Chapter 16
“Take my hand, Stella.” And in my mind I finish the phrase, walk with me, looking toward the future.
Could it be possible? I mean, I told him he was forgiven and meant it.
Can we leave the past behind and embark on a new journey without looking back?
When I was a little girl, my mom told me the story of some people who had to flee from their homes because God was going to destroy their city, from what was known to them, and they were told not to look back, to leave the past. Those who looked back became statues of salt.
And that is what I’m becoming, a statue unable to move. I have two options, return to what I’ve known all my life without moving forward, or embark on a new path without knowing what awaits me. The first possibility implies safety, the security of the known. The second comes wrapped up with many risks. I need to leave my fears, silence the voices in my mind that tell me that I shouldn’t, that I can’t.
Nothing is impossible. I need to remember, not nothing, I’m possible. I can.
I get up from the chair and walk to where he’s waiting for me. With each step I take, his smile grows larger, encouraging me to continue.
Once I reach the place where he’s waiting for me, he takes me by the hand, guides me downstairs. We walk to the terrace, stopping for him to grab a simple Kraft paper bag from the table where we had dinner last night, which they have now put on the terrace. I look at him almost with longing, will we have a special moment again, or is this farewell?
A relationship, especially a marriage, is for two. If he’s decided to let me go, there’s nothing I can do. I would have to go home regretting not having acted in time, letting love slip away like water in my hands.
We reach the edge of the property, where a glass fence protects us from the wind. The sun is shining and the sky is clear blue, adorned with perfect little white clouds that seem to be made of cotton. In the background, you can see the blue of the ocean bordered by a line of sand. It’s beautiful, but inside me, the storm is bubbling.
This is the end.
We have reached the last chapter of our short story.
“If you really want to go,” he begins to speak. Hearing him say those words breaks my heart a little. No, that isn’t what I want. No. “I’ll take you to Carrollton myself. You’ll just have to wait a few hours for Ethan to organize our security.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he raises his hand, asking me to be quiet for a moment so he can continue. Although my hair is up in a bun, I feel it rising behind me, wanting to fly, just like my soul.
“Just because you’re not with me doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you helpless, Stella,” he says firmly. “You’re my wife, and you will always have an important place in my heart. And I don’t want you to leave here hating me.”
Hating him? I wouldn’t!
“Lionel, I don’t…”
“I told you I’d take you to see the ocean, but now I won’t be able to,” he mutters as he stands behind me. He’s close, I can feel his body, but at the same time, we’re miles apart. There is a chasm between the two. “But I want you to take the ocean with you wherever you go.”
And how is that possible?
“Close your eyes,” he tells me.
I hear the paper bag open. He takes something out and places it near my ear. I can feel his breathing on the other side of my neck.
I wish he would put his lips on my skin, kiss me, and never let me go.
He’s saying goodbye. Whatever he’s going to give me is a goodbye present.
It’s what I asked of him. He’s giving me what I asked.
And it feels horrible.
He brings the object close to my ear, and suddenly I hear a loud whir.
“Know what that is?” he asks, his voice causing a shiver to run down my skin.
“It’s a whirring sound,” I can hardly answer. I’m out of breath.
“What else?” he asks, bringing his mouth to my shoulder. God, stop doing that, or I ’ ll never leave . I’m about to turn around and start begging to forget about all this nonsense.
“It’s alive?”
“Yes, it’s alive.”
“Lionel Kral, for your sake, I hope you aren’t putting any filthy animal close to me.”
He laughs softly, this time giving me a couple of kisses on the shoulder.
The emotion is so great that it’s impossible not to notice.
“It’s the ocean, Stella, take it in your hands.”
I raise my right hand to feel what is next to my ear. His fingers touch mine. Yes, it’s alive, and I don’t mean the ocean.
Something pulses between us, letting us know it’s there. Refusing to die.
“I want you to take the ocean with you and that every time you listen to it, you think of me because without a doubt, every time I see the ocean from my window, I will be thinking of you. Legends say that the ocean’s spirit is trapped in these,” he says, putting a shell in my hands. Of course, I had seen one before, I don’t live under a rock, but I had never stopped to listen to it, much less had an idea of the existence of a legend. “Now you can take it wherever you go.”
A lump of tears tightens in my throat, I’m about to break.
What I heard was the sound of the waves, what I had read is true.
Magic exists, and I have it here, very close, so much so that I can touch it.
But more than that, I have to take the steps.
I’m the one who should do it.
I’ve never felt so powerful and so scared, all at the same time. Emotions aren’t logical, it’s about feelings. You don’t have to look for an explanation because there isn’t one.
The heart doesn’t understand schedules or deadlines on the calendar.
Love does. And in a different way, I feel it right now.
It’s new and flimsy, sprouting from the ground like a seed. We are both going to need to take care of it, I think we can do it.
Because we both want it to work.
“Lionel,” I call his name as I turn to face him.
When the chocolate in his eyes locks on the gray of mine, I feel the world disappear. The sky and the ocean don’t matter.
The vastness has become insignificant.
“Lionel, I don’t want to go,” I say quietly, I’m surprised that he heard me. I’m sure he has, because his eyes widen.
“Then don’t go,” he replies.
“You want me to stay?” Like I said before, we need to make this decision together.
“I’ve been asking you to stay since I woke up at the hospital.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
His eyes fill with humor and he smiles a little. “Of course, I want you to stay. I would never say something so important just because I have to.”
We aren’t touching. We aren’t as close as I would like us to be, yet his presence fills everything.
I’m drowning in it.
“Why do you want to stay, Stella?” Now it’s he who is asking the questions.
My heart is pounding, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I can barely hear my voice when I say, “To be your wife.”
“Thank fuck,” he says before his lips rest on mine and I forget even my name.
The lion and the lamb are becoming friends—more than that. They are planning a life together.
But some things have changed, the lion knows that it can lose its crown and the lamb has gained ammunition to defend itself.
Putting my hands on his strong chest I move away from him a little to look at those dark and warm eyes, lifting my chin up a little. The bruise on his face has faded, it’s now a yellow stain, but it’s still a reminder that life passes quickly and that tomorrow is not promised.
And yet the same questions keep popping in my head, am I ready for this?
Am I ready to trust he won’t break my heart again?
The heart says one thing, but my mind reminds me that I should go slowly.
That magnetic energy between us continues to vibrate every time he looks at me. I feel it even deep in my soul—at my core. Even though I try to stand firm and fight it, my body seems to have a will of its own.
My will breaks like the waves when they reach the shore.
“What are we going to do now?” I ask in a low voice. My lips are dry. I’m dying for him to put his back on my mouth, to moisten it.
“We’re going to start over,” he decrees. “And this time we’re going to do it right.”
I’m a deer caught by the lights, the flash of his kisses casting a spell.
He moves at full speed, it’s as if they had shot the gun to start the race. Covering my mouth with his, coaxing my lips apart, my tongue meets his, ready to dance. The kiss becomes more intense, hungrier.
I grab onto his shoulders because my stupid knees refuse to hold me. His scent is intoxicating, it fills everything. It affects me like heroin, powerful and devastating.
My fingers tangle in the long strands of his blond hair, pulling him closer to me. His mouth is still on mine, biting and tugging on my lips. When he lifts me off the floor with force, my legs wrap around his waist automatically. My nipples have hardened inside my bra. I rub against his body like a kitten and he moans in response.
In the past, heat invaded me every time he touched me.
Now, I’ve been sent on a direct, nonstop trip to the sun.
Like I have been submerged in boiling oil.
He wants me: I can feel it with his lips on mine, in his hands squeezing me from behind, in the erection that is trapped between us that I want to feel inside of me.
“We have to stop,” I say, despite my entire body protesting my words. Yes, it’s taken all my will to do it. But it’s necessary.
“As my wife wishes,” he answers, breathing fast, his chest rising and falling. “But I must warn you, this high school shit is going to get old very soon and when you finally let me get my hands all over you, on every part of your precious body, I’m going to make sure you pay for making me wait.”
I know those words sound like a threat, but the truth is that I can’t wait for it to be carried out.