Lightness

Your ivory skin blushes from the exertion.  It starts at your cheeks, crawls down your neck, and fans out on your chest.

"God," I mew, shutting my eyes.  We're both breathing hard.

I exhale: "Fuck, Teakay."

Remember; we didn't order take out, but we drank your favorite blueberry wine.  The cheap spirit goes straight through me.

. . .

"Um," I sat in the wooden chair.  Shifting, a frown grew: did my bum fall asleep?  My eyebrows furrowed.  The furniture creaked with my fidgeting.

You bent over glancing into the oven.  I licked my chapped lips.  Smiling, I recalled the message you sent me a week prior swearing you would wear a pretty dress to meet me at the bus station for our first real life encounter.  You chose a yellow sundress, no less.  I never thought you were serious about any of it.  Us meeting up, the dress, but here we are in your kitchen.

"Yes?"  Your clear green eyes twinkled.  They dash from the oven to me.  Those impossibly green eyes reminded me of the evergreen forests back home.  "I know we agreed to order Chinese take out," funny -I recalled offering to pay and you refusing: "but I diiiiiid promise to cook for you."  Like a bird, you perched on my lap.

The temperature skyrocketed.  My hands gripped either side of the cheap chair.  "And when was that?"  I bit my lower lip.  Another creak filled the air.  Damn chair.

"Hmmm," Cocking your head to the side, I noticed a brown dot at the edge of your jaw: un lunar.  "I think a week ago."  My aunt attempted to teach me Spanish years ago.  Weird, how the only word that stuck was lunar: a beauty spot commonly known as a mole.

I never noticed that mark in the photos on Facebook or our video chats.

"Are you . . . all right?"  You cooed draping an arm around my neck.  "You seem," your lips pursed.  It seemed like you couldn't quite put your finger on it.  Was that my imagination or is there glitter on those lips?  They curled into a grin: a cat ate the canary grin.

Blood rushed to my cheeks and I felt them burning hot.

"I don't know," oh and you were milking it too: "tense."  Your eyes curved into slits as you leaned close with that foxy grin.  This seemed a bit too drawn out to me.

"Shouldn't you check on . . ." I gulped, "um.  You know, what's in the oven?"  My gaze shifts back to your kitchen.  Your light touch felt cold against my cheek.  I blinked, noticing your appraisal.

Your voice.  "Don't worry about it," it has this smoky quality to it.  You're so close.  I observed your clear eyes marked with colors reminding me of autumn yellow leaves and a muted bay overlay.  "Now," you traced my jaw, “is that bottle you brought for drinking?"

"What bottle?"  I gulped.

"The one next to your foot," she giggled, "You look so serious, silly."

"Oh," I realized I was very thirsty, "yeah.  Blueberry wine."

. . .

I'm light, grateful, and totally tipsy.  A stupid grin grows as I take you in.  Resting my head on the floor, I can feel that stupid grin.  I've been wearing it after the third glass of wine.  My cheeks hurt form all the smiling and laughing.  I close my eyes.

"Hey," your breath fans against my neck.  It's so hot. 

"Yeah?"  I crack an eye open, raising an eyebrow.  Our noses touch.  I can feel those long locks of yours tickling the side of my face.

"Look at me," I obey.  "Your eyes."

"What about them?"

"They're like this warm brown," you brush your hair back to allow for more lighting, "with a red tinge . . . chestnut." 

I smile, "I want to talk about your eyes."  How they're like nothing I've ever seen, haha.  It's funny since I've never really looked into people's eyes before.  Nearly a decade of talking for shit and giggles online, but now I can feel you on top of me. 

I can actually feel you.

. . .

A year ago, instant messenger.

teakay: How're you love?

me: I'm good.  You?

teakay: Good.  In pain, but good.  Womanly woes, you know.

me: Sorry to hear about that.  <3

teakay:  It's all right.  Not your fault.

me: BUT IT IS

IF I COULD GET YOU PREGNANT

THIS WOULDN'T BE AN ISSUE

teakay:  HAHAHA

I WISH I WERE PREGGERS

I WOULDN'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS

Plus, I hear after having kids the pain is less.

me: I'm so sorry I couldn't impregnate you from 500 something miles away.  D;

. . .

Those clear green eyes focus on my lumberjack shirt.  You issue the command, "Take it off."  I don't remember how I'm the one on my back.  Isn't it usually the other way around?  I sit up and snicker.  You look at me expectantly.  "What are you waiting for?"

I go for a kiss.  My eyes feel heavy and they close for just a moment.  But our noses kinda bump.  "Oops," I laugh.  Your fingers thread into my hair, guiding me to a slight tilt. 

It's a light peck.  I pull back quick -ready to apologize. 

Licking my lips, I taste apples.  You roughly bite my lower lip, tugging at it.  My eyes widen.  I gasp.  Your cloudy green eyes look back at me half-lidded.  Those nails of yours graze my scalp, giving me shivers going all the way down my spine.

You press on.  Your tongue goes past my parted lips.  I can taste a coating of slick nicotine as you glide past my tongue, following the gum line.  I shudder.  Your body presses against mine and soon enough my back is on the ground again.  Each warm burst of air you exhale, I inhale.  It's something I can't describe.

I'm alive.

Each touch feeds this fire that threatens to consume my body and with it -my soul.

You read my mind as you pull away.  "No," I protest.  You grab my hands and place them on my shirt.

"Off."

I lean forward to kiss, but you place a hand on my sternum -pushing me back down.  It's an order, "Now."  I want to be annoyed, but it's hot and you're hot and fuck it.  This shirt is coming off. I work on the buttons.  You reward me with kisses trailing down my neck, "Hurry," you urge.

Teakay, you love freely.  It's like your heart is directly linked to your lips.  Hot, hungry, and completely insatiable I'm left squirming.

. . .

I never gave my friends your name.  It became a sacred word.  One that I murmured, whined, and hissed in our time together.  My friends knew you as the girl who wore men's cologne.  Artificial boldness fused with your musk.  I clung unto you hoping it would rub off on me.

Your clear green eyes reminded me of my childhood.  Something lost in time.  I regained the security.  I tasted the promise of adventures had in those forests.  And then . . .

. . .

Your earlier laughter dies down.  "No."

I smile, "It's too late for you to be modest."  Haha, I'm down to my knickers.  Your fair skin compliments the yellow sundress.  Now, I want to see what's underneath.  I look up to see those eyes.  My breath hitches at the sight because I can sense a shift in mood.  Something serious clouds your eyes and I hold you close.  My head nestles on your bosom.  You shift, those bony arms encompass me.  Fingers that have never seen hard work curl in my hair as you whisper, "No one's like you."  Your cool touch follows the lunares, beauty spots that start on the shoulders and trail down my arms: "You have thirty four-"

"Lunares."

"Lunares?"

"Sounds nicer than moles, huh?"  I nuzzle you, wanting to forget where you were going with this: "If I speak Spanish, can I romance you out of that dress?"  I wear a stupid smile, pulling away: "Para ti," I softly cooed, "For you, I'd do anything."

A smile graces your lips, but it can't bother to reach your eyes.  "No one's like you," your green eyes no longer hold the forests of my childhood.  I see sadness . . . why?  I go to say something, but you place a finger on my lips, "Shhh."  The dress once stripped reveals bruises on that ivory complexion.

I'm speechless.

“When I complain about the bruises or pain," you pause.  "He says that comes with the territory," you glance at the dress before looking at me . . .  as though for the first time this entire week: "and everyone else just stops."  A smile -that not quite smile- returns, "No one's like you."  For the first time, you look at me the same way I look at you.

Are you like me?  Wondering to yourself: how in the world did I ever get so lucky?  Because trust me, you can have better.  I'm silent.  What am I suppose to say to that?

"Thank you?"

The foxy grin returns.  Your green eyes disappear into gleeful slits, "You're adorable!"  I'm blushing, I can feel the heat on my cheeks.  I'm lying on the cool hardwood floor.  I look to the ceiling as your kisses trail down, but something's amiss.  You're holding back.  I'm drunk so what do I know?  I don't want to question the happiness: however . . .

I rub my face.  It's not right.  "Stop."

Your last kiss falls on my navel.  That smile is gone.  Your green eyes mist over, "Why?"  We both sit up and I embrace you, kissing your temple.  I gingerly rub your back.  The bruises . . .   I think about the previous lovers in your life and I see a pattern.

I think about how they always chase after you: the ice queen.  And realize . . . I'm no different.

This stupid smile on my face hurts.  God, it hurts.  I kiss your forehead thinking to myself, "With this kiss, I am telling you that I love you."

"Why?"  A plaintive cry leaves your apple sweet lips.  You cling to me.

I’m light and grateful you’re holding me down –I nearly start to worry that I might float away.  Nothingness takes over.  You're my anchor, Teakay.  I want to say something, I swear I do.  But I'm choking up.

I embrace the lightness and float far away, "It's going to be okay."  I think I said that out loud to make it real.

 . . .

Happiness is fleeting that way.