genamarie

The Secret Garden
2010-09-12 16:22:32 (UTC)

The rest of the dream

I feel the drops of amber heaven roll down my throat. They
burn, as I remember, but the warmth make me happy. And I
open my eyes again and his eyes are full of sorrow. His
hand sits on the table where I pulled away from him. He
closes his eyes and tears roll down his cheeks. I reach
for his hand, and he pulls away. He stands. "I can't do
this to you." He turns to walk away, his shoulders low, as
though he's been beaten. I rise, silently, swiftly, and go
to him. "Don't leave. Please, don't leave."
"But this isn't right. I should go."
"No," I say. "It isn't." I motion to the table. "Your
drink is still there. I told you we would drink together,
just one. Please." Desperation threatens to choke me
off. "Please don't go. I made this choice myself. I know
what could happen. You didn't do this to me..." He smiles,
that sad smile that reaches to his eyes and takes my hand
in his. He lifts it, looking into my eyes. Without taking
his eyes off mine, he pulls his hand to his mouth,
watching my eyes, my face, my body. He kisses my hand,
then turns it over and kisses my palm. I close my eyes as
I lean a bit closer. He pauses and I feel his breath on my
fingers, my wrist. I open my eyes and he is watching me,
sadness still in his eyes. I pull my hand back, gripping
his in mine. I walk to the table and point. "Drink," I
say. "Drink the drink." I feel something rise in me,
something frightening. Something I haven't felt in years.
He looks into the glass, as if maybe he's having second
thoughts, but we both know what is going to happen, and he
shoots the liquid. "Happy?" He says in a voice I've never
heard him use.
"Not yet," I say, and I step closer to him. I start to
feel the effects of the alcohol I drank, but it doesn't do
to me what it always has. My inhibitions are not fading.
"Let's sit," I say. We sit. This man, who I never figured
for a kitten, sits with me. I move my chair over to his
side of the round table. He looks at me, curiousity
filling the space in his eyes that was vacated when the
hunger left. I put my right hand in his, and lift my left.
I look at him, he smiles. A real smile, a smile that says
all is well, that we're in this together, come what may.
Glasses appear on the table as he turns and kisses me. I
don't pull away, I don't close my eyes. I don't feel
sorrow or anger or shame. I don't feel shy, I don't feel
ambarrassed. I feel...relieved. I run my left hand through
his hair, pulling into me and then I wake up...




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