Run
[Prompt Challenge #42 Relationships]
mp3 Run
I knock softly on the door before turning the knob and slowly pushing it open. “Steven?” He turns away from the full length mirror, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket. His eyes are bright and his cheeks have lost their normal color. I haven’t seen him this nervous since his first day of high school, many years ago. But still, in some moments, like today, I can glimpse the vulnerable young man that he tried to hide behind a youthful nonchalance and swagger. He still tries to hide it even now, but I can nearly see his heart fluttering in his chest.
I step into the room, quietly closing the door behind me. “Your father wanted to check on you. I told him he probably should make sure your Aunt Mildred didn’t need any help getting out onto the veranda, and that I would make sure you’re alright.”
Steven rolls his eyes and a grin breaks out across his face. “Thanks.”
Relived that his smile is genuine, I straighten the tie at his throat, and run the flat of my hands down his lapels. “I hope Justin knows how lucky he is.”
“How lucky we both are, Mom.”
I wink at him and brush a speck of lint from his broad shoulder. I can’t believe the little boy I met thirteen years ago is about to marry the man of his dreams. So much seems to have changed in the blink of an eye. The tow headed twelve-year-old, with bright innocent eyes, has grown into an intelligent and considerate young man. He’s able to face the world with a confidence and energy, I was too scared to assume even at a much older age. Watching a child grow up, you finally recognize and relate to the nostalgic way your parents and older relatives spoke of the opportunities you had, that they were never given. But, what they…what we really mean, are the opportunities we never took for ourselves.
Steven stands on the threshold of a new life that is filled with hope and promise; full of expectations that he and his partner will journey through life together, one united front. Even in today’s world it won’t always be easy; but they are extending a hand of support to one another, a lifeline that will be stretched between them, always pulling them back to their port of call…each other. I could never trust that type of support would be enough. Once hurt, I found it nearly impossible to ever trust again. In fact, I don’t think I ever did trust again.
I mean, I trust my husband. I know he would never hurt me, no matter what. He would never be unfaithful, unkind, uncaring. But, I never did trust him with my heart. In honesty, I never even had it to give to him. My heart was shattered too many years ago. I scooped up the pieces and fled into the night, dumping them out like a shattered fragile heirloom on a new city, a new life, a new lover. And she helped me sort those pieces out. We painstakingly extracted every shard, laid it all out in the open, and slowly began the process of piecing it back together. But in the end, I fell back on that lack of trust. I convinced myself, nothing broken is ever truly mended. I dared her to test the glue we used; I pushed her to see if we would fracture, and not surprisingly, we did.
I wish I had had Steven’s courage, and strength of will, and trust that one bad experience doesn’t beget another. But, many moons ago, I let go of that chance. I forced the fragile, mending wounds of my heart to gape open once again. I was foolish and told myself I had escaped before I could be hurt again. However, there was no such escape. You may bury something, you may cover it up, you may pretend it doesn’t linger, but you never ever escape it.
Watching Steven bravely stand on the precipice of his life, my heart aches for all that I gave up. It aches for all that I denied, all that I ignored, all that I deprived myself of. She still aches within my heart. Fourteen years can pass like the speed of light, barely billowing your hair; you awake to the realization that the expanse of time has changed, has dimmed, has diminished nothing. Her name still floods my throat many a day, the tip of my tongue restrained against the back of clenched teeth. I can’t utter it, I can’t think it; for fourteen years I push it down.
Shaking my head loose of my thoughts, I rest both hands on Steven’s shoulders, “Are you…alright?”
He swallows hard and his eyebrows dart upward, his expressions are so much like his father’s, even if their personalities couldn’t be more different. “As much as I can be.” I’ve come to understand Steven inherited his mother’s quiet reservation. He was always a thoughtful child, given to calm introspection, and a careful observation of others.
I reach up and rub the back of my hand across his cheek. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
Steven takes my hand and brings it down from his face, squeezing my palm gently. “I kind of think she is here, you know? In some way.”
Nodding, I swallow the lump in my throat and give him a small smile.
“But, I know for a fact she’s glad you are here. I think you’re exactly what she would have wanted for Dad and me.” Steven takes my other hand and brings them both close together, between us. He looks down and takes a deep breath, before glancing back up to meet my eyes. “Can I ask you…When you married Dad, did you love him, then?”
I scoff lightly, “What? Steven of course -“
He interrupts me, impatience furrowing his brow. “Mom, I’ve been thinking a lot about me and Justin. About marriage and what that’s going to look like down the road.” Steven pauses and tilts his head to the side, his expression pleading for my honesty. “You don’t love him now. I can see it.” I open my mouth to refute, to tell him he’s wrong, that he has no idea about the private things that transpire between a husband and wife when no one else is looking. But he interrupts me, clasping my hands forcefully. “Don’t…I’m not blind. I just want to know. Did you love him once and now you don’t?”
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. “Love is not always marked by clear black and white -“
“I’m not a kid anymore. Don’t talk to me like that.” Steven lets my hands drop from his grasp and turns his back, raking his right hand through his short blonde hair. “I’m about to get married, and I love Justin to death.” He turns on his heel, the worry creasing his brow and drawing faint lines around his eyes. “But, what if it isn’t enough? Do I have to look forward to the loveless life you’re living with Dad?”
I take a few steps and close the small space between us, cupping my hands around his jaw. “Steven, you love Justin, and you always will. Trust me.” His eyes meet mine and I can see the doubt, the clichéd cold feet written there. I gently press my lips to his forehead. “Trust me; that love isn’t going to fade.”
***
The ceremony was beautiful, they were beautiful. Our backyard was filled with family and throngs of Steven and Justin’s friends gathered to wish them all the best that life has to offer, and to reflect the deep well of support that stands behind them. My heart soared for the fearless plunge they were taking into a life they wished to fill with joys, and shared triumphs, and love. Yet, my heart also pained at the chances that were lost, the hope so easily given up, the fear I had let steer my own life down a path I perhaps never even wanted. A path I choose by default and because of loveless expectations placed upon myself. I had tried to protect my heart, to prevent that wounded vessel from ever being broken again. But, truth be told, when I left her I hadn’t even gathered up the pieces of my still broken heart that time. I simply left them scattered at her feet, as I fled into the night. The cover of dusk seemed to cloak my trail; a veil to hide and allow me to entertain my own perverse notions of self-preservation. But, who was the woman I preserved? Someone whose own step-child could see was existing strictly in the margins. Thirteen years of a life…of what? Time does not heal all wounds.
Michael’s hand on the small of my back pulls me out of my head. I offer him a tight smile before he leans in to peck a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Well, I’d say that went off without a hitch.”
“Yes, I would agree.”
Stepping in front of me, his hands slide over my hips and up along my back. Leaning in, Michael rubs the tip of his nose up the edge my jaw, his warm lips laying a gentle kiss in front of my ear. “Now we have the house to ourselves again. I guess we have a lot to celebrate tonight.” I clench my eyes tightly shut as Michael’s mouth moves across my cheek and his fingers slide up the zipper along my back, searching for the pull. I do love him, I do love him, I do…
***
I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing my mind to retreat, to suppress the images that gnaw at the back of my brain. Michael’s beard is prickly against my inner thigh, his full upper lip firm just where it is needed. After so many years he knows my body, he can play the rhythm I need; despite myself, he can pull the reaction he wants. The scene always descends into the same script for me. His mouth gentle and insistent, between my legs. My head clouds, and I mentally reach for the apparition that sustains me. I rake my fingers through my hair imaging her long brown locks, her small, delicate mouth seeking out my lips. Michael’s tongue thrusts, pulling a moan from my throat as I arch up for her, praying for those long, slender hands to lay on my breasts. My own fingers seek out my nipples, tugging gently to match the current flowing from my sex back up to my breasts, and all the way down to my curled toes.
He flicks my clit, wrapping his lips around the hard nub. The tip of my tongue snakes out from my parted lips, searching for the subtle taste of her mouth. But, it never comes; when his lips leave me and he crawls up over my body, I’m left alone beneath him.
I open my eyes when I feel Michael’s gaze burning down upon me. “We made it.” His hips settle in, between my thighs, coaxing them to open around him. It’s not a burning or a discomfort, but always just a gentle acquiescence. My body responds, always. To the physical, to the emotion he feels, to the desire of the moment. I feel him slid along my lips and I am wet. I always am. This man loves me and wants nothing more of me, or from me. It’s always been the least I could give him, the least I could try to give myself.
I feel his hard pelvis rocking against me. He thrusts, my thighs pressed against his hips. Closing my eyes, I can give in to the sensation. I can let go of the moment, I can allow the memories to overtake me. The thrust of her smooth hips against me, her soft breasts brushing against mine. I place my hands on Michael’s shoulders pressing myself underneath him, leveraging and pressing my hot sex harder against him.
The mind can play a whole host of tricks on you. You feel the planes of muscle, the thickness of a shoulder, but the imagining of soft skin, of the lithe woman you envision swaying above you, can crowd out the reality. Michael drives us higher, but it’s the images inside my head that cause the moans to fall from my lips, the shuddering breaths from my chest, the slick warmth between my thighs. He leans back, sliding his knees under me, tilting me up to him. Michael grasps my waist and slams his hips forward, rocking my entire body. My breasts bounce, my clit brushing against him, as he leans forward, striving to give me what he thinks I need. But, It’s never been what I need. All these years, it’s all been inside me, in my head, in my memory, latent in my own consciousness.
“Erica, honey…come.” I lick my parched lips and open my eyes; his face is drawn and waiting for me, the perspiration glistening on his brow. “Tell me what you need, sweetie.”
I clench my eyes again, pressing my head back into the pillow, and rising against him. How can I possibly tell him what I need, when I don’t even know what I need. But, despite the pulsing between my legs, the sensation he can provide, this is not what I need. It’s what I think I can handle, what I always thought I should want, but it’s not what I need.
But, it can temporarily fill that need, distract me, divert the thoughts running through my head. “Harder.” Michael pulls me against him, pounding hard into me. I can literally feel him distracting me, pulling me into the moment; until I blink; and those green eyes flash behind my eyelids, that soft line of her jaw, the wisps of hair falling over her shoulder. I cry out in ecstasy, a wordless submission to the power she can still wield over me. Michael groans, falling over that cliff right behind me. I press hard against his chest, preventing him from collapsing on to me. I want to freefall, to enjoy the memories of her soft cries beside my ear, I want to be out of this moment and back where I belong.
***
I’ve stared at the static screen for what I’m sure is more than half an hour. It’s amazing how easy everything is now. No one can hide, information is cheap and readily available. I’ve followed her from one campus to the next, over the years. I don’t even need the screen, that number is burned into my brain. A brand that I could visualize behind my closed eyes.
Sucking in my courage, in a deep breath, I press the digits on the keypad and hit the call button before I can chicken out, as I’ve done hundreds of times these last years.
“Hello.”
“Hello…Mary Jo? It’s -“ My throat has morphed into the Gobi desert. I don’t think there’s enough water on the continent to soothe the things caught in my throat. “It’s Erica. Erica…Hahn.”
I hear the sharp, millisecond, intake of breath. “Erica? What…” She swallows, making my own throat ache from the simple impossibility of that gesture. “How did...Wh…Erica?”
“Mary Jo, I ran. I ran into the night.” I pause, listening to her shallow breathing on the end of the line. “My son…my step-son, just married the man that he loves. And I…I just wanted to tell you, for my sake…that I loved you.” She sobs quietly, tearing into my heart. “I…I love you.”
A hard quivering breath, cuts directly into my chest and I slowly blink back the tears burning behind my eyes. “Erica, where are you?”
This entry was originally posted at http://h4hahn.dreamwidth.org/25888.html
mp3 Run
I knock softly on the door before turning the knob and slowly pushing it open. “Steven?” He turns away from the full length mirror, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket. His eyes are bright and his cheeks have lost their normal color. I haven’t seen him this nervous since his first day of high school, many years ago. But still, in some moments, like today, I can glimpse the vulnerable young man that he tried to hide behind a youthful nonchalance and swagger. He still tries to hide it even now, but I can nearly see his heart fluttering in his chest.
I step into the room, quietly closing the door behind me. “Your father wanted to check on you. I told him he probably should make sure your Aunt Mildred didn’t need any help getting out onto the veranda, and that I would make sure you’re alright.”
Steven rolls his eyes and a grin breaks out across his face. “Thanks.”
Relived that his smile is genuine, I straighten the tie at his throat, and run the flat of my hands down his lapels. “I hope Justin knows how lucky he is.”
“How lucky we both are, Mom.”
I wink at him and brush a speck of lint from his broad shoulder. I can’t believe the little boy I met thirteen years ago is about to marry the man of his dreams. So much seems to have changed in the blink of an eye. The tow headed twelve-year-old, with bright innocent eyes, has grown into an intelligent and considerate young man. He’s able to face the world with a confidence and energy, I was too scared to assume even at a much older age. Watching a child grow up, you finally recognize and relate to the nostalgic way your parents and older relatives spoke of the opportunities you had, that they were never given. But, what they…what we really mean, are the opportunities we never took for ourselves.
Steven stands on the threshold of a new life that is filled with hope and promise; full of expectations that he and his partner will journey through life together, one united front. Even in today’s world it won’t always be easy; but they are extending a hand of support to one another, a lifeline that will be stretched between them, always pulling them back to their port of call…each other. I could never trust that type of support would be enough. Once hurt, I found it nearly impossible to ever trust again. In fact, I don’t think I ever did trust again.
I mean, I trust my husband. I know he would never hurt me, no matter what. He would never be unfaithful, unkind, uncaring. But, I never did trust him with my heart. In honesty, I never even had it to give to him. My heart was shattered too many years ago. I scooped up the pieces and fled into the night, dumping them out like a shattered fragile heirloom on a new city, a new life, a new lover. And she helped me sort those pieces out. We painstakingly extracted every shard, laid it all out in the open, and slowly began the process of piecing it back together. But in the end, I fell back on that lack of trust. I convinced myself, nothing broken is ever truly mended. I dared her to test the glue we used; I pushed her to see if we would fracture, and not surprisingly, we did.
I wish I had had Steven’s courage, and strength of will, and trust that one bad experience doesn’t beget another. But, many moons ago, I let go of that chance. I forced the fragile, mending wounds of my heart to gape open once again. I was foolish and told myself I had escaped before I could be hurt again. However, there was no such escape. You may bury something, you may cover it up, you may pretend it doesn’t linger, but you never ever escape it.
Watching Steven bravely stand on the precipice of his life, my heart aches for all that I gave up. It aches for all that I denied, all that I ignored, all that I deprived myself of. She still aches within my heart. Fourteen years can pass like the speed of light, barely billowing your hair; you awake to the realization that the expanse of time has changed, has dimmed, has diminished nothing. Her name still floods my throat many a day, the tip of my tongue restrained against the back of clenched teeth. I can’t utter it, I can’t think it; for fourteen years I push it down.
Shaking my head loose of my thoughts, I rest both hands on Steven’s shoulders, “Are you…alright?”
He swallows hard and his eyebrows dart upward, his expressions are so much like his father’s, even if their personalities couldn’t be more different. “As much as I can be.” I’ve come to understand Steven inherited his mother’s quiet reservation. He was always a thoughtful child, given to calm introspection, and a careful observation of others.
I reach up and rub the back of my hand across his cheek. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
Steven takes my hand and brings it down from his face, squeezing my palm gently. “I kind of think she is here, you know? In some way.”
Nodding, I swallow the lump in my throat and give him a small smile.
“But, I know for a fact she’s glad you are here. I think you’re exactly what she would have wanted for Dad and me.” Steven takes my other hand and brings them both close together, between us. He looks down and takes a deep breath, before glancing back up to meet my eyes. “Can I ask you…When you married Dad, did you love him, then?”
I scoff lightly, “What? Steven of course -“
He interrupts me, impatience furrowing his brow. “Mom, I’ve been thinking a lot about me and Justin. About marriage and what that’s going to look like down the road.” Steven pauses and tilts his head to the side, his expression pleading for my honesty. “You don’t love him now. I can see it.” I open my mouth to refute, to tell him he’s wrong, that he has no idea about the private things that transpire between a husband and wife when no one else is looking. But he interrupts me, clasping my hands forcefully. “Don’t…I’m not blind. I just want to know. Did you love him once and now you don’t?”
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. “Love is not always marked by clear black and white -“
“I’m not a kid anymore. Don’t talk to me like that.” Steven lets my hands drop from his grasp and turns his back, raking his right hand through his short blonde hair. “I’m about to get married, and I love Justin to death.” He turns on his heel, the worry creasing his brow and drawing faint lines around his eyes. “But, what if it isn’t enough? Do I have to look forward to the loveless life you’re living with Dad?”
I take a few steps and close the small space between us, cupping my hands around his jaw. “Steven, you love Justin, and you always will. Trust me.” His eyes meet mine and I can see the doubt, the clichéd cold feet written there. I gently press my lips to his forehead. “Trust me; that love isn’t going to fade.”
***
The ceremony was beautiful, they were beautiful. Our backyard was filled with family and throngs of Steven and Justin’s friends gathered to wish them all the best that life has to offer, and to reflect the deep well of support that stands behind them. My heart soared for the fearless plunge they were taking into a life they wished to fill with joys, and shared triumphs, and love. Yet, my heart also pained at the chances that were lost, the hope so easily given up, the fear I had let steer my own life down a path I perhaps never even wanted. A path I choose by default and because of loveless expectations placed upon myself. I had tried to protect my heart, to prevent that wounded vessel from ever being broken again. But, truth be told, when I left her I hadn’t even gathered up the pieces of my still broken heart that time. I simply left them scattered at her feet, as I fled into the night. The cover of dusk seemed to cloak my trail; a veil to hide and allow me to entertain my own perverse notions of self-preservation. But, who was the woman I preserved? Someone whose own step-child could see was existing strictly in the margins. Thirteen years of a life…of what? Time does not heal all wounds.
Michael’s hand on the small of my back pulls me out of my head. I offer him a tight smile before he leans in to peck a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Well, I’d say that went off without a hitch.”
“Yes, I would agree.”
Stepping in front of me, his hands slide over my hips and up along my back. Leaning in, Michael rubs the tip of his nose up the edge my jaw, his warm lips laying a gentle kiss in front of my ear. “Now we have the house to ourselves again. I guess we have a lot to celebrate tonight.” I clench my eyes tightly shut as Michael’s mouth moves across my cheek and his fingers slide up the zipper along my back, searching for the pull. I do love him, I do love him, I do…
***
I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing my mind to retreat, to suppress the images that gnaw at the back of my brain. Michael’s beard is prickly against my inner thigh, his full upper lip firm just where it is needed. After so many years he knows my body, he can play the rhythm I need; despite myself, he can pull the reaction he wants. The scene always descends into the same script for me. His mouth gentle and insistent, between my legs. My head clouds, and I mentally reach for the apparition that sustains me. I rake my fingers through my hair imaging her long brown locks, her small, delicate mouth seeking out my lips. Michael’s tongue thrusts, pulling a moan from my throat as I arch up for her, praying for those long, slender hands to lay on my breasts. My own fingers seek out my nipples, tugging gently to match the current flowing from my sex back up to my breasts, and all the way down to my curled toes.
He flicks my clit, wrapping his lips around the hard nub. The tip of my tongue snakes out from my parted lips, searching for the subtle taste of her mouth. But, it never comes; when his lips leave me and he crawls up over my body, I’m left alone beneath him.
I open my eyes when I feel Michael’s gaze burning down upon me. “We made it.” His hips settle in, between my thighs, coaxing them to open around him. It’s not a burning or a discomfort, but always just a gentle acquiescence. My body responds, always. To the physical, to the emotion he feels, to the desire of the moment. I feel him slid along my lips and I am wet. I always am. This man loves me and wants nothing more of me, or from me. It’s always been the least I could give him, the least I could try to give myself.
I feel his hard pelvis rocking against me. He thrusts, my thighs pressed against his hips. Closing my eyes, I can give in to the sensation. I can let go of the moment, I can allow the memories to overtake me. The thrust of her smooth hips against me, her soft breasts brushing against mine. I place my hands on Michael’s shoulders pressing myself underneath him, leveraging and pressing my hot sex harder against him.
The mind can play a whole host of tricks on you. You feel the planes of muscle, the thickness of a shoulder, but the imagining of soft skin, of the lithe woman you envision swaying above you, can crowd out the reality. Michael drives us higher, but it’s the images inside my head that cause the moans to fall from my lips, the shuddering breaths from my chest, the slick warmth between my thighs. He leans back, sliding his knees under me, tilting me up to him. Michael grasps my waist and slams his hips forward, rocking my entire body. My breasts bounce, my clit brushing against him, as he leans forward, striving to give me what he thinks I need. But, It’s never been what I need. All these years, it’s all been inside me, in my head, in my memory, latent in my own consciousness.
“Erica, honey…come.” I lick my parched lips and open my eyes; his face is drawn and waiting for me, the perspiration glistening on his brow. “Tell me what you need, sweetie.”
I clench my eyes again, pressing my head back into the pillow, and rising against him. How can I possibly tell him what I need, when I don’t even know what I need. But, despite the pulsing between my legs, the sensation he can provide, this is not what I need. It’s what I think I can handle, what I always thought I should want, but it’s not what I need.
But, it can temporarily fill that need, distract me, divert the thoughts running through my head. “Harder.” Michael pulls me against him, pounding hard into me. I can literally feel him distracting me, pulling me into the moment; until I blink; and those green eyes flash behind my eyelids, that soft line of her jaw, the wisps of hair falling over her shoulder. I cry out in ecstasy, a wordless submission to the power she can still wield over me. Michael groans, falling over that cliff right behind me. I press hard against his chest, preventing him from collapsing on to me. I want to freefall, to enjoy the memories of her soft cries beside my ear, I want to be out of this moment and back where I belong.
***
I’ve stared at the static screen for what I’m sure is more than half an hour. It’s amazing how easy everything is now. No one can hide, information is cheap and readily available. I’ve followed her from one campus to the next, over the years. I don’t even need the screen, that number is burned into my brain. A brand that I could visualize behind my closed eyes.
Sucking in my courage, in a deep breath, I press the digits on the keypad and hit the call button before I can chicken out, as I’ve done hundreds of times these last years.
“Hello.”
“Hello…Mary Jo? It’s -“ My throat has morphed into the Gobi desert. I don’t think there’s enough water on the continent to soothe the things caught in my throat. “It’s Erica. Erica…Hahn.”
I hear the sharp, millisecond, intake of breath. “Erica? What…” She swallows, making my own throat ache from the simple impossibility of that gesture. “How did...Wh…Erica?”
“Mary Jo, I ran. I ran into the night.” I pause, listening to her shallow breathing on the end of the line. “My son…my step-son, just married the man that he loves. And I…I just wanted to tell you, for my sake…that I loved you.” She sobs quietly, tearing into my heart. “I…I love you.”
A hard quivering breath, cuts directly into my chest and I slowly blink back the tears burning behind my eyes. “Erica, where are you?”
This entry was originally posted at http://h4hahn.dreamwidth.org/25888.html