ACHES

15. salt

"When do you leave tomorrow?" I asked, watching him smoke on the balcony from the bed. I felt pretty, how I usually did in the afterglow. His cigarette burned red and angry. I swung my legs off the bed, pulling on my underwear and his wrinkled shirt.

"Don't ask about that," he pouted, inhaling deeply. His gritty stubble and open lap lured me in, and I sat on his thighs, stroking his curls. The city was alive below us, and I fed off its energy, kissing into his neck and over his collarbones. His chin tipped up to give me access. I heard the cigarette crackle in my ear, listening to him sigh as I hummed into his skin.

"Can I make you stay?"

"I'll be too tired to leave if you don't sleep soon," he laughed, a lazy hand on my hip.

"Then I won't sleep."

"I'll be back in a week, remember?" He put a finger under my chin so I would look at him. I looked at his mouth. "I don't want to leave you either."

"What if I forget you?" I asked, joking seriously. I really meant, 'What if you forget me?'.

"I'll remind you, sweetheart," he kissed me with weak lips. I liked him like this, exhausted and easygoing. Salt on his skin and hair frizzy from my hands.

"Can you..." I mumbled, trailing off as my heart raced.

"Can I what?" He was so sweet.

"It's ridiculous, but..." I closed my eyes, "Can you put your cigarette out on me?"

He laughed.

"I'm serious." I stared at his chest.

He cleared his throat, "No, I won't, sweetheart."

"I won't get mad or anything," I urged. "I want it."

"You don't want that, okay?" He frowned, the cigarette dwindling between his fingers. He stroked my cheek with his thumb gently. "I don't want to do that."

"Please," I whispered, to keep my voice from wavering, "Think of it like a tattoo."

"We can go get a real tattoo instead, darling," he kissed my lips, apologetic and gentle. "We can go when I get back, okay?"

"Just do this for me," I shook, begging and bleary-eyed.

"No," was all he said, simple and firm. I was an idiot. Before I could stop myself, I plucked the remains of the cigarette from between his fingers, and pressed the burning end of it to the apex of my hip bone. He grabbed my wrist in shock, yanking it away from my body, batting the cigarette from my hand.

"What's wrong with you?" He spat, more surprised than angry. He sat up, carrying me with him, my legs wrapped around his waist. He took me to the bathroom, setting me on the counter as he rifled through my cabinet. "Why would you do that?"

I didn't have an answer for him. I sat in silence, stupid tears drying on my cheeks. He washed off the burn carefully, apologizing for the sting, a deep crease between his eyebrows. He let cool water run over it, sighing. It pooled on the countertop. He stopped when I started shivering. He applied a burn cream he found in the cabinet with two careful fingers, spreading it slowly. He picked me up again, bringing me to the bedroom and laying me in bed.

"I will not always be here to take care of you," he leaned in close, demanding my attention. "I need to know you will be okay without me here."

"I'm okay."

"You can't do stupid things like that."

"I won't. It was stupid."

He kissed my forehead. "I love you."

He was crying quietly when he left the room.