[Miracle] The Places I Can't Follow
It is swirls of whipped cream on a cake; it is dancing through a garden of stars. Only it lasts less than minutes, and we are back on the bed we started, gasping and panting.
It would have been perfect. Except that he had to ask.
“Where do you think I am going?”
His voice is speculative, he is musing, but tonight I want none of that. It is too hot out, or too cold, or maybe something in between. Whatever it is, it’s not just right. I bury my head deeper into my pillow that smells of his sweat and faded cologne.
“Ilya. I know you’re not asleep.”
Perhaps, but does that mean I am awake? Certainly my eyes are open, but my mind is still. It’s too soon after reaching for the stars to talk about deeper things, I want soft fluffy piles of sweet nothings to float in, I want boring white sheets to cradle me, I want to stay suspended in oblivion.
He sighs, a puff of cool air across the back of my neck, and…
…and…
…moves away.
Then I am scrambling, trying to untangle my legs from the blankets, arms flailing to reach him. I manage to get to my knees before pitching forwards toward the edge of the bed, out into space, but it doesn’t matter because please don’t go please don’t go-
He catches me, holding me tight against his naked chest, and I can’t look into his eyes because mine are shining in the moonlight. I press my face against his shoulder and clutch at his arms, he is firm and I am trembling, he is calm and I am wild.
“Ilya. Ilya, relax, I’m only going to use the bathroom.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.” His hands run up and down my back, smoothing out the shivers. I look up to verify his words and find him gazing at me with dark, worried eyes. He worries. No, he will not leave.
Slowly, I let him slip from my grasp and sit back into bed. He offers me a half smile and goes into the bathroom; I can’t see him there but I hear him moving, his bare feet shrinking from the cold tile.
The moment he slides back in bed I have my arms around his waist. Not too tightly, because they say the tighter you hold on, the easier it is to break what you have. Just tight enough so I can feel his solid weight against me.
He runs one of his hands through my hair, teasing the short ends, and asks again, “Where do you think I am going?”
No where. Everywhere. I don’t know, I don’t care. As long as I am not left behind.
“I have to go home tomorrow.”
I know that.
“Next time you will come stay with me.”
I know that too.
“Will you be okay until then?”
I blink. Will I? Have I been okay at all? I don’t remember what okay feels like. But I remember when I last felt it. It was right after I said good bye. Right before the car shattered. Before I was left alone, forever.
“Ilya.”
“I will…try.”
And he knows it is the best I can give him. He can’t ask for more, because he understands that he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know what I’ve been through. But he knows how to take care of me.
He kisses me softly, holding me to my promise to try. I kiss him back, holding him to me. He is tiny, small, with bad hair and delicate satin skin, yet when he is over me I feel sheltered from the world.
I thread my legs through his and spread out under him, so that every part of him is touching every part of me, and clutch his shoulders tight. Stay there. Stay there, just like that, framed in moonlight, watching over me. Please.
“Ilya…” He brushes his lips over my cheek in a feather light kiss. “Where do you think I am going?”
“Heaven.”