Chapter Ten #2
“Then take this with you. Always. Wherever you go. Whatever becomes of us. Take this.”
I draw the deepest breath I have perhaps ever taken in my fifteen years of existence. The cold air calms my racing heart enough to propel my feet a few steps forward, closing the distance between us.
Our eyes lock, and my hands reach out to rest against Thomas’s chest. I can feel his heartbeat against my palm, rapid and strong. Our hearts beat together in anticipation and hunger, synchronized in a manner that seems to confirm everything I feel.
The fire burning in his eyes proves undeniable.
That look of desire and longing gives me the courage to push upward onto my toes and bring my lips to his.
His slightly chapped lips tremble against mine for one breathless moment before his arm comes around my waist, pulling our bodies together with surprising force.
My tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his meets mine immediately, and together, they seek and explore the other.
My body becomes overcome by new sensations, and I allow his firm grip to keep me upright as I surrender completely to the overwhelming feeling of our mouths connected.
I could never have imagined how intense and vulnerable this moment would prove to be.
My entire being thrums from this single point of contact.
The scratchiness of the stubble dotting his jaw and upper lip scrapes against my tender flesh, and I crave more.
I yearn for his mouth to be closer to mine.
I want his tongue deeper. I need his body to consume all of me until no distinction remains between where he ends and I begin.
My head swims, and time dissolves in this dark, quiet stable as Thomas and I find a single pure moment to share what words could never fully capture.
And then time returns with punishing fury as our lips separate.
It’s almost like I can see and feel a lightning bolt shoot between our faces at the first break of contact.
The River of Remembrance
That lightning bolt flashes in my mind’s eye with such vividness that I gasp aloud, and my vision returns abruptly to The Bliss, to the river, to the present moment.
The memory melts through me, but it does not do what it usually does. This one does not float off with the water and leave me.
No, it lingers.
Those moments are usually faded and soft around the edges, gentle and vague. Yet what just transpired in my mind felt impossibly real. What is typically blurred felt crystal clear. Those fuzzy feelings felt razor sharp.
And more than just the vividness is the fact that this memory is not going away. In the past, the river brought me memories and carried them along downstream as smoothly as the current itself. But not this time. The details, the feelings of that moment, stay with me.
A new sensation overwhelms me, flooding through my chest and throat. One I have never felt before—or at least one I cannot recall experiencing. Longing? Hope?
But what have I to long for? What is there to hope for in this peaceful place where I now reside?
The kiss was so pure. A feeling so pleasant and joyful.
So right. Yet for the first time since I can remember, I find myself aware that more exists.
That is not the end of that story. The memory does not end where it appeared to.
Sadness and loss hang just beyond the edges of what I witnessed. That memory was a goodbye, a farewell.
And it … hurts.
The pleasure and the pain, intertwined and inseparable.
It hurts.
Nothing hurts in The Bliss. Nothing here causes pain or discomfort.
My eyes gradually come back into focus, and I discover the stranger seated casually against the bank of the water, as though he has been observing me throughout the entire experience.
“That was … remarkably vivid.” The words emerge as barely more than a whisper, laden with wonder and confusion.
“What are the chances?” He tilts his hooded head upward, allowing the moon’s light to show his sharp jaw and wicked smirk.
I stand motionless in the water, utterly speechless. The current continues rushing around my still-submerged lower legs, but I cannot seem to command my body to move. Cannot seem to make sense of what just occurred.
The stranger rises to his feet with fluid grace and brushes off his dark trousers.
“Well then,” he announces cheerfully, “I should take my leave. Places to be, beings to place. You understand.”
He begins to walk away, his movements unhurried.
“W-wait!” I call after him, finding my voice at last. “I do not understand. What just happened? Why was that memory different from all the others?”
I pull myself out of the river and stand before him, desperately seeking answers. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Different? Was it different?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“Not different perhaps. But sharper. And it’s still here. The river usually washes the memories away, but this one clings to me. I have left the water, but the memory has not left me. Why? How?”
“So many questions. Well, see you around, Miss Whitcomb. Or not. Not up to me. Not up to anyone really. Just have to let the chips fall where they may.” He seems to consider the truth of his own statement for a moment, then grins a beautiful smile and concludes, “What fun.”
And with those cryptic words offered as his only explanation, he disappears around a bend in the path, leaving me alone in the river.
But not as alone as I have been these countless days.
A memory stays with me now. Sharp and clear and real in a way the others never were.
His face, the feel of his lips. The yearning sound of his name poured from my throat.
Thomas.