Monday, 27 May 2013

Lochxygen (ha, JESUS. A portmanteau for breakfast).

I don't own you but I know you're mine
Never disown you, never treat you unkind

But once in a while, you get on my nerves
Once in a while, you get what you deserve
I need you ninety-nine percent of the time
Ninety-nine percent of the time
Lochlan caught me like a boomerang on the way back from refilling tea cups on the porch for those who had retired outside to play guitar and discuss the fate of the world. I left a plate of much-appreciated cookies there too and I'm sure they were gone before the door closed behind me.

Hey, he said. He pulled me into him so hard I lost my breath. He kissed me, pulling me up the steps, unbuttoning his shirt, steering me down the hall until we can get past the doors. He unzips my dress but then pulls up the hem. Forget it, leave it on, can't wait. His arms are so tightly wrapped around me I can't breathe. I bite his lip and he changes gears, pulling his head back to stare at me, barely focused on my eyes, breath coming fast against my nose.

I know she's in there, he says abruptly, both hands holding my face firmly now so I can't look away. Instead I kick at him, frowning. A child's response. All I've got now, because he's going to systematically dismantle the wall I spent all week building.

Bridget, he says. Peanut. Mine. His hands tighten and then he moves them back to pull my hips against his.

I'm sorry, I choke it out. It hurts to even say it. (LOYALTY RESTORED, says my brain in a deep booming voice like when you play Quake and it announces things like QUAD DAMAGE and INVISIBILITY.)

Me too. But you can't hide from me, Peanut. I don't work that way.

I know. I didn't know what else to do. I put my arms around his neck and he pulls me up into his lap, tucking my head down against his shoulder, pressing against it with his iron jaw.


His arms are locked tight, his legs taking all the work, his hands forcing me to move when I want to stay close. He fights with this for a while before pushing me onto my back again, his arms underneath me, his face against my neck. He finds his rhythm, slow, harsh and colorless. He loses himself, holding me so tightly I have to fight for space to breath or everything will disappear and I don't want it to. Not with him. Not now.

Finally he says my name in the lowest rumbly-jagged voice ever. Bridget. With that, whatever work had been done on repairing my stupid, shattered heart becomes the biggest waste of time that ever was because it's ruined again and we're back where we started.

He stops moving gradually, pulling his hands up to my face once again. He kisses me gently. Softer than usual, slower than usual. Taking forever and I've decided I might be able to live without air after all.

But he starts up again, pulling me in close against his skin, pulling my tired limbs up around his own, always tensed. I tell him I can't. That I need sleep and he says what I need is right here, it's this, us. I'm still nodding as he lifts me up and turns me over. He puts his hand down on the back of my head and my goosebumps form a barrier between us. It makes him laugh. He's up on his knees, pulling my hips into him for so long I get cold and the goosebumps turn to sandpaper to the point where he turns me back around to face him and holds himself up slightly, just enough to make me want him more.

I don't remember when we stopped but I do remember he didn't move away and we stayed locked together tightly all night like we used to when all we had was a rickety little single cot, no heat and no plans as to how we would stay together, just that we would, no matter what.

I wake up with aching lungs and his eyelashes for a view. He senses when I am awake and his eyes open slowly, halfway only. He peers at me, his green eyes confused and grateful and sated.

Morning, gorgeous. Hungry?

No. I'm pretending I'm not awake yet so I can stay here with you. 

He smiles so wide I almost get pushed onto the floor except he's not letting go.