Darling & Foster

Fourteen

"Isn't this dangerous?"

Dangerous. Danger. Those words and their meanings merely had slipped my mind, and if I dare, I think that they've lost their origin altogether. Because Foster is gripping my waist, my shoulders, my back and the canvas of the sky is made from red rock. It's so heavy, the atmosphere. The sight of this and that above this is water and above that is air. It makes me want to hold my breath. It makes me want to lean back my head onto his chest. It makes me want to close my eyes. 

But then I remember: the only reason he's holding me is because he's holding me back. From the earthy, mutilated pyramid that could react to our presence in a bad way. The fish swim under it, unaware of anger that could set their colors in stone. It's so powerful, so strong and it doesn't know it. It sits still, it lets the waters overcome it, it waits for something to give. 

And then Foster goes, "It could be." And I think he sways, the tiniest amount. The laziest effort that makes my bones warm. Not just my bones, but my skin. Cheeks. Lungs. And my heart feels bubbly - fizzy like it might burst.

I was a little afraid he would pull away and eventually, he did. 

I had gotten re-acquainted with the cold when he said, "Isn't it amazing?"

And I declared that it was, then he went out of the cave and told me to follow. I did. We kicked our feet and drifted upward and I followed. And then we were at the tip-top and the oxygen hit my face. I was breathing harder than I thought I would and felt the need to sit down. I sensed the black dots clouding my eyes and my stomach turning over a bit, so I got out of the water. 

Foster dunked his head, came back up with glittering hair and the brightest eyes. And I was sat on a rock, clasping my hands, rubbing my forehead, wondering if it really was that hot. It felt worse than normal, I got the waves and the empty and the pain but this one felt different. It felt more dreadful. I guessed Foster wouldn't notice.

Then, "Hey Darla," 

"Yeah?"

He had taken his shirt off, I didn't notice until now. And he tossed it on the dirt beside me. His bruises glistened like his wet hair, under the sun and the droplets of water, making this seem much more colorful and much more painful. I couldn't look too long, it made my heart sink. It made the blood in my veins stop right in their tracts, to take a look at the mass of beauty and madness that lay in front of me. 

"Hope you don't mind."

That snapped me out. But he was gone then. Under the water. I wondered if the lake would feel bad for him, and wash away his pain and the clusters of color stuck to his skin. And if it didn't, I think I might.