a little barrier to feel comfortable.
Under the covers they appraised each other; the same stricken look mirrored in their eyes.
This was beyond ridiculous; he would have laughed at the both of them if it had been any other time. He had a fleeting thought this would be easier with a glass of wine and in the middle of the night. It was daylight and he was too aware of the smallest little flicker of emotion on her face; too sober not to feel conscious of every little movement, every little hesitation to their approach.
Maybe this was like taking that first dip into the ocean in the period stuck between winter and spring; you merely had to jump – no time to consider the coldness or the consequences – merely leap.
Edging closer to her under the warm covers he took her head in his hands and pulled her in for a kiss; the tingling of lips assuaging their nervous disposition. Maybe they just needed to get this started a bit and they could stop contemplating what it meant – what it would mean.
He tangled his fingers in her hair, tangled a leg over her thigh and drew her into him – legs between each other. Her skin burned like a furnace, soft warmth where the pad of his fingers landed on skin. It was not unlike being covered in a barrier by his bed sheets; it provided just the amount of a shield against hesitation. Like being underground, encased in something that would protect you from outside disturbances – it made her skin warm and made her eyes glow with something besides caution.
Sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, he let his hands traverse down her spine, latched onto lace and drew her underwear down – left it somewhere at the end of the bed, covered by his linen. His hands travelled up her legs again – fingers in a pattern upwards on her inner thigh.
She hid her face in the crook of his neck the moment his hand came too close, breathed too controlled into his skin for it to anything but a little nervous.
His fingers quickly left her inner thigh and slid up her back to undo the clasp to her bra.
Maybe it was merely the undressing that felt a bit awkward.
Her hands flitted to his muscles of his back, gripped hard around his hips – her lips travelling from his neck, up along the arch of his throat and latched onto his own again, an urgency in her kiss.
He was inclined to agree with her; this needed to be hurried along; it needed to become too forceful and too intense before it became too awkward.
She drew his boxers down and he flipped them over, her legs coming around his waist as he entered her – his mouth on her neck. He settled his hands around the back of her nape and drew her into a kiss as he slid out of her, trust into her again – her legs tightening around his middle, her hands holding unto his back.
Yes this was much better – no going back, just sensation and exhilaration. He kissed her upper lip, drew the bottom one into a continuous caress – he needed to compress himself into her mouth as he slowly kept an unhurried rhythm.
They could always fuck some other time; he only wanted to watch her – to kiss her.
She seemed to agree, hands soft on his cheek – a caress down his throat, lips tender against his – her legs warm against his skin.
Shit he thought; it would not even matter if neither of them climaxed – he would be content to merely float away on this feeling – too unhurried to be anything but like swimming underwater. Strange and yet so comforting – subdued in a way that made you feel as if you were in another world; strange lights that made you too enticed. Too overwhelming; it stole his breath away.
She breathed against his lips when he changed the angle a bit, eyes so clear he wanted to remember them, so clear and filled with color he had never seen before. He had nothing to compare it to; nothing felt like an adequate description. Vivid clear; nothing to shadow her being.
Her breath was warm – humid as it slipped unto his own skin – gaspy breathy air that enquired more depth – enquired one hand around the back of her knee and another change in angle.
Breathy air that turned to a little tone – rough little tone in the back of her throat when another leg anchored itself up higher.
An intake of breath that seemed to last too long, arched neck – it enquired strain in his spine but he needed to kiss her again.
An exhalation that enquired they forgone this position; he needed her as close as possible, chest against chest, legs curled around him, groins close as they rocked against each other, lips attached to necks, to the little point where their carotid artery drew force upon force of pulsation.
Clear vivid eyes that begged for every little skin cell on their bodies to be connected.
It felt like being underwater immersed in each other; he was not sure he could comprehend anything but her. His world had plunged into a construction around only her – it bereaved him of air, of breath – he had to kiss her to not drown.
In essence it was subtle yet too overpowering; it was tender yet too forceful – slow yet impatient (in essence it stole his breath away and yet gave him pause to breathe).
In essence it integrated itself into him and he treasured lying naked with her afterwards maybe even more than the act in itself; felt thrown into a world of underwater illusions – skin warm against his own warm skin. Mouths still travelling across the span of skin – fingers slipping around on skin to cool – to warm – to elicit a continued connection.
Trapped under the hot blaze of his bed sheet, entangled. She had him trapped in her web; trapped in the fantasy of wanting to exist in the same little orbit as her – entombed in the color of her irises; clear and see-through all the way to the bottom. It was a rarity; a compelling little rarity of her that swept through his skin stealing away any notion of knowing her fully before this very moment.
Her being had always been a well-guarded secret; complex layers upon layers – he found himself unraveling novel little features of her as time moved on, caught in a peculiar feeling when he came upon a new little aspect of her. This felt close to clarity.
That wide nervous smile – those very vivid eyes; he filed both components away to contemplate later.
She tangled her legs further with his, slid up his chest – mouth seeking out his again; both too complacent and drowsy to do anything but languor in this little nest of warmth and that little strange feeling you get afterwards. Trapped in an aftermath that seems even more poignant than the act – more potent than intense touch and overwhelming climax.
Soft lips that kept finding his, inevitably soothing in touch – almost motionless kisses with a noticeable momentum. Fingers begging for contact – hands tender across his chest. Traversing so softly up his throat – lingering on his jaw – lingering behind his ears.
Again that little breathy sigh; a little tone of warmth that she caressed his skin with when her lips left.
Still her lips were graced with a wide smile, still a little nervous tilt to her being.
"What happened?" he asked her, anchoring his body closer to hers – instinctually knowing it was bound to inflict her with hesitance, "Why this today?"
There had to be a reason behind it all; a reason she had shown up today – had chosen to draw a little new line into their shared sand. With her there was always an intent behind her actions that went beyond mere happenstance; she had not simply chosen to perch on his kitchen counter today – no, something had catapulted her into his orbit.
"Doesn't matter," her voice slithered across his lips before she started another kiss; a little connection meant to assuage him, meant to deter him – the little edge of danger in the hidden depths already anticipated by him.
Evasion was always easier than the truth.
It was a bit inconsequential, he would give her that. Chuckling, he pinned her down into the mattress; it did not really matter what little event had thrown her in this direction – he knew something had happened and it was enough. Motivations were always twofold with her; he did not begrudge her the little secrets.
Her eyes widened when his hands travelled down the side of her abdomen, over her hipbone before traversing in a line he knew would not create any doubt about its intended direction. Her lips fell slightly apart and he caught the small specs of apprehension mixed with arousal in her eyes; caught on the breathy gasp that enquired exactly what he intended.
Whatever had thrown them into this change, whatever had made this thing between them transform – it was inconsequential in this very moment – this moment was percolated by something altogether different than the need to uncover dark secrets.
It was drenched in the need to uncover her body; skin cell by skin cell – the need to catalogue every little expression to her face – every little tone that would inevitably leave her lips.
In essence it was about capturing her in these rare moments and lingering in them; he knew from experience they never lasted that long.
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