He stares up at me and I remove my finger, ready for another round of rebuttals and debates. But he surprises me. He smiles, the briefest ghost of a smile, before covering my lips with his and pulling me gently onto his lap.
He’s right about the scarring. It’s brutal. I run my hands over the uneven skin gently, afraid of hurting him, although he assures me I won’t. His body tenses beneath my touch and I want to cry for all he’s been through, but I don’t. If he’s strong enough to make it through that hell, I’m strong enough to hold back the tears.
On his sleeping bag, on the grass beside his tent, we sit, entangled in each other, exploring each other. Our shirts are off, but we’re in no hurry to fully disrobe. His insistence that we take it slow has taken root in my mind and we’re making each moment count. It’s both torture and rapture, but also perfect. It allows my brain to catch up to my body, which is way ahead.
I’m acutely aware of his hands, which rest lightly either side of my ribcage as I continue exploring his back and shoulders. I can’t see back there, but my fingertips paint a vivid picture. Slowly, his eyes downcast, his hands move upwards until they touch my bra, and I hold my breath, a reflex action that has him searching my face for reassurance.
“Okay?” he says softly, his fingers already making their way around to my back.
I nod, not sure if he means ‘is it okay that I do this?’ or ‘are you okay with my scars?’ Either way, I’m okay. I’m more than okay.
There is no fumbling with bra snaps or frantic pulling. He knows what he’s doing, and my bra unfastens with a sigh of relief, falling into my lap. I glance up at him, holding my breath, but he’s not looking at me anymore. His eyes and his hands are in the same place, and I close my eyes in response to them, leaning back slightly, giving myself over to him.
I feel as if I’m floating, but sinking at the same time. Gravity is just a word as I lean back even further, Luke guiding me gently onto the sleeping bag. I hold on to his shoulders as the ground rises up to meet us, anchoring myself to him. Running my hands over his shoulders and down his arms, the uneven, scarred skin magically morphs into smooth flesh, warm and tense beneath my fingers. The contrast seems impossible, but I accept it without question.
We move in unison, his hands on my body, mine on his. He removes my shorts, I repay the favour, and nothing seems to happen with any conscious thought on my part. It’s as if we’re speaking to each other in another language, non-verbal and concise. I love the feel of him on me, his hands on my skin, his breath on my body. He still smells like sawdust, despite our dip in the lake earlier. I think the scent clings to his hair, his beard, his skin and I inhale it with each breath. It’s ridiculous to think how something so innocuous could have such an impact, but it does. He dwarfs me, his body so much larger than mine that it’s almost suffocating at times, but never unpleasant. I feel safe, protected, knowing he waited to do this until I was ready, until we were both ready.
He’s gentle when I need him to be and firm when I don’t. It’s easy to get lost in the moment when the moment is so euphoric. I’m soaring, completely oblivious to the world around us. For the first time in so long, I’m living in the moment. Not in the past or the future or even in the present, but in the
moment
.
This moment, when his hands are leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they make their way upward, over my ribs; this moment, when his breath against the skin of my neck drives me wild; this moment, when I can barely breathe because his lips are on mine; this moment, as his beard tickles my bare shoulder; this moment, as he moans my name in a husky voice that still reminds me of whisky and honey.
Every single moment is a lifetime.
I alternate between wanting his hands somewhere particular, to wanting them everywhere at once. I don’t know how, but he seems to know. He seems to understand me better than I understand myself.
Lying in his arms after what feels like several lifetimes of wild examination and gentle exploration, I’m both breathless and satiated. However we both happened to be here, at this point in time, in this place, I’m eternally grateful. My life feels like it has purpose again. Sometime over the past few weeks, I’ve found a way to climb through a hole in my sky and make it back to the world again. Luke is a big part of that, and it scares me to think about how close I came to not finding that hole, to not climbing at all.
“Hey,” he whispers, running his fingers gently down my arm, making skin tingle. “Are you okay?”
I nod, still trying to hold everything together, not wanting to ruin the mood.
“You sure?”
He sounds dubious, moving to look at me properly but I daren’t look up at him just yet.
“Yeah.”
I’m not sure how natural my voice sounds, considering I’m hanging on by a thread, but either it’s passable, or he instinctively gets that this has nothing to do with what just happened between us. I snuggle closer in to him, relishing the sound of his heart beating beneath me.
We lie there for a while, staring out at the lake, gathering our thoughts, and I’m filled with an inner serenity I didn’t know was possible. He strokes my hair, murmuring into it every now and then. I don’t want to move, ever. I love being with him, I love everything he does, every move he makes, every word he says. I love it even when he pushes my buttons and my boundaries. I love that he won’t let me hide, even when I want to. I love how much stronger I feel when he’s with me.
My fingers wander lightly over the scarred skin on his chest, mapping the terrain, trying not to think about the pain these wounds caused him, then and now. I understand why he doesn’t want to talk about what happened after he was discharged. Facing our demons once is hard enough; facing them a second time feels like tempting fate.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, his fingers finding mine as they float along the surface of his skin for the hundredth time.
He takes my hand in his and weaves our fingers together as I look on. I still feel slightly detached from what we just did, as amazing as it was. It feels like it wasn’t me doing it, but someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s so foreign to me now, this kind of attachment, this kind of sweet without the bitter I’m so used to.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” I whisper, watching our hands dance together above his chest. “Are you?”
“Ravenous.”
He folds his hand around mine and holds it gently still, while my heart races wildly.
“I’m going to make us some dinner,” he says. “But that means I need to get up. Are you emotionally prepared to be separated from me yet?”
The humour in his voice is obvious, and I raise my head, looking up at him.
“I’m sure I can find a way to deal with it,” I smile.
His return smile transforms his whole face, and I can’t help myself. I scoot up further, kissing him with a sense of joyful abandon that skips through my bloodstream, setting fire to my belly. The kiss turns into something much more than just a token, and he rolls me over onto my back, looming over me as we finally separate. I stare up at him, into his crystal-blue eyes, his mouth still slightly parted from our kiss, his lips so soft. The desire in his eyes is so clear.
He looks as if he wants to say something, but no words come. I know that feeling.
I smile up at him, reaching up to cup his face in my hands.
“I love the beard,” I murmur. “But I wonder what you look like underneath it.”
“You couldn’t handle a clean-shaven version of me,” he smiles, his eyes glinting. “It’s in the genes. I’m devastatingly handsome under here. This beard is for your own protection, believe me.”
I giggle as his mouth twitches, then explodes into a full-blown grin, one that makes my head spin. When he smiles like this, it does incredible things to my insides, and before I can stop it, laughter bubbles up from way down deep.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks, faking dismay.
I can’t stop. I try, but it’s hopeless, and when I can finally control myself enough, I see he’s looking down at me with a look I’ve seen only once before.
From James.
It sobers me slowly, then crashes into me, forcing my heart to a shuddering halt.
“What is it?” he asks, not missing a thing.
“Nothing,” I murmur, squirming out from under him and reaching for the clothes we’d so easily abandoned not long ago.
I pull my still-wet t-shirt over my head.
“Sian? Talk to me.”
I can’t, though, not yet. Not if I want to make any sense. I stand up and step into my sopping shorts, fastening them as best I can, then reach for my bra and underwear.
“Hey,” he says again, taking hold of my arm as I stand there, my back to him, wringing out my underwear. “What’s wrong?”
I turn to him slowly, because I don’t want him to see how much this hurts me. I don’t want to be thinking of James while I’m with him. It’s not fair, on either of them. Guilt blindsides me, and my eyes sting from the effort of holding back the tears that have appeared out of nowhere.
By the time I’ve mustered up the necessary courage to look up at him, I’m pretty sure he already knows what’s going on. He always seems to be able to read my mind.
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” he says gently, his hand travelling down my arm to take my hand, still holding my soaking underwear in a vice-like grip. “
You
haven’t done anything wrong. Please tell me you understand.”
I hang my head. It’s so hard to look at him when all I can see is James’s face, the love in his eyes. I do understand, or a part of me does. But another part of me, the part of me that’s buried in a dark corner of my heart, wonders if maybe this is all too soon. It wonders if James would understand, if he saw us now. It wonders if Kieran would think that I’m abandoning him.
His fingers gently tilt my chin up towards him, and I try to get as tight a grip on my rampant emotions as I have on the wet underwear in my hand.
“Please don’t feel guilty about being happy,” he says softly. “You’re entitled. You’re worthy of it, of all of it. If James loved you as much as I think he did, he’d want this for you. No one likes to see the one they love in pain.”
His words carry a heavy burden, and the weight of that shows in his eyes. I reach up and wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, shoulders that show the weight of the burden he carries on his skin. He holds me tight, his bare skin warm to the touch, even as the sun prepares to set on this most momentous of days.
Watching Luke as he sits on his haunches poking at the fire after dinner, the restlessness that’s been building inside me for the past few hours demands a release.
“Do you mind if I go home and get changed?” I ask, looping my arms under my thighs and drawing my knees up. “My clothes are still kinda damp.”
He looks over at me, the last rays of daylight glowing in his face.
“Of course I don’t mind.”
I smile, hoping it looks more casual than it feels.
“Thanks,” I say, standing up and walking over to give him a brief kiss.
He smiles up at me from his knees, and I turn away, not altogether sure what I need but knowing I have to make an effort to find it before this anxious knot in my stomach gets any bigger.
“Hey,” he calls, and I turn back to see him standing beside the glowing coals. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
I’ve been asked that a thousand times over the past year, but every time he asks me, I want to make the effort to be. I want it more than anything.
“I’m fine,” I smile, hopefully more credibly this time. “I won’t be long.”
He lets me leave this time, and as I make my way along the side of the house and through the trees, I find myself choking back tears. Walking across the lawn and up the steps to the deck, I finally let them come. But these tears are different. They’re not borne of guilt or fear or pain. They’re borne of the knowledge that I have to say goodbye.
Tears stream down my face as I crawl into the bedroom wardrobe, pulling it shut behind me. Last time I was in here, in the dark, it was with Luke. This time, it’s just James and I. I feel guilty for excluding Luke from how I feel, but this is something I need to come to terms with alone. I sit in the dark, leaning my head against the back of the wardrobe, as James surrounds me. I close my eyes, even though I can’t see anything but the slit of light through the edge of the door, and I inhale him. He’s everywhere and nowhere, which is what makes this place what it is.
“I love you,” I whisper into the darkness, tears rolling down my cheeks. “And I miss you, so much. I hope, wherever you are, you’re with Kieran, watching over him, keeping him safe. Kiss him for me. Hold him for me. I love you both.”
I listen for a reply, for a sign, for something to indicate that he’s heard me, that he knows that I’m saying goodbye, but nothing comes. I swallow down the disappointment.
Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way?
I crawl out of the wardrobe and into the grey light of early evening. I find the matches that Ana bought for me, take a paper boat and a candle out of my bedside drawer and make my way down to the lake’s edge. Wading into the water, I place the candle in the boat and set it down, watching as it bobs about on the surface. The match takes first time, and my heart soars. Touching the flame to the wick, dropping the match into the water, I push the glowing boat carefully out into the lake. I close my eyes and imagine James and Kieran, together and happy. Summoning up all my love, I pull it to the surface and send it out across the water with the boat, hoping that wherever they are, it will find them and surround them with its warmth. I watch the boat as long as I can stand it, knee-deep in water, then turn to make my way back.
Luke is standing on the lawn in the semi-darkness, watching me.
We stand there for a few moments in silence, neither of us moving. Then, he walks down the grass towards me and I make my way out of the lake. We meet at the water’s edge and, without saying a word, he takes me into his arms. I hold on tight because he’s the reason I can bear to say goodbye. He gave me that strength. I want to tell him that, but I can’t. All I can do is hold onto him, like he’s holding onto me, as the sun settles in behind the hills on the opposite shore.