Michael Lister - Blood of the Lamb

“Dexter,” I said. “Guilty.”

“I figured you did,” she said.

“If I hadn’t staged the whole memorial service in the first place,” I said, “or confronted him in such an uncontrolled environment or dove for the gun…”

“Have you talked to anyone?”

“You mean besides you?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” I said. “Not about how I feel.”

“Oh,” she said, a little startled. “Thank you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Sounds like you need to get away for a while,” she said. “That’s the reason I was calling-to invite you up for the weekend. I’d really love to see you and-”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just can’t. I-”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I let you know how I felt, and I was going to just wait on your response, not push it. I’m sorry.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not it at all. I’d love for us to get together. Really. I’m just not ready to come back to Atlanta yet. It’s too soon, wounds too fresh. Could we go somewhere else?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said.

“What about that bed and breakfast we stayed at near Charleston?” I asked.

“Oh, John,” she exclaimed. “That sounds wonderful.”

After we made the plans, she said, “I feel so hopeful about us,” she said. “But I want you to know that even if we don’t wind up together, I’m glad we’re doing this… getting to know the real us.”

“Me too.”

We were quiet for a while and I could hear her breathing. It reminded me of making love in sweet silence, caught up in passion beyond words, and it made me want her even more.

“I don’t need you, John,” she said.

“What?”

“I don’t need you,” she said. “For over a year now, it’s been just me. And I’m comfortable with that. I’m learning who I really am and I like me very much. I don’t have to have someone in my life-that’s why I haven’t been looking. I’m not looking for someone to rescue or complete me.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s really good.”

“I’m not finished,” she said. “I don’t need you… but I do want you. I want you very badly. I want you in my life, in my body, in my soul.”

Images of being in all three filled my mind, and I lost myself in the sound of her breathing.

“I don’t want to hang up,” she said after a long, comfortable silence.

Lying in the dark, listening to her words, her silences, reminded me of when we were first dating, the hours we spent tethered together by phone cords, unseen radios playing the same songs in the background, the darkness keeping the rest of the world at bay. Like everything about her, this felt familiar, comfortable, like a home I had only briefly known.

“So, don’t,” I said.

“I don’t really have anything else to say,” she said.

“Just breathe,” I said.

“What?”

“I like listening to you breathe,” I said.

“But I’m about to fall asleep,” she said.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I like listening to you sleep.”