Mare Moody - [blank]

“It’s shitty stuff,” he smirks, “Just how you like it, determining from your breath that night.

“Yummy!” I joke. The smile on my face only grows wider.

He pours two glasses and walks back over.

“So how about Plato?” I jest.

He laughs and once again, it fills the room with his cheerful sound waves. They peel at my ears and beat on my eardrums.

He sits back on his arm chair. I follow his lead and sit back on the couch.

“So tell me,” he says, “how much do you know about Plato?” He places a glass of wine in front of me.

“More than you,” I stick my tongue out.

“Oh?” He laughs, “Well, I know more about Lafayette than you.”

“War generals?” I questions, “Why that topic?”

“History Major.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Ooh, a college boy,” I laugh and shake my head in mocking approval. I reach down and take a sip of the wine in front of me. It tastes like watered down rotten capri sun.

“Well, a graduate with a debt of 30k,” he sighs, “I am a war general dealing with these payments.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” I mock him.

“Did you go to college?” He looks hopeful. I don’t want to let him down but I’m not going to lie to him.

“Um, no,” I say quietly,

“Oh?” He seems surprisingly nonchalant with my answer, “Can I know why?”

I breathe in a deep breath. I may as well tell him. He has seen more of my crazy than any other person in my life. I take a deep sip of my wine.

“My mom killed herself at the end of my senior year.” The words resonate in my throat. They vibrate and feast incessantly on my vocal chords.

He chokes on his wine and looks at me with empathy.

“Me too.”

Suddenly, our mutual understanding is stretched far beyond the level that it first began on.

“Wow,” I swallow my words, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I’m sorry to you too. Although coming from someone who has also experienced it, I know how little that phrase helps with the pain.”

I nod. Fate has glued us together in an attempted jig saw of unlikely matches. Somehow, we won the lottery of life. I have been struck with lightning twice.

I look at him. Awe is the only emotion that can surface in my brain.

I lean over from the couch and kiss him again. Emotions swarm our lips and our entire beings are traded in that kiss. He lets it go and gets out of his chair. He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. He starts walking towards his room. I follow.

Through the threshold of his bedroom we walk. Hand in hand. Lover by lover. Complete.

Sunlight beats through his window but shadows remain cast over our faces. He leads me to his bed. I lay in the middle of his bed. He moves his body on top of me and gently kisses me. It is so slow and sincere. I know that he is entirely present and with me. This is something I have never experienced before.

Every time I am with him, I feel new emotions that I never knew even existed. My body entirely relaxes. For the second time, I am making love with someone who isn’t Kane. It is honestly so surreal how far I have come from even 2 weeks ago. I was begging in Kane’s bed. I was begging for his love.

Because you should.

The more I fight it, the worse it gets. When I never held it in, they would flow freely but now that I fight them, they grow louder and more demanding. But if I allow them to flow freely they will change my train of thought to Kane constantly.

Then I come back into reality quickly when I feel Noah begin to take off my shirt. Breathe. You are ok. Breathe. I become in the moment and think about how much Noah means to me. He saved me. He accepts me and all of my issues. When he laughs, he fills the room. I just want to hold him in my arms and never let go.

I push my kiss harder. Our bodies begin to breathe together. We share the Earth and the Earth shares with us. His hands move up onto my face. He strokes my face while he kisses me intently. He pulls off his shirt and moves his lips steadily down from my mouth to collar bone. A moan escapes my lips. Life starts to revolve around us.

I pull off my pants while keeping my lips on him. This time, it is slower. The kisses hold longer and the beat runs at a steadier pace. I feel my breath get deeper and faster. He breathes heavily out of his nose.

I reach for his pants. I slowly unbutton the top. I reach for the zipper and pull it down while feeling his lips on my neck. He moves his face away from my neck and takes his pants off. He throws them off of the bed. We are now exposed to each other. Only small bits of fabric separate us from eternal connection. The most intimate exchange possible between two humans; yet he decides to share it with me.

He stops and looks at my body. He runs his hands down the side of my body. It ripples down with my curves. His is warm against my skin. He is sweating.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers to me.

I haven’t heard those words in 7 years. They tear through like the dullest knife. I can’t help but tear up. The sincerity in his tone moves me to new emotions. I am beloved. How? Why?

I respond to his compliment by grabbing the back of his head and pulling his face to mine. Our lips collide. My chest bursts and I feel surreal.

In tandem, we pull off each others final garments. The next movement is inevitable. I prepare for it. But Noah stops. He looks at me. Sympathy washes over him.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his hand reaches up and wipes a tear off of my cheek.

He stays still. He is the statue David, so contrite. His emotions render him chaustic. I look at him. My nose flares and my eyebrows fraught. I don’t deserve this love.

Leave.

Don’t make this mistake again.

I flinch. My memory takes me back to his face on the day I told him of my voices. He looked so disgusted. He looked at me like I was the craziest piece of shit to roam the Earth, yet he loves me?

“I-uh,” I hesitate.

He is obviously hurt by this. He closes his eyes and a frown grows over his smile.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice trembling.

I don’t understand why he is so emotional.

“I just…” I try to tell him but my own thought process is fogged. Even if I tried explaining, I would have to tell him about Kane which isn’t happening. He already knows of the voices and my mother. That is where the crazy starts and stops.

His shoulders lower and he rolls to the other side of the bed. He puts his hands over his face. He is overwhelmingly upset about this ordeal. The intuition in me senses that there is more to this sadness than just my uncertainty of sleeping with him.

“It’s me,” he says, “isn’t it.”

He turns and looks at me. His eyes are pleading for me to give him an answer.

Go back to Kane.

He won’t keep hurting you.

Noah isn’t hurting me. He is worrying about me. I don’t understand. When I don’t understand I get frustrated and when I get frustrated, the only emotion I can feel is anger.

“No,” I snap. My words come off harsher than intended. But I am annoyed. He is pushing to know more about me. Whether he means to or not, he is pushing.

“Oh,” he gets more upset.

“Look,” I say, “you are fine, I’m just too fucked up for a happy relationship.”

I look him back in the eyes.

“Okay?” I demand a response back.

He nods. Tears collect in his eyes. Why does that make him upset? I was with him for one night.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. The roles have been switched.

“I just acted like a shit head the other day and I feel bad about. I knew you’d be totally off-put from me after that.”