The Stranger

20

Matt’s chest is glued to my back, his arms circle my body, and his hands guide the bike firmly on the road.
I can feel his chest raise calmly under his jacket, and his chin is slightly resting on my shoulder, with his long hair tingling my cheeks.
We have driven for almost 30 minutes now, and I don’t know where we are going or which are his intentions. But, frankly, I don’t care.
I am with him, only this matters.
I observe the open road in front of me. Unknown people passing by. The shops ready to shut down their doors and rest for the night. The restaurants and the bars are welcoming new customers, and I can only feel one emotion: freedom.
The freedom of the wind on my face, of the unknown. The freedom of open up about my feelings for the man next to me, of the words that finally are out of my chest.

*****
After 40 minutes and miles behind us, I smell the salty air of the sea, and I hear the waves move like thunders.
We get down from the bike, without sharing a word. Admiring the sadness and the desolation of the place. We leave the bike resting in a corner and walk side by side, wrestling against the force and the rebellion of the wind.
Matt has sunk his hands in the pockets of the jeans, and zipped the black jacket, trying to warm up a bit. Meanwhile, my teeth are shuddering like the steps of a flamenco dancer, even though I am covered up with layers and layers of clothes.
Matt rushes his steps on the white sand, closing his eyes when a cold shiver attacks his skin. And I guess he is thinking about in what a bad decision he has made in choosing the beach for our talk. I fallow him, and when he sits on the ruins of an old, shattered boat, I sit next to him, bouncing my niece to his.
He shakes his head at my silly movement and breaths in the smell of the sea. “I shouldn’t have taken you here. The weather is worst than shit.”
I nod. “You should have picked some fancy place, with candles and warmth,” I say, teasing him.
“I know. I am a beast,” he states, gripping defeated his lips and trying to not curse to himself.
“I was kidding, stupid.” I chuckle at his reaction. “This place is the best choice because I am with you.”
“Even if I am a beast?”
I shrug. “You are my beast.” And no one can say a word against him.
“Where did you go with the lawyer?” he asks suddenly, uneasy. “I bet he took you in some fancy place with music and expensive wine.”
“It was a normal restaurant,” I minimize.
“But you liked the guy,” he insists, and I sight at his useless insecurity.
Matt is really stubborn sometimes. How can he still not understand that I like him and only him? “He was nice, but he wasn’t you.”
He nods and stares at his hands, spacing out. And I divert my gaze on the isolated, empty beach, with the cold, wet sand, and the rumors of the waves that jump restless, in time with the blow of the wind.
Usually, when I go to places that belong to summer, I feel lonely and little. Like a new born cat without his mom. But today, I feel like the dark clouds are replaced by a burning sun; the smell of the rain is replaced by the smell of the sunscreen; the steamy coffee is replaced with lemonade and iced tea, and for a moment I taste a slice of summer.
My thoughts are interrupted by the barking of a dog, and my eyes follow him and stop onto an old man seating on a rock, fishing. He is surrounded by the grey of the sky and the rocks, kissed by the frozen water, seem ready to swallowing him down.
“That man seems trapped in a painting,” I say, indicating the spot where the stranger is seating.
Matt follows my finger with his eyes and when I stop he grabs it, starting to play with it. “It is sad.”
“Not with you.” I smile, watching him interweave our fingers.
“You are surprising me tonight.”
“Why?” Describing the emotions I am feeling right now is impossible.
What can I say when I have my cold hand on his own? When my head is resting on his comfortable shoulder? When his scent lingers sweetly under my nose? When his body is glued peacefully to mine? When is the sea shielding us like a cocoon?
“Because, finally, you are expressing what your heart desires,” he says, gluing our trembling bodies even more. “It’s comforting hearing this from you.”
“Well, you are just like me when comes to express your feelings.” He could have said something. Anything. Give me a small hint about his feelings and not only talk about his sexual desires.
He could have confronted me. Saying:  I know you are dying for me. Stop running, faking, and come to me. I want you, too.
But, I guess we are just human, and we like a complicated life, not an easy one. Who wants an easy job? One given without any effort? We like the struggle, the obstacles, the adrenalin of the fight, the fear of losing the things we want the most because the reward tastes so much better. So much sweet, and gratifying. Like the hand I am grabbing at this moment and the lips that are posing slowly and inviting on mine.
After months of waiting, the reward is breath-taking. It’s like a jump in the void or a walk on the clouds, with my stomach flipping at every touch or twist of our tongues.
It is like dancing on the moon at the pace of a soft music or it’s simply how I imagine it should be dancing on the moon.
Matt and I have kissed before. Hell! Our first meeting was all about kissing and touching, but now it’s all different. I am different. He is different. Our feelings are different.
Now it’s good. It’s right.
“Hmm… you taste salty,” Matt informs, giving me another quick peck before detaching our lips, but not our hands that are firmly entwined together.
“It’s the sea,” I reply, combing his restless hair.
“I like the feeling of your hand in my hair. It’s comforting.” At every walk of my hand through his hair, a peaceful sight escapes his mouth.
“Everything about me is comforting.”
“You are right. You are the only person I feel comfortable and uneasy being with at the same time.”
“Is it good or bad?”
He thinks at my question for a moment, moving his head from left to right as if he is unsure of what to say. A truth that maybe would hurt me or a white lie that would give me peace. He knows too well the effect that his words have on me, and the fear of causing me pain stops him. But at the end, Matt goes with the truth. “There are days that I hate what I feel for you, and other days that I am scared of losing you. From the first time my eyes fell on your innocent face, I knew I would be in trouble. But what can I say?” he raises his shoulders and looks straight into my soul. “I love troubles.”
I push him away. Even though, on my face is painted a a uncointanable smile. “So, are you saying that I am a bad thing for you?” I want to put on an angry and shocked expression, but I am failing miserably.
I am stuffed with happiness, and this state is slipping out of me, like malted, vanilla ice cream.
I am happy not only because we have finally talked about us. But also because we share the same feelings. Listening to his words, it’s like reading the thoughts I have collected during the countless nights spent analyzing him and myself. Our friendship, our no relationship, our silly idea of ignoring our feelings.
There were days I hated what I felt for him, too. The fear of losing Matt was paralyzing, but at the same time, I felt disappointed to myself, and to the need I had of him. I felt like I was cut in two: Lucas Vs Lucas. And this was a feeling I didn’t have from a long time. The time when I couldn’t accept myself and suppressed every day, a big part of me. 
Matt grabs my waist and adjusts me on his lap. “I am saying that you are the best thing in my life.” Guiding one of my hand at the center of his chest he speaks again. Meanwhile I hear the tum, tum of his heart. “You make me feel alive. And being alive doesn’t mean that a man feels always happy or full of strength. Being alive means that a man has to deal every day with a bag full of emotions: love, fear, hatred, sadness, joy, and a million more.”
I nod, incapable of adding another word to his speech. I am stunned by the river of words that Matt has shared with me. He is so used to cover his thoughts, that listening to him it is like discovering a new side of Matt.
I respond to his speech with a kiss because other words are unnecessary. And when I move apart he grabs my chin and starts a new kiss, and then it’s my turn to start another one. And we just keep going with our lips sealed together and our tongues slipping from a mouth to another, like famished snakes.
We stay seated on that ruined boat until the sky is covered in a black blanket, and the cold is unbearable.
The sea yells like a pissed God to the sand, reaching our feet with his giant weaves, and we have to jump a few times from our spot, risking to wet our clothes. And at the end, we decide that it’s time for us to go. To leave our tender cave, our passionate kisses, and the warmth of our embrace.
We reach the bike, still glued to each other, and our hearts are flying in our chests, like dreaming butterflies.
My head is resting on his shoulder and Matt gives me a light kiss, inhaling the salty aroma lingering in my hair.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, jumping on the bike and starting the engine.
I nod and take my place behind him. “We can find a restaurant on the road.”
“Something fancy?” he asks, teasing me.
I slept his shoulder. “Don’t joke with me right now. I am so hungry I could eat a dinosaur.”
“Your tastes are questionable.”
“I am peculiar,” I state, proudly.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Can we go and stop at the first place we will find on the road?” 
“Yes, my lord.” I don’t reply. I like being called his lord because he is mine.
I settle comfortably behind him and surround my arms around his waist, ready for our night.