- -
Short, quick breaths rasp from her throat, as your mouth explores her entirely.
Kisses on her cheeks, on her forehead, on her closed eyelids; roaming hands, on
her shoulders, on her oh-so-flat stomach, on her legs. Her upper thighs. You
feel her entirely, because you need to forget. Forget. Forget. You get lost in
this moment, in the ecstasy that you know is going to come.
--
Car lights, in the darkness. Your car speeding by the streets, the buildings
on either side of the street a blur. Your foot feels right on the pedal, the
steering wheel fitting comfortably in your hands. No one's around. There's just
eternal black.
--
You rip your mind from that memory and concentrate once more on the young
woman below you on the hotel bed. "You two are doing it?" a college classmate
had asked, patting you on the back wholeheartedly. "Good for you, man."
Good for you.
--
You're a good driver. You have confidence in yourself. You think back on your
life as you drive, from the little boy who wanted a dog more than anything in
the world, to this young man, who doesn't know what he wants. Or what he doesn't
want. Your head feels heavy; your eyes are tired. You keep your focus on the
road.
--
She gasps beneath you, as you lick along the side of her neck. You then plant
slow, gentle kisses all the way from her collarbone to her chin. Gentle and
slow. As if you love her. You feel nothing for her. You feel nothing. That's
your high, what you've been searching for. What you can't go on further without.
For the first time since the accident, you're feeling the way you need to be.
--
You don't hear the screaming as the car hits something with a bang.
You immediately slam your foot on the pedal, stalling the car. You rush out, and
stifle an anguished sob as you see the crippling scene before you. A boy, much
younger than you, lays bleeding on the ground, his bike thrown about a foot
away. He's on the street, on the black pavement, a small mass of colors amid all
the dark.
You feel lost. The boy, the child you have run over, he's silent.
Unconscious. He doesn't cry, doesn't scream, doesn't try to speak out about the
pain he must have suffered with the collision. Strangely, this bothers you, not
hearing his pain. It scares you. What if he never wakes up?
--
You feel lost. Lost in this woman, lost in the motions you're going through
together, motions that your father would frown upon. That your entire family
would see as being bad. Because it's done before marriage, before you receive
some meaningless certificate and change her last name. But... you feel good. You
feel safe. You feel no regret. You feel like you're going to Hell, but maybe
that's okay.
--
A tear runs down your cheek as you run your hands roughly through your hair,
cupping your head in a way that brings you pain. Your hands, glued tightly to
the back of a head that houses a brain that didn't see a child in the street.
(I didn't see him, okay? I didn't see him!)
--
There are no tears here tonight. Just moans and grasping at one another,
trying to become closer, as close as possible. Bodies melding together, like in
a poem, except one with no feeling. No joy, no bliss, no pain. Just this feeling
of being truly lost in another person. You finally let go. For those few short
minutes while your orgasm tears your body apart, you let go. You are free as a
bird. You are flying. You are empty.
You are everything that you shouldn't be. The only thing that you can live
with. You are a killer, but right now, you are nothing. Nothing. And that's what
keeps you alive, what keeps you from picking up a knife and slicing it through
your wrist, from swallowing a bottle of pills, from praying for redemption. You
cannot be redeemed. Killers go to Hell, don't they? You're well on your way.
Go ahead. Lose yourself completely. Turn into someone that, when you look in
the mirror, you don't recognize. Satisfy yourself with earthly pleasures, and
deny the fact that you can never, never forget.
Live in this moment, while it lasts. Become one with this moment. And be
free.
- -
end
