FEEL

34. Anchorage

Anchorage ~ the desire to hold on to time as it passes.

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

I was pulled out of sleep by a weight denting the right side of my bed, the side that I was facing. A soft thumb ran gently across my cheek and my eyes drew open. I had barely bidden sleep farewell when smooth lips grazed over my own in soft, slow little pecks. Once, twice, then lingered the third time. Three times, four and then he captured my bottom lip between his. A soft hum rang out of his chest, like he relished the task, and I never felt more adored in my entire life.

I tipped my chin up, following the steady, savory pace of his kiss. Just like that, all thought and logic leaves my brain and I'm left with a hazy flur of nothings. A familiar buzz hits my senses, carries itself through my blood in hot pleasant waves that engulf my entire body. I'm getting addicted, I realize. This is a high. It's a high and he's the cause of it. Our lips synchronized. Our breaths found their way to a heavy rhythm. My hands went to grip his shirt at the chest and he let out a shaky exhale that burnt the air between us. My hands flattened. His heartbeat smashed against my palm, hard and fast, like there was a storm breaking out inside his chest.

Mr Pierce put his hand over one of mine and gave it a gentle squeeze like he was saying, keep them there. My own heart squeezed at the minor gesture and I could find nothing more to do but comply. The way his lips moved more ardently against mine told me that he approved of my compliance.

We were trapped in a state of blissful limbo, laying on our sides on the bed, our lips connected with no intentions of ever severing. If I had the choice, I'd seal our lips together until death took time into its own hands and halted ours on this lifetime. And then I would find him in the next and do the same. Forever, until the earth seizes to exist and life no longer has breath. Until there is no such thing as a soul or a spirit or any vessel that can see and feel and touch. Until the heavens crash and hell burns to ashes. I'd do it all for him not to stop.

But he does. He pulls away, lets his breath hits my lips as he keeps us just inches apart. My eyes fall open. His are still closed. I watch him take in a breath or two. Then, he joins our lips again and my eyelids close. Gripping him by the shirt, I pull him closer. Push my chest to his so that our bodies connect. So that our hearts could beat in a beautiful symphony. So that his chest could rise over mine and fall onto it with each of his breaths.

He takes the back of my neck, pulls me closer, runs his tongue along my bottom lip. A soft hum escapes my lips at the way the action causes a new wave to run beneath my skin. Heavier, carrying more pleasure. With a short grunt, Mr Pierce pulls away. My fingers tighten around his chest, gripping his shirt in a fist.

“Don't stop,” I whisper in earnest. “Please don't stop.”

He gulps, shaking his head. “I have to.”

When I don't let go, Mr Pierce takes my hands, pries my fingers from his shirt and then gets up from the bed. The more he distances us, the more the high fades, and I feel myself growing cold and sober. The sound of the door closing almost makes me want to cry. Because it's the sound of him leaving.

~°~

I read somewhere that addiction not only hooks you to the substance that you're addicted to, but it also sends your emotional danger sensing circuits into overdrive. This means that when you go without said substance, you might show symptoms of stress or anxiousness.