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Exist with me. We’d do so beautifully.
--Alaska Gold
Guess you'd forgotten what it meant to belong.
Since you'd stepped out, cut yourself off, detached your world from the rest of theirs'. Since you'd said goodbye (and Chandler was right- to say goodbye is to die a little) and were forced to choose the road he did not take. Since you'd disappeared, the memories of him following you like a shadow on your skin, a part of you never quite washed away by time.
Since you'd been gone, lived a life in pieces, places on the map. Plane rides and marked days on calendars. Hours that were counted and nights that were wasted. Conversations had, had not, and imagined. Fights, accidental, incidental, intended. Sex, consenting and dubious, violent, restless. Friends, masked, disguised, lying cowards and puppets on a string. Clockwork dolls come alive at midnight's striking behind your back. Drinks, copious, plenty, dizzying. Minds, made up, creased, unfolded, deconstructed.
Best friend, singular, history, immutable.
He showed up in front of the mansion one day, unannounced. It was Sunday morning of a long weekend. What holiday, you didn't remember.
You'd invited him in, you in a teal Zara tee, shorts, and Prada slippers--the velvet one with a monkey stitched on, your personal favorite, for unexplainable reason, him in the National (you'd listened to that band before, and you didn't know what to say, the next time Graceless came on the radio. That drumming. Those lyrics. That low, melancholic voice.) tee and black, knee length jeans.
You padded into the kitchen, and he followed. Opened the cupboard and grabbed a box of cereal. He handed you a bowl he'd gotten from the plates rack next to the sink. You thanked him with a nod, pouring the cereal--boring Kelloggs cornflakes with dried strawberry pieces. You had a gym. You had a trainer. You had a diet. He'd given you a free day once, and you almost broke down in the middle of a diner because that greasy, calories wagon of a hamburger was too good. The equivalent of heaven in your mouth- the one that didn't involve another's tongue.--into the bowl and turned around. He'd had the carton of milk ready, and you grabbed the from him, corner smile at your lips.
Thanks, you said, and he waved a hand.
Mixed the cereal in with the milk, and he'd placed the spoon in the bowl.
All set, he declared, and you couldn't help grinning.
You'd woken up this morning with an empty mind, not the kind people tended to start their days with--their lives' clock reset, but the kind that struck you still and locked you down.
The kind that instilled questions in your mind--needless ones that required open-ended, debatable answers, phrases that were never quite properly defined. The kind that made your pillow heavy, your legs light, your heart shaken.
What am I doing with my life? asked the question, and you'd dismissed it off, told it to leave.
How am I spending it, gambling my time away? you'd gotten nightmares, dark ones. Dreams that caused you to bolt up straight in the middle of the night. But none, none as pressing, none as terrifying, as possessive, obsessive over your heart as this.
Why am I living this way? Hush. Hush now. You'd covered your ears, and turned on your side, curling into the fetal position, grabbing the pillow next to you and holding it tight in your arms.
Did it mean anything? This life? When it's about to end...soon? Ghosts haunted. Mistakes scarred. Questions tormented, tortured, wouldn't leave you be.
What could I--how could I do this---exist. When life's like thi---
Static. Interrupted transmission. You'd succeeded in blocking them out, somewhat, the questions.
You'd woken up this morning, with the questions wiping your mind clean. And you'd decided to take it slow for a day, late wake up, late breakfast.
You'd woken up this morning unsure of life and afraid of committing to decisions and he'd appeared. The final note, the perfect ingredient, the crucial element.
He'd made it clear.
You'd blinked, and the world solidified with him in the picture, with him in the room. Your feet more steady on the ground, your heartbeats sounds consistent in your chest. Your ears catching in the subtleties of your surroundings, and your mind regaining a grasp on itself.
There was meaning. There were answers, he'd made you realized that. There were people, and then there was him.
You sat down on a stool on the other side of the kitchen bar, cereal bowl in your hands. He sat on the stool next to yours, waiting.
For a minute there was only the crispy chomp, chomp sound of you munching on your cereal, and the tsk, tsk sound of his finger picking at a loose thread on a leg of his jeans.
Then you stopped, placed the bowl on the counter, and turned to him.
Why'd you come? you asked, surveying his eyes. Was only curious, really, nothing more. The chocolate browns were clear, calm, the lips seemed ready to break into a smile.
No reason, he answered, finger drawing across the skin above your lip, and came away with a drop of milk, white on pale skin.
Wanted to see you.
You raised a hand, Hey--you can't just—
And that was when it happened.
His hands cupped your cheeks, drew you into him, his eyes shut, his lips pressed onto yours.
And you blinked, eyes wide.
He'd caught you unaware, for the first time. Caught you when you'd let your guard down. Caught you in your kitchen, milk on your lips and half a broken piece of cereal on your shorts. Caught you when your mind was wandering, seeking for a place to stay.
Caught you. And coaxed you back to him. To this. To time. To pain. To relief. To breathing. To feeling.
You eased into his lips, let your eyelids flutter close, let your hands hold onto his waist.
Turned his way and let your lips taste him whole.
And that was when you'd realized this was how it felt.
His lips told you so. I'm here, they were saying, I'll be here.
And I want you to be here with me.
That this was how it was to hold on, to rest your heart, unpack at a place, to have a home in someone.
To feel that you belong.