Creative Writing, Fiction, Life

Little Things

The sun glared across her brown body laying against the white sand. He, lying next to her counted the sporadic dark spots on her shoulders and neck. There were nine altogether, six on her shoulders and three on her neck.

“Stop staring at me.”

“How would you know I’m staring at you”, he replied.

“Because I can feel your eyes pressing on me harder than the sun”, she smiles and opened one squinted eye. She rolled onto her side to face him. He thought to himself, she’s so beautiful. “I can tell when you’re staring at me.”

“Oh yeah,” he snickered.

“Yeah,” she flirted, tapping his nose with her fingers, wearing a seductive grin. “It’s this sixth sense I have with you.”

“Only with me,” he asked. She leaned forward and kissed him softly.

“No, not only with you,” she smiled. He giggled and flicked sand at her as she rolled onto her back. He thought to himself, I know it’s not only with me. He hated feeling insecure about her feelings for him. When he was around her, he found himself intimidated and unsure of his words and actions.

“Let it go,” she said without movement. He turned his gaze towards the ocean afraid she was staring right through him. He pressed the bits of sand between his fingers rolling them together as he watched the waves form and crash… form and crash… repeating its cycle. He noticed each wave was different, smaller or larger than the next, breaking at different times.

“We lay out here any longer, we’re closer to becoming cancer candidates,” he said while lying back down.

“Even cancer has the right to live,” She said softly.

He huffed, “Well, that’s one way to look at it.” They lay there for awhile and she began to feel lonely for him. She slid her hand across the sand and reached for his. He squeezed her hand then rolled his head over to look at her. He said, “I love you.” She didn’t return the sentiment.

“I’m not uncomfortable with saying it,” she knew he was waiting for her to say the same words back, “I think I said it when I reached for your hand.” He smiled and squeezed her hand again. “Sometimes moments don’t need to be caught in photographs and sometimes words don’t need to be said to express emotion.” He laughed loud and hard and she looked at him puzzled. What’s so funny, she thought.

“What are you today, the Dali Lama or something?”  He continued laughing. She thought about what she had said and then joined him, laughing out loud.

Creative Writing, Fiction, Life

The Edge of a Cliff

It was only for a second, perhaps a split second, but the moment lingered on in slow motion forever. I saw my hand clenched into a fist. My arm moving forward. I saw my fist make solid contact with her nose. Her head jilted back. With her eyes closed, she reached for her face. Blood began to run out from her left nostril. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She opened her big brown eyes, looked at her blood now on her finger tips. Then she looked at me. She didn’t look confused. She looked calm and collected. So it took me by surprise that she would ball up her fist, bend her arm back, and throw a punch right back at me.

But she never landed that punch. Not in the way I hit her. Truth is: I never hit her. I wanted to… I guess. I felt some type of way after she stated in a sympathetic tone, “I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore.” That’s when I imagined punching the shit out of her nose. It was instinctive. I couldn’t help it. It just came to me, but it didn’t happen in reality. Instead, I was the one being gutted. She was standing over me, punching me over and over and over again. My face swollen, my cheeks gashed, and blood streaming from my nose; I was silenced. I felt the punches and it stung, but the pain would drift away as I stared up at her beautiful face. Her dark long hair sliding over her shoulders with a solemn look on her face… And I loved staring at her. I loved staring at her so much, I think I could’ve stayed there taking the punches like a champ if I could just be with her always, but in her one statement, it was worse. This pain was going to be permanent; a permanent fucking punch in the face.

I told her I couldn’t look at her and made my way to the shower. You probably think I went to take a shower because I was crying. Well, hell yeah I was crying. I was fucking balling. It was the worst pain I had ever felt. I wanted to crawl into the fetal position and stay in bed, but I wasn’t going to let her see me that low. So I took a shower, but she still came in to check on me. And I was happy to have her near me seeing her silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“I can hear you crying.”

“Well, I’m fucking hurting. My heart is breaking.”

“Oh… I didn’t know you were hurting that much. I just thought you were angry. I never said I wanted us to break up. I told you that because I want us to work on us.”

“Do you remember what today is?” Silence. “It’s my fucking birthday.”

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry, babe.” I watched her silhouette as she stripped off her clothes and entered the shower. She came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Babe, I’m sorry. I’m a bitch. I’m an asshole. I forgot. I forgot.” She kissed my back, pressed her body up against me, and held me tight. I realized it wasn’t the end of the world, it was just the edge of a cliff. I turned around to face her, and held her close to me. As the warm water hit my back with her face pressed against my chest, I felt a soothing feeling. Hope.

For two years I hoped. Even though I told her I didn’t want to work at it anymore and ended up dating multiple women. Even though I began a somewhat serious relationship and she ended up meeting someone that eventually became somewhat serious too… I still hoped. Sure we were seeing other people, but there were a few times over the two years that we slipped up and I slipped into her. Her sex was an aphrodisiac for me. I lost myself inside of her, feeling her body, and lingering in her scent… vanilla and lavender; the scent of hope. The best sex we had during this time was when I walked two miles in the middle of a tropical storm to get to her.
I remember answering my phone, “Hey, what’s up?”

“I hate to bother you, but I’m horny.” She took a long deep breath.

“Oh really?” Inside I was ecstatic.

“Yeah… But I know it’s storming so can we just talk it out?”

“I’m coming over.” She laughed. I just have to say, she had the sexiest laugh I had ever heard.

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious.”

“Didn’t you say, your roommate borrowed your car for the night?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk. It’s only 2 miles and it’s warm out.”

“Um… Aside from the Hurricane!” Her voice raised.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just wind and a little bit of rain.”

“No…,” I cut her off and hung up on her. Next thing, I was at her door. She opened the door and stepped inside quickly. I shut the door behind me and then turned around to grab her. She looked amazed as I took her face into my hands and pressed my lips hard against hers. At that moment, it was worth every step through the rain, the wind, the harassment I received from my friends when they found out what I did to get laid… laid by her. We made love and we slept through the night together. In the morning she climbed on top of me and we made love again. I remember her riding me facing the opposite direction. She looked over her shoulder at me and it was so hot. She was so hot. I fucking loved her.