ACHES

24. alright

The sun seemed closer today. It also seemed to be following me, seeking me out and prying me out of the shade. I sat on the front porch, listening to the hiss of sun on pavement. I rolled one of his cigarettes between my fingers. Although my skin was overheated and reddening, the chair was comfortable as I reclined and stretched out my legs. I fell into a hot, still sleep, just below the surface of unconsciousness.

His face came to me quickly, not in full color, and with blurred edges around his features. I searched for the downwards flick of his lower lashes, for the flecks of amber in his brown eyes. For a mole, for a gray hair at his temple. But I wasn't offered these details, and settled for the radiating comfort of his presence.

"Lay down," he was saying, over and over. He was whispering, calm and gentle. "Lay down."

My back was flat against some endless, cold surface. I was naked. No matter how far I stretched out my hands, I felt no edges or familiar textures. It was dark around him.

"Lay down, sweetheart." I jumped when his lips brushed my ear, right there, with me. He was right here. His hands were on my neck, soft as mist, just to feel my skin. He was cold, and I turned my head, restless. I couldn't tell if he was cold or wet.

He shushed me, "Lay down, you're alright." I took a deep breath, and let his hands slide over my collarbones. They left behind a slick trail, prickling my skin. I was mumbling, tension between my eyebrows, trying to calm myself. His mouth met mine, and the taste cleared my mind. I took easy breaths, the air cleaner and colder as he took my lip between his teeth. I moaned loudly, echoing into his mouth, making him chuckle.

"You sound so pretty," he was gasping into me. "Lay down."

He took two wet fingers, pressing them to the side of my neck. He traced down between my collarbones, over my dewey sternum, finding a spot just above my bellybutton. His mouth was consuming mine, cutting off my breath, replacing it with his sweetness and sweat. I was overwhelmed as he pressed me into the ground, feeling deliciously restricted.

"Lay down," he groaned, panting. "Lay still." He pulled back, kneeling over my thighs. He took his hands, gently pressing them along the angle of my hips. He held them there for a moment, keeping a steady pressure. When he lifted them, my hips were cold and catching the draft of the room. He swiped his thumb under his lip, leaving a red streak. He frowned, looking down at his hands. They were covered in sticky, blotchy red.

"You're bleeding," he murmured, holding a hand to my neck. I looked down at myself, his handprints covering my torso. I was breathing faster, and he applied more pressure to my neck. Thick warmth pooled down my neck. "Lay down."

"It's paint," I told him, and woke up.

I sat up, grabbing my neck before I had opened my eyes. I was breathing in shallow, panicked half-breaths, watching the sun sinking down, down, down. There was no breeze, just the afternoon heat dissipating into evening humidity. When my heart slowed down, I smoked one of his cigarettes, tears wetting my cheeks.

I called him, sobbing and choking on smoke.

"You have to come home," I told him, as soon as the line stopped ringing. I exhaled, slow, trying to calm down.

"I'm about to get on a plane, sweetheart, but–" He was worried. Someone shouted at him in the background, crackly and far away.

"I'm sorry," I cried. "I had a horrible dream, and... I don't know. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he soothed, "Are you watching the sunset?"

I paused, caught off guard by his question, "Yeah."

"We'll watch the next one together, okay?"

I swiped a tear off my cheek, "Okay."

"I've got my hand on my heart, darling. I promise." Another yell. "You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah."

"Love you, sweetheart. Go to sleep, alright?"

"Alright."

I watched the sunset, motionless and numb.