They knew each other’s secrets now. Every inch of her imperfections was engraved in his mind like poetry. All his noises had been delicately recorded in her archive. She could pull them out at a moment’s notice recalling how his eyes smiled as he made them. They laid peacefully like a puzzle newly assembled. He stayed inside her until time exhausted the feat. He kissed her. They spoke in silent smiles, both a little breathless. She touched his face wiping a bit of sweat off his forehead.
“I love you.”
He took a breath as he heard her. All these months and he thought it about her. She had beat him to it. But had it built up or was it always so and just now uttered? It had been an instant connection for him. That night in the rain, the first night they kissed. He felt it then. He felt it whether she was near or far. She owned him that way. For some reason, the words…
“You don’t have to say it back. I just felt like saying it now. When you make love to me, I feel whole. When I’m with you, I feel whole. I feel loved in your arms. I’m not numb when you’re inside me. It feels real to me, natural and real. It’s healing. I come to you in fragments and you put me back together. Is that selfish?”
He looked into her eyes as if he would never see her again. He felt a lump in his throat and the tears came. She was touched to see him so undone. It was one of the things she loved about him. His eyes reddened from the tears. The tears that were not for her but for the situation. He cried because he felt everything with her and nothing without her. Most importantly he cried for making her feel so loved and in two hours they would have to go their separate ways, again. As much as he played the fantasy out in his head, he knew the reality was that it was impossible at the moment and it was painful. She held him against her breasts. The salt from his pain trickled towards her neck. She felt a sting in her eyes. He was unable to speak, not with words.
She wiped his tears caressing his face, tracing the stubble down to his chin. The soft light from the window made her look like an angel and he wanted to engrave it, guard it with the rest of her in his heart. He kissed her softly, tenderly at first but then he ravaged her again, fiercely until she called out his name. He gave in with his mouth on hers. Sighs and breaths speaking their own language. They were fluent in each other. No translation needed, thoughts and bodies welded together by their story, their love story.
He watched her get dressed in segments. Her long brown wavy hair tousled. He felt a satisfaction in knowing he caused it. She slipped her jeans on and started to laugh.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“You cried a lot and now you’re okay. Is it the sex?”
He blushed as if she had discovered another secret that he wanted to make sure remained a secret. But she knew him. He smiled back a little embarrassed that he had cried so much. She came towards him and straddled him. She laughed again.
“I’m just teasing you. I’ve never known a man so comfortable with his emotions. You know that. I’ve told you the first time I ever saw you cry.”
“You overwhelm me. I can’t help it and—”
“Shh…” She put her left forefinger over his mouth. They looked at each other for an eternity in a moment that seemed like a dream. He squeezed her against him, kissing her neck, slowly working his way up to her mouth. She closed her eyes taking him in, recording all the touches of skin like a recipe. Routine goodbye, usual lullaby. It was getting late and she hopped off, he pulled her hand. He didn’t want to let go. She sighed as she set herself free. She would not linger, not like before. There, as he saw her walk away for the millionth time, he felt a pain in his belly. It worked its way up to his heart as she slipped way.
She was going back to him and he had to meet his Carol for breakfast at that place she wanted to get catering for Alex’s thirteenth birthday party. It stung as it always did. This time, however, it consumed his veins until they exploded into a heat he had never felt before. There was a desperation in his entire being, overtaking the pulse of his existence. He was making himself sick. He had to shake it off. He grabbed his coat as if on auto pilot. He dropped the hotel key as he tried to grab it. He looked at it for a long while, like a bug on the floor he needed to step on. It made him angry. A temporary world created for temporary healing. He stared at the mirror, he hated himself. He was slowly dying without her. This wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. He walked off like an unpredictable storm, slamming the door behind him. He had to do something. Now!
©2020 Mel Gutiér