“Well, hey there, Button.” The bird stares straight at me—doesn’t respond yet doesn’t fly away. “I don’t know if you heard any of what I just said—but this lifetime’s Aaron and Benjamin didn’t get their happiness.” I move to sit on my heels, speaking up to the bird like I’m confessing a sin.
I’m tortured bywhat could have been, and what I’m left with after dying with him and then living with him so peacefully.
Neither were real—neither mercy was ever truly given to me.
The breeze ruffles the bird’s feathers—it cocks its head. I’m still crying.
“You waited, huh? Well, I woke up. And I hear you.” It chirps. “It’s time, yeah? I’ll follow you.” The bird flaps its wings once—chirps again.
I stand, dusting off my jeans. There’s a renewed sense of peace in me. I feel the relief of loneliness let go—the decision had long since been made. It may have been in a dream—but that doesn’t make it a lie. What I said rings true, even now:if you go—I’m going too.No matter where.
“Benjamin Archer—I will meet you in our next life. And when we find each other—when I finally see you again—it’ll bemewho is on their knees, begging for redemption.Youwill bemygod.”
The little blue bird flies away.
Epilogue
His mouth tasted so sweet—his skin smelled of chrysanthemums. Those were the first things I noticed when he touched me that night.
I hadn’t intended on following him home—I hadn’t intended on getting familiar with the feeling of his hands tugging at the curls of my hair or his heart beating so quickly against my own.
There were so many things there—in that night, that never-ending desire—that made no sense to me, yet felt routine all the same. As if we’d been there before—as if he’d always known how to touch me.
And my body—God—it was as if my body knew his. Lighting up at his every touch, shivering at the feel of his breath, anticipating and begging for anything—anythingelse he’d give me. More, more, more. I responded to him in the way you respond to a lover you’d trust your soul with.
He put his tongue in my mouth and stripped me naked; his hands conquered every inch of me. As I lay sprawled out on his bed that smelled so flowery and sweet—he devoured me. And when those intense, calculating, green eyes locked onto mine, they seemed to tell me:yes, baby—we’ve been here before.Welcome home.I’ve missed you so much.
And when he sank into me fully—connecting us to our very cores—those demanding, dominating eyes began to cry.
Drip by drip his tears fell onto me—into my mouth and mixed in with my own as they slid down my cheeks. He seemed overwhelmed, maybe even a bit mournful. His hands held me like they’d been so patiently waiting to do just that for so many years—centuries even. His voice was so soft, so scared and possibly even confused when he leaned down and—right against my mouth, as he thrust into me as if he were trying to memorize each sensation as he went—he said:
“I…Let me worship you.Even if it’s just for tonight.” He sounded broken, so desperate for it. There was no part of me, especially with his sensual, slow thrusts building a heat so deep inside of me, that wanted to deny him.
“Okay.”
And he did. He kissed and licked and touched every inch of me—insisted on becoming familiar with all parts of my body. And then, when I would come, he’d hold me as I’d cry and he’d say:
“God—this is our souls connecting.I’m learning your spirit as well as your body.I want it all.”
He’d been so greedy. I came over and over again, so much pleasure at his hands as he stared down at me with so much longing, so much fear and uncertainty.
And after so many hours, or maybe not many—time became a warped thing in our never-ending desire, that endless night—he finally let himself come. So deep inside of me—he was so deep inside of me. I wept. I wept for so long, so harshly. I don’t remember why. I just remember feeling the need. Feeling the overwhelming, desperate urge to sob and hold him—to feel every pulse and groan that left his body.
And I wept for a long time after—but he held me then, too. He held me and shushed me, kissing away tears that wouldn’t go away—not really. Not when his own were building onto mine and neither of us were able to stop this onslaught of emotion.
Why? Why were we like that? What was that hot, horrible, desperate emotion coursing through me as I was wrapped in his arms—as I felt him still settled so deep into my core?
I had never felt anything like that before. That kind of desire, that kind of sorrow or fear. And now—every moment he is not touching me feels like a moment I am committing a sin. I don’t know how to make sense of what happened in that bedroom.
And now here I am, staring out of this window and replaying every moment. Every breath he took—every groan that slipped past his lips—every time he’d hold me as close as he possibly could and he’d say—
“I know—I know, baby.Just like that—you like it just likethat.” As if he already knew. Somehow—some way—he did.
“Hey.” My eyes are drawn from the window, turning in my chair to see him there in the doorway. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I will never be able to get it out of my skin.
“You’re so beautiful.Fuck—you’re so beautiful.I’d do anything—anything you asked.Anything for you.On my knees—I’d beg you for a single touch.”
“Hey.” I shove the memories away—focus on his present attention—not the way he gave himself to me not so long ago.
