Categories > Original > Drama > Remembering.


by XXPoeticTragedyXX 0 reviews

"It had never occurred to me that life was a test. That this was a test."

Category: Drama - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Warnings: [V] [X] - Published: 2009-03-18 - Updated: 2009-07-19 - 2301 words

This was the most difficult for me out of the three of us.

We each took our corners in the room and we all, shared the same fate though it would visit us in different variations. My hand was warm against the cold metal. Every so often, my thumb would twitch like a impatient signal. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Or rather, I did not want to. Not yet. The silence was a gold mine for awkward stares and it occurred to me that no one ever felt themselves normal enough to possibly find themselves in such an absurd situation. What made people think it couldn’t happen to them? It happened to me. This was harder than it looked.

As long as we were going to stand here--and we were going to stand here--because no one dared to move and I, out of the three of us, refused to make a choice then we could at least make the wait interesting. My body stood in place, but deep within the depths of my being, I was rewinding three days back to the point where my over expensive dress was just falling off of my skin the very same way, the light was fading from the bulb overhead: slowly. My fingertips had barely brushed the back clips of my bra when he pulled me forward; a dominant tug on my hand and met my lips with his. They were cool against mine with each kiss he proceeded to place among them. It was wonderful, irrational, sensation bliss and I took no thoughts with me as I let myself melt into him. Our skin matched in heat where they touched; two candles igniting in explosions of unexplainable fire. I was the matchstick and he was the kerosene. There was no doubt that I indeed was aware of this thought those few moments that had just passed but perhaps that was why I was enjoying this so much. He, like I, felt this too. It was an obvious predicament that we both seemed to spill from our cups when our eyes met. Rarely so, but it happened. Each time, it was a tidal wave of emotions, riding on the fears that the other actually cared. Both train of thoughts were subjective to each movement of a hand, a fingertip, a blink of an eye. Time kept slowing down in assurance to the mess we were making and as expected we clumsily tried to push it forward to escape the guilt that might try to crawl into us. Each turn of a second explained to me a different reason of why we should turn back, avoid the chaos but like the stubborn child who refused to follow the rules we plowed on and into the darkness; for the moon and gracefully hidden behind a band of clouds and flooded the room with darkness. It too knew the kinds of thoughts we carried within us and if anyone cared at that moment, it was only the man on the moon, trying to save the last little bit of grace we owned.

A careless whisper passed by ear, the warmth of his breath making my toes curl. I enjoyed having him this close to me, but more than that, I enjoying knowing that he was giving just as much as I was. I was match, emotion for emotion as he hungrily stole kisses from me and placed them upon my jaw and my neck. I felt the tickle of his fingertips as drew his hand over my body and made an art exhibit of the person I was. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad. It was the most passion I had seen in his eyes since the day we had met. Each inch me sparked a visible interest in his eyes. Oh, the joy I took in knowing that for the hour or so, he was mine and he would answer to every notion I made.

It wasn’t so much the sexual appeal that I wanted from him, though I knew that he could give just what I wanted. This was the first time I’d been with anyone and for it to be him of all people made it a great deal more significant. I’d never wanted to be touched more in my life. I never wanted more to hurt someone with words. And never more had my lips been so frozen from the shock of being with another person. He pushed into me like a massive force, reputing tears from my eyes and it was at that point that I lost my train of thought. I couldn’t remember if I hated him more or cared for him like no other. Instead of pondering the question, I just went with it. And for the next hour and a half, I only breathed when he exhaled.

Compared to what his face had held that night, there wasn’t much to find in his composure now. The light obviously didn’t appreciate his pale skin tone in this room and the barest wisp of emotion was hidden. I could not see it, only felt it as he stared me hard. I couldn’t bring myself to look back. Nor could I find the courage to look person behind me. My courage was locked beneath my judgment and until I managed to understand what it was that I needed to do, in this spot we would remain. There was no point in looking up, I could feel his eyes burning into me. It was the same glare he had worn five days ago.

I couldn’t tell you what he had said to me. In all honesty, I couldn’t remember half of his words even if I tried. Perhaps for some people, fights happened in slow motion. For me, they passed rather quickly. In the moment, they dragged out perhaps a second over but once something was said and done, it was gone and the next few words were being shouted. His eyes kept widening. It was a wonder that he didn’t look like a cartoon at that point. I, being the bitch I am when we got into always went a little further, never backed down. I would wait for the anger in his demeanor. Watch steadily for his nostrils to flare and his shoulders to square up like he wanted to hit me, but he never got that far. The desire was there, I’m sure. I did a pretty good job when it came to comebacks and bitchy remarks. At least I could hold a verbal argument. I wasn’t much though, when he hands would claps my shoulders and pin me to the wall, he mouth suddenly close to mine, making his points all too clear. I suppose he thought the close we were, the deeper his words would etch themselves into my mind. I won’t put the complete blame on him; no, he couldn’t possible deserve all the credit for I had my moments were I looked for a fight. Sometimes I would watch him come in and just seeing the drunken smile on his face, the sweat dripping off his nose, the glaze in his eyes got me so fired up that he’d only gotten two steps into my room and already, a book had flown past him and smashed into the wall right next to him. I knew it was coming and I would wait for and once again, we were towering over each other (him over me more than anything) and we were filling the room with words my grandmother would turn over in her grave hearing. If anything, I felt that ninety five percent of my arguments were justified. And because this was so, I did not mind it so much when she grabbed me and shook me in my spot, yelling drunken words at me and hoping to bring some kind of tear to my eye. It was only when he was sober that it hurt the most. I suppose then he had no excuse for his actions. No reason to look at me the way he did; and what hurt the most was when I would let him walk past me. Silence always followed him through the door and when he was just passing me, his eyes would glance at mine and he knew he’d fucked up and I knew that there was nothing I could or had the strength to do. Perhaps that explained why were in this dusty shed, clear across town; staring at the space just past our heads in hopes of intimidation. The echo of angered growl still rung in my ears from the last time we had duked it out.

Now as we shared the dingy room, silence overtook that growl so that it was clear to all of us that only person was going to win this game. My toes curled into my shoes and I dug the tip of them into the dirt that caked the carpet on the floor. Time was weakening and so was the sunlight glaring through the window. When the light fully disappeared from the cabin, the was to be made and I somehow had ended up being the one to make it.

Fleeting glances was always an interesting thing to think about. The things it lead to, the situations it brought. If I had known that letting the stranger next to me at the part have the last wine cooler meant ending up in an abandoned shed with him and stranger one month later, then I think I may have chosen to wake up in my own vomit the next more, wine cooler in hand. Maybe. I can’t really say one hundred percent sure. Perhaps it would have ended the same way anyway, who knows.

Images scrolled through my vacillating mind of wonders. Images and words. Hi. Smile. Hello. Handshake. Shivers. Smirking. Laughter. Grinning. Shyness. Lust. Desire. Delight. Streetlamps. Coffee. Car rides. Movies. Twenty questions. Accusations. Yelling. Anger. Clutching. Shaking. Snarling. Hatred. Detestation. Tears. Regret. Sorrow. Cold. Hot. Skin. Sheets. Vulnerability. Kisses. Grasping. Holding. Sleep. Waking. Cries. Confusion. Harm. Wounds. Defiance. Cruelty. Shock. Silence. Acceptance.

There were things in this world we would always remark on, but how could a person choose to accept this without feeling any pang of regret in their body? The answer was simple. It couldn’t be done. No matter how many times you forced yourself to meet his eyes, no matter how many times I forced myself to meet his pale green eyes and I watched him mouth the words ‘Do it, please’ it would never be enough and I would never have what it took to bring myself to erase all of the memories; to dilute the all of the past anger; to freeze frame all the first times we had shared. It was the most impossible of impossible things and with that acceptance, I shook my head, so softly that I wasn’t sure it had moved and met his eyes for more than a fleeting glance. Enough to share what might have been another moment, or our last one. Enough for him to understand that that this was me saying no. My hands let the cold metal of the gun slip past my fingers and blow the dust up and it hit the ground. I pulled my feet from their from invisible locks and marched across the room, one step at a time and took his hand. It was warm, unlike the gun. He didn’t say a word but I could feel everything he was thinking as he squeezed my hand. It occurred to me then, to us both really, as we clasped each others hands that our time had not been wasted. Every second was a moment to grow, to learn from another, to bear the sorrows and the happiness. It was difficult and eye opening. It was tear streaked and wrapped in laughter. It was ours alone because we had chose to take the good with the bad and the same way we have promised to love each other through the worst of times, we were going to going to out the same way.

The rustling of noise across the room was not unexpected. We did not shiver in impatience. We did not fear the future as he joined us from his side of the room; gracefully picked up the gun I had dropped only moments ago. The light faded from the room and to the right of me, his face became paler with the darkness. Sun down had approached us and we both stood tall and waited.

It had never occurred to me that the gun wasn’t loaded.

It had never occurred to me that life was a test.

Thatthis was a test.

Our company drew a single bullet from his pocket and with a click, enclosed it inside the weapon I had been holding. The three of shared a looked and I understood then, that the purpose of all of this had not been for me to make a decision and kill my lover or sacrifice myself. It had been a test to stand through what I had to protect the one person who’d do the same for me.

He aimed the gun and our clasped hands tightened.

My eyes met with a strangers and he wordlessly bowed to me, acknowledging what he’d never had the courage to do. His eyes were not filled with sorrow, but rather they harbored respect for the decision that was made.

A single shot rang through the room and he and I walked out into the dusk, hand in hand.
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