Oil and Vinegar.
Week 2 entry for the June round of brigits_flame. My prompt was "Oil and Vinegar".
I'm really not sure about this one this week. Due to various circumstances, I've been quite emotional while writing it, but despite that, I'm not 100% sure that I've conveyed that emotion in what I've written. Neither am I sure that I've not written a cliché. Finally, I'm not sure whether what I've written is too loosely based around the prompt.
But, we'll see. I'm feeling alright about it, so here it is.
The Gift
I was having a dream about tropical fish. The sea water was a warm embrace around me as I sank down, surface air a distant memory, to float several metres below. Out of the dimness of the sea came swimming hundreds, thousands of glittering fish, in shoals and schools. They wrapped around me, circling my body, flashes of silver and gold and iridescent colour. Their fins tickled my skin. My laughter made air bubbles dart for the surface. I smiled. I put a hand on my stomach. I bowed my head. I woke up.
Soft grey light was filtering softly through the blinds in our bedroom, which were tapping gently against the windowsill, disturbed by a breeze from outside. I could hear the patter of rain. I was lying on my side facing the windows, squinting a little in the morning light, one arm bent, tucked beneath my head. I became aware of a long, snuffling inhalation behind me and I knew James had woken up too. As I do every morning, I shuffled backwards in the bed, still half asleep, until I felt his chest pressed up against my back. I felt his arm slide around my side to rest on my stomach. I smiled and put my atop his, interlocking our fingers, breathing deeply. I felt him shift to be closer to me, pressing his soft lips against the back of my neck, warm breath tickling the hairs there. He shifted, pressing his hips against me, and with a small gasp I felt the strength and heat of him, hard against my behind. I laughed softly, drowsily and pressed back against him, feeling him tense in response. I could feel his smile against my skin. He was tugging gently on my hand, trying to get me to turn so we would be face to face. I resisted for a moment, smiling sleepily, but couldn't for long, so relented, rolling my body, turning to face him.
I got halfway before I remembered James died eight months ago.
Instantaneously I was alone in our bed, and the sudden fright of that fact made me nearly leap out onto the floor. I hadn't woken up; I hadn’t been asleep. One moment he was there, as real and as warm as I remember him, then he was simply gone. I thought I could even see the shape in the sheets of where he had been lying next to me in my bed. I shuddered, my breathing coming in gasps, my heart pounding. No-one there. No-one at all.
***
"God, Daniel, you look awful."
I looked up from my computer into the bespectacled face of my best friend Jeanette. All I could see was her head, an explosion of bright red hair framing dark-rimmed glasses over which she peered at me with an expression of concern.
"Heh, thanks," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes, "not sleeping well." This prompted a sympathetic look from Jeanette.
"James, again?" She looked almost comical, only the tips of her fingers and her head peeking over the divider between our two cubicles, like some mad bird at perch. I nodded, sighing. "It'll be better soon. You'll see." She reached over and touched my hand, and without another word disappeared into her cubicle again. I became lost in my thoughts. I hated these platitudes that people offered. I didn't hate them for offering them - I was grateful, even - I just couldn't appreciate the empty words. No-one could really know how it felt. I loved him, for five years, and now he was gone.
I needed to take a break. I got up from my cubicle, stretched a bit, and wandered across the room to the toilet. I went in, locked the door, and leant with both my hands on the sink, sighing heavily. Looking up into my reflection, I could only give an apathetic sneer at my sorry sight. I'm not really a vain person, but in love's mirror I used to think of myself as handsome. I had short, stylish blond hair, a slim, angular face, bright green eyes, and soft lips, which were what James used to say were his favourite part of me. Now, the shine in my hair was gone. My face, so well-defined before, had become gaunt and pale; ill-looking. My eyes had lost the light which made them sparkle. My lips were dry and almost grey. I looked a mess. No wonder people felt inclined to pass comment. I looked like a sick man.
Heaving another sigh, I sat down on the floor of the cramped toilet. I just needed to be quiet for a few moments, I sat with my knees pulled up to my chest, my arms resting on top of them, and buried my face into them. I had a dreadful tight feeling my chest, like tears, like I needed that release, but nothing was coming. I was so tired. I was exhausted down to my very bones.
I just missed him so much. I couldn't stop thinking about the day I found out. A sombre voice on the phone, endless corridors of sad eyes, his pale, cold skin, the light in him long gone. Burying what was left. Thinking about it tightened a knot in my stomach and made me feel sick, but I couldn't help it. Every day since had been a battle, every night close to torture.
For four months after he died, in the little sleep I could get, I never dreamed of him. This was a mercy; I could barely stand to look at pictures of him. Then one night he found his way into my dreams, his tall, slender figure hiding in corners, dark hair disappearing just out of reach, blue eyes watching me from windows and mirrors, and I could hear him singing. To have him so close, but out of reach, was agonising. About a month ago, he crept from my dreams back into my life. It started small. I would come home from work to find a window open and the scent of him floating on the air. Sometimes when I was in the shower, or brushing my teeth, I thought I could see him out of the corner of my eye, darting playfully out of sight. Many a time I found myself checking behind doors, inside wardrobes, even under the bed. Of course there was nothing there, but the lingering sense that he was there, just out of reach, was unmistakable, maddening, to the point where I was sure I'd turn a corner in our apartment, into the kitchen, and he'd be there, cooking our dinner, and I could go to him and hold him from behind, as I always liked to do. Nuzzling his neck while he makes our meal. These simple things, I could no longer do.
It wasn't until a month ago that he started coming to bed with me. It started as a vague feeling during the night that someone was right there next to me, never strong enough to wake me up. Sometimes I'd wake up in the morning sticking to the sheets with sweat, as if there had been too much body heat near me and I'd gotten too hot. Other times I woke up with a feeling that I'd been cuddled in to something all night, but when I woke up I was quite alone. And over the last couple of weeks, I'd been having vivid sexual dreams about him that were a hair's breadth from reality. And then this morning, a lucid experience where I could feel him right there, curled around me. I didn't know what to make of it all. And I was so, so tired.
***
I got home that night to the familiar scent of him in the hallway, as if he'd just walked through. That alone reduced me to tears. On weary legs I trudged into our bedroom, barely able to see, and though my tears, I saw his blurred figure standing on the other side of the bed. Dropping my bag and coat, I collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
"Go away, please go away! Please! I can't stand it anymore!" I whimpered, softly. "God, James, I miss you so much!"
I was shaken when I felt his hand run through my hair, and I became quiet, soothed by his touch. I was so exhausted, and so in need of him, that I abandoned all reason, suspended sense, and accepted his presence.
"It's alright, Danny. It's okay. I'm here."
I looked up and swiping tears from my eyes I could see that he'd knelt down on the bed next to me, almost cradling my head in his lap. In a sudden movement, I lunged for him and wrapped my arms round his neck, kneeling with him. Oh, God, he was warm, and he smelled like James, my James, and he was here with me, and holding me. I broke down, weeping freely against his neck, gripping him fiercely, as he did me.
When the wave of sobs passed, shuddering, I drew away from him a little resting back on my feet, and he tenderly brushed my tears away with his fingers. I nibbled my lip, not able, not daring to believe. But there he was, looking at me, his heat and his smell and just, God, him, right there with me. I couldn't speak. His eyes were full of love, love for me, but they were full of something else, too. He opened his mouth, drew a soft breath then said, with a small, sad smile:
"God, Daniel, you look awful."
I half-laughed, half-sobbed and reached for him again. He was ready for me this time, and for a moment we just rested, our foreheads touching, noses touching, rubbing then, so sweetly, his head tilted and my lips met his, the taste of salt, the smell of his skin, my hands going to his waist, his to my chest. I felt him undoing the buttons of my shirt. Soon we were naked, my body against his, falling down, down.
***
We made love until there was a watery tinge of blue on the horizon. Sweat cooling on my skin, I was pressed against him in the most familiar way, my back to his chest, his hand stroking my chest, my stomach, giving me goosebumps, until it slid into mine and our fingers interlocked. I squeezed. He squeezed back.
There were so many things I wanted to ask him. So many questions, hows and whys and can-you-stays. We had not really spoken, but there had been no need; we already knew everything that needed to be said. This time, when he tugged on my hand to make me turn to face him, I turned so quickly I think it startled him a little. Seeing his quizzical look, I stuttered:
"I just...didn't want you to disappear."
He gave a wan smile, and ran his free hand along my side. My body curled, ticklish. He smiled, stopped at my hip, rubbed me there.
"Daniel, I..." He gulped, looking pained. I silenced him with a soft kiss on his lips. When I pulled back, he was smiling again. I looked into his eyes.
"You can't stay, can you?" Looking unhappy, he shook his head. My heart felt like it was petrifying. "I don't understand, James, how is this-"
"I don't know." He looked like he was thinking for a minute. "I wasn't...ready. When I died, I knew there was somewhere I was supposed to go, but there was something keeping me behind." He gave a little grin, a flash of white teeth. "Or someone."
I was shocked. "You're saying...you're here because of me?" He nodded. "I don't understand..."
He laughed, a sound from my dreams. "You think I've been haunting you? You've been haunting me, Danny. It was what you felt that allowed me to do the things I've done. Your pain, your love...it gave me some kind of power, to show you I was still here. I'm sorry, if I scared you..." His eyes filled with tears, and when he spoke again, his voice was breaking. "You've no idea how much I wanted to be here, really here, to touch you and hold you again, to speak to you, tell you it's all okay, instead of some kind of half-presence, in that place between asleep and awake. It was so..." He gritted his teeth. "...frustrating."
He sniffed a little. It made him look so young. I put my hand on his face, stroked down his jaw.
"But it's all okay, James, you're here now, aren't you? We're together again." This looked like it pained him more than anything. "Right?"
"But I can't stay." He stammered. "You have to let me go." I was aghast. I could feel my grip tightening on him, unconsciously.
"Why? You've just got here...I only just got you back-"
"But these things aren't meant to happen," he said, softer now. "We've been given this night, and that's a miracle; a gift. But it can't last. It's wrong. The dead, the alive...they're not meant to be together. No-one is supposed to get anyone back. We're supposed to stay gone."
I couldn't hold it back anymore. Silently, hot tears spilled from my eyes, and when I spoke again my voice was thick and shaking, angry.
"So, what, you're just going to let go?" He smiled at me again.
"No, Daniel. You are." My breath caught in my throat. "You have to let me go." I gave a choked sob.
"But I can't! God, James, I can't, I've missed you so much, I've needed you, I need you, I can't let you go-"
"But you're so tired, Daniel. I saw you looking at yourself in the mirror. You know there's something wrong. It's draining you. It's making you sick, the effort of keeping me here. I won't let you do that to yourself."
I cried out, shaking him, drumming my fists on his chest. "I don't care, I don't care! I don't care! I need you here, I'll do anything..."
"I won't let you," he said simply, "I can't let you do it to yourself." I grew quiet, and he drew me in to him, his arms tight around me, my head resting under his, his hands moving through my hair. "You've been so brave, my love. But it's time to let go. You're tired, and you need to sleep." With his words, my breathing slowed. The feeling of his hands on me was soporific. I wrapped myself tightly around him, my lips against his neck, my heart beating against his. "I love you, Daniel" he murmured next to my ear. "I'll always love you. I am always here with you." My eyes were closing. I couldn't stop them.
"I love you," I mumbled against his throat. "I love you, James, my James, my..."
***
When I opened my eyes again, bright sunlight was shining in through the blinds in our room. James was gone. I could feel the heat of him behind me, fading slowly. I took a deep breath in, held it, let it out. I felt different, lighter somehow. By spending one last night with James, I had lost something dear, but gained something new and important. A gift, given from the dead, which would allow the living to live. I smiled, and I felt like, somewhere, James smiled with me.
I'm really not sure about this one this week. Due to various circumstances, I've been quite emotional while writing it, but despite that, I'm not 100% sure that I've conveyed that emotion in what I've written. Neither am I sure that I've not written a cliché. Finally, I'm not sure whether what I've written is too loosely based around the prompt.
But, we'll see. I'm feeling alright about it, so here it is.
The Gift
I was having a dream about tropical fish. The sea water was a warm embrace around me as I sank down, surface air a distant memory, to float several metres below. Out of the dimness of the sea came swimming hundreds, thousands of glittering fish, in shoals and schools. They wrapped around me, circling my body, flashes of silver and gold and iridescent colour. Their fins tickled my skin. My laughter made air bubbles dart for the surface. I smiled. I put a hand on my stomach. I bowed my head. I woke up.
Soft grey light was filtering softly through the blinds in our bedroom, which were tapping gently against the windowsill, disturbed by a breeze from outside. I could hear the patter of rain. I was lying on my side facing the windows, squinting a little in the morning light, one arm bent, tucked beneath my head. I became aware of a long, snuffling inhalation behind me and I knew James had woken up too. As I do every morning, I shuffled backwards in the bed, still half asleep, until I felt his chest pressed up against my back. I felt his arm slide around my side to rest on my stomach. I smiled and put my atop his, interlocking our fingers, breathing deeply. I felt him shift to be closer to me, pressing his soft lips against the back of my neck, warm breath tickling the hairs there. He shifted, pressing his hips against me, and with a small gasp I felt the strength and heat of him, hard against my behind. I laughed softly, drowsily and pressed back against him, feeling him tense in response. I could feel his smile against my skin. He was tugging gently on my hand, trying to get me to turn so we would be face to face. I resisted for a moment, smiling sleepily, but couldn't for long, so relented, rolling my body, turning to face him.
I got halfway before I remembered James died eight months ago.
Instantaneously I was alone in our bed, and the sudden fright of that fact made me nearly leap out onto the floor. I hadn't woken up; I hadn’t been asleep. One moment he was there, as real and as warm as I remember him, then he was simply gone. I thought I could even see the shape in the sheets of where he had been lying next to me in my bed. I shuddered, my breathing coming in gasps, my heart pounding. No-one there. No-one at all.
***
"God, Daniel, you look awful."
I looked up from my computer into the bespectacled face of my best friend Jeanette. All I could see was her head, an explosion of bright red hair framing dark-rimmed glasses over which she peered at me with an expression of concern.
"Heh, thanks," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes, "not sleeping well." This prompted a sympathetic look from Jeanette.
"James, again?" She looked almost comical, only the tips of her fingers and her head peeking over the divider between our two cubicles, like some mad bird at perch. I nodded, sighing. "It'll be better soon. You'll see." She reached over and touched my hand, and without another word disappeared into her cubicle again. I became lost in my thoughts. I hated these platitudes that people offered. I didn't hate them for offering them - I was grateful, even - I just couldn't appreciate the empty words. No-one could really know how it felt. I loved him, for five years, and now he was gone.
I needed to take a break. I got up from my cubicle, stretched a bit, and wandered across the room to the toilet. I went in, locked the door, and leant with both my hands on the sink, sighing heavily. Looking up into my reflection, I could only give an apathetic sneer at my sorry sight. I'm not really a vain person, but in love's mirror I used to think of myself as handsome. I had short, stylish blond hair, a slim, angular face, bright green eyes, and soft lips, which were what James used to say were his favourite part of me. Now, the shine in my hair was gone. My face, so well-defined before, had become gaunt and pale; ill-looking. My eyes had lost the light which made them sparkle. My lips were dry and almost grey. I looked a mess. No wonder people felt inclined to pass comment. I looked like a sick man.
Heaving another sigh, I sat down on the floor of the cramped toilet. I just needed to be quiet for a few moments, I sat with my knees pulled up to my chest, my arms resting on top of them, and buried my face into them. I had a dreadful tight feeling my chest, like tears, like I needed that release, but nothing was coming. I was so tired. I was exhausted down to my very bones.
I just missed him so much. I couldn't stop thinking about the day I found out. A sombre voice on the phone, endless corridors of sad eyes, his pale, cold skin, the light in him long gone. Burying what was left. Thinking about it tightened a knot in my stomach and made me feel sick, but I couldn't help it. Every day since had been a battle, every night close to torture.
For four months after he died, in the little sleep I could get, I never dreamed of him. This was a mercy; I could barely stand to look at pictures of him. Then one night he found his way into my dreams, his tall, slender figure hiding in corners, dark hair disappearing just out of reach, blue eyes watching me from windows and mirrors, and I could hear him singing. To have him so close, but out of reach, was agonising. About a month ago, he crept from my dreams back into my life. It started small. I would come home from work to find a window open and the scent of him floating on the air. Sometimes when I was in the shower, or brushing my teeth, I thought I could see him out of the corner of my eye, darting playfully out of sight. Many a time I found myself checking behind doors, inside wardrobes, even under the bed. Of course there was nothing there, but the lingering sense that he was there, just out of reach, was unmistakable, maddening, to the point where I was sure I'd turn a corner in our apartment, into the kitchen, and he'd be there, cooking our dinner, and I could go to him and hold him from behind, as I always liked to do. Nuzzling his neck while he makes our meal. These simple things, I could no longer do.
It wasn't until a month ago that he started coming to bed with me. It started as a vague feeling during the night that someone was right there next to me, never strong enough to wake me up. Sometimes I'd wake up in the morning sticking to the sheets with sweat, as if there had been too much body heat near me and I'd gotten too hot. Other times I woke up with a feeling that I'd been cuddled in to something all night, but when I woke up I was quite alone. And over the last couple of weeks, I'd been having vivid sexual dreams about him that were a hair's breadth from reality. And then this morning, a lucid experience where I could feel him right there, curled around me. I didn't know what to make of it all. And I was so, so tired.
***
I got home that night to the familiar scent of him in the hallway, as if he'd just walked through. That alone reduced me to tears. On weary legs I trudged into our bedroom, barely able to see, and though my tears, I saw his blurred figure standing on the other side of the bed. Dropping my bag and coat, I collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
"Go away, please go away! Please! I can't stand it anymore!" I whimpered, softly. "God, James, I miss you so much!"
I was shaken when I felt his hand run through my hair, and I became quiet, soothed by his touch. I was so exhausted, and so in need of him, that I abandoned all reason, suspended sense, and accepted his presence.
"It's alright, Danny. It's okay. I'm here."
I looked up and swiping tears from my eyes I could see that he'd knelt down on the bed next to me, almost cradling my head in his lap. In a sudden movement, I lunged for him and wrapped my arms round his neck, kneeling with him. Oh, God, he was warm, and he smelled like James, my James, and he was here with me, and holding me. I broke down, weeping freely against his neck, gripping him fiercely, as he did me.
When the wave of sobs passed, shuddering, I drew away from him a little resting back on my feet, and he tenderly brushed my tears away with his fingers. I nibbled my lip, not able, not daring to believe. But there he was, looking at me, his heat and his smell and just, God, him, right there with me. I couldn't speak. His eyes were full of love, love for me, but they were full of something else, too. He opened his mouth, drew a soft breath then said, with a small, sad smile:
"God, Daniel, you look awful."
I half-laughed, half-sobbed and reached for him again. He was ready for me this time, and for a moment we just rested, our foreheads touching, noses touching, rubbing then, so sweetly, his head tilted and my lips met his, the taste of salt, the smell of his skin, my hands going to his waist, his to my chest. I felt him undoing the buttons of my shirt. Soon we were naked, my body against his, falling down, down.
***
We made love until there was a watery tinge of blue on the horizon. Sweat cooling on my skin, I was pressed against him in the most familiar way, my back to his chest, his hand stroking my chest, my stomach, giving me goosebumps, until it slid into mine and our fingers interlocked. I squeezed. He squeezed back.
There were so many things I wanted to ask him. So many questions, hows and whys and can-you-stays. We had not really spoken, but there had been no need; we already knew everything that needed to be said. This time, when he tugged on my hand to make me turn to face him, I turned so quickly I think it startled him a little. Seeing his quizzical look, I stuttered:
"I just...didn't want you to disappear."
He gave a wan smile, and ran his free hand along my side. My body curled, ticklish. He smiled, stopped at my hip, rubbed me there.
"Daniel, I..." He gulped, looking pained. I silenced him with a soft kiss on his lips. When I pulled back, he was smiling again. I looked into his eyes.
"You can't stay, can you?" Looking unhappy, he shook his head. My heart felt like it was petrifying. "I don't understand, James, how is this-"
"I don't know." He looked like he was thinking for a minute. "I wasn't...ready. When I died, I knew there was somewhere I was supposed to go, but there was something keeping me behind." He gave a little grin, a flash of white teeth. "Or someone."
I was shocked. "You're saying...you're here because of me?" He nodded. "I don't understand..."
He laughed, a sound from my dreams. "You think I've been haunting you? You've been haunting me, Danny. It was what you felt that allowed me to do the things I've done. Your pain, your love...it gave me some kind of power, to show you I was still here. I'm sorry, if I scared you..." His eyes filled with tears, and when he spoke again, his voice was breaking. "You've no idea how much I wanted to be here, really here, to touch you and hold you again, to speak to you, tell you it's all okay, instead of some kind of half-presence, in that place between asleep and awake. It was so..." He gritted his teeth. "...frustrating."
He sniffed a little. It made him look so young. I put my hand on his face, stroked down his jaw.
"But it's all okay, James, you're here now, aren't you? We're together again." This looked like it pained him more than anything. "Right?"
"But I can't stay." He stammered. "You have to let me go." I was aghast. I could feel my grip tightening on him, unconsciously.
"Why? You've just got here...I only just got you back-"
"But these things aren't meant to happen," he said, softer now. "We've been given this night, and that's a miracle; a gift. But it can't last. It's wrong. The dead, the alive...they're not meant to be together. No-one is supposed to get anyone back. We're supposed to stay gone."
I couldn't hold it back anymore. Silently, hot tears spilled from my eyes, and when I spoke again my voice was thick and shaking, angry.
"So, what, you're just going to let go?" He smiled at me again.
"No, Daniel. You are." My breath caught in my throat. "You have to let me go." I gave a choked sob.
"But I can't! God, James, I can't, I've missed you so much, I've needed you, I need you, I can't let you go-"
"But you're so tired, Daniel. I saw you looking at yourself in the mirror. You know there's something wrong. It's draining you. It's making you sick, the effort of keeping me here. I won't let you do that to yourself."
I cried out, shaking him, drumming my fists on his chest. "I don't care, I don't care! I don't care! I need you here, I'll do anything..."
"I won't let you," he said simply, "I can't let you do it to yourself." I grew quiet, and he drew me in to him, his arms tight around me, my head resting under his, his hands moving through my hair. "You've been so brave, my love. But it's time to let go. You're tired, and you need to sleep." With his words, my breathing slowed. The feeling of his hands on me was soporific. I wrapped myself tightly around him, my lips against his neck, my heart beating against his. "I love you, Daniel" he murmured next to my ear. "I'll always love you. I am always here with you." My eyes were closing. I couldn't stop them.
"I love you," I mumbled against his throat. "I love you, James, my James, my..."
***
When I opened my eyes again, bright sunlight was shining in through the blinds in our room. James was gone. I could feel the heat of him behind me, fading slowly. I took a deep breath in, held it, let it out. I felt different, lighter somehow. By spending one last night with James, I had lost something dear, but gained something new and important. A gift, given from the dead, which would allow the living to live. I smiled, and I felt like, somewhere, James smiled with me.