Playing Jacks

x. Life's a Tease

x. Life’s a Tease

“I’m sorry Jacks, I’m so sorry.  I got to Chattanooga and I knew I should just keep going, I shouldn’t come back but if I was going to die then I had to see you one more time . . . to apologize at the very least . . . and to say good-bye . . . and . . .”

Jacks swallows the wild torrent of words and, silenced, Sophie whimpers, melting into the arms that have secured her, here, against Jacks’ rock body.  His hands squeeze her, over and over again, trying to ensure that she’s real.  The day’s been too long, too taxing and it’s entirely possible that his mind has conjured in dreams what he only wishes was true.

But her assurances are tangible flesh in his hands and the low purring moan of her contentment in his arms.  She’s real.  His hands have never been more aware of their mundane gift- the soft give of flesh, the hard ridge of bone, the shape of her curves.  His eyes may drink in the marred beauty, his ears may lap at the soft sounds she makes, his mouth may boast to know her very taste, but his hands envy none of them. 

She yelps against his mouth, jerking reflexively away from his touch- but not away from him.  Pressed against his chest, she tries to stifle the sobs that come with the reminder of all she’s endured and all that still pursues her.

Scolding himself for forgetting the bruises, Jacks gently wraps her battered body and brings her closer.  The reassurance isn’t simply for her. Then, surprising even himself, Jacks bends and lifts her soft body against his, cradling her against his chest.  She yelps a little and stiffens, but Jacks doesn’t release her.  He doesn’t even make an explanation.  Opening the dirty door into the slum that’s served as his home for the past two weeks; he carries her over the threshold as if the room embodied opalescence. 

The plain room is irrelevant.  Jacks kicks the door closed, his attention locked on the woman in his arms.    Gingerly laying her on the tattered blankets, he eases closer and finds her again.  Even as they share their breath, their lips silently speaking languages no ear has ever heard, Jacks cannot look away.  Her presence is ephemeral, like the ghosts that lifted from the pool and vanished into the night’s inky atmosphere.  If he strays, if he looks away- she’ll be gone.

He can’t let her go.

The springs groan, telling of his sly advances and like one betrayed, he freezes in place.  Body and soul, he wants this distance gone- these inches between them.  Emotion too poignant to remain unprotected shimmers in those eyes.  Her lids cover their exposure with languid grace, a drop of her soul clinging to a long length of eyelash. 

Throat tight and breath stopped, he’s frozen- then quickly, before it’s lost, his kisses journey with small skips up her cheek to capture the clear jewel.  The sweet brine flavors his lips.

Her hand cups the back of his head, lightly catches his forehead against hers and, together, they can breathe again.

Wanderlust overtakes his heart, his hands, his lips.  He seeks every wide, purple bruise.  His lips comfort the tender skin.  It does nothing to assuage her hurt.  His soft Sophie’s breath shatters.  Her small body trembles beneath him with fear and memories.

“Jacks,” she calls, like a quiet mew. “Make me forget.  Please, please . . .”

A low feral growl- right into her hungry mouth- answers her plea, the animal heat ripping through the very center of his body to fight against its restraints.  His hand finally finally  around her lush thigh, he hitches it up around his hip to bear down on her shorts through his denim. 

She tries to pull him closer.

“Jacks!  Hey!  Jacks!” Someone screams in time to the pounding on their door.