Breath Of Life

I shiver when she grips my base and eases down onto me. I grab her hips, helping her lift and lower as I watch her full breasts bounce. Her hair falls around her slender face and her full lips part. Arching her back, she flexes her muscles. My eyes almost roll back in my head. It’s been weeks since we did this.

Right now she’s my anchor, the only thing that’s keeping me from becoming a ghost and wasting away into nothing. I want to show her all the things I can’t say because the words get caught in my throat. She held me all night, playing the big spoon while I sobered up and slept a dreamless sleep. The love in her eyes is more than I deserve, but I’m greedy, and in desperate need of something good, so I hold it tight between my hands. The base of my spine tingles and I know I won’t last long. She lifts and drops down over, and over. I twitch and go off like a gun, giving her everything I have to offer. She owns what remains of me.

She collapses onto my chest.

“You okay, sassy?”

“I will be once I regain feeling in my legs.”

I smirk as I smooth a hand down her back and peer at her bandage; no leaking and she doesn’t appear to be in pain. I rest my head against her, soaking up the moments.

Suddenly, reality crushes down on me like a boulder. Rolly. My mood shifts and I grow cold from the inside out, retreating back into my shell. I slowly ease her off me, and slip from the bed. Guilt kicks in. How can I be enjoying her when Rolly is six feet deep? My stomach flips as I think of the empty void left behind. How can he be gone? I just kissed him goodnight and celebrated his birthday. My flesh grows chilled and time seems to slow.

“Ollie?”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

I refocus my attention to the task at hand and the woman staring at me. Clearing my throat, I glance at the clock and read the highlighted, digitized numbers.

“I’m going to get dressed and start packing. I know you said they want us checked out and on the move to our new location by eight o’clock, and it’s seven o’clock now.” Padding over to the couch where my duffle bag sits, I pull out the first fresh outfit I’ve put on since Rolly’s funeral—black jeans, a matching long-sleeved Henley T-shirt, and a pair of black boxer briefs. The muted tones fit my dark mood. I don’t want to invite others to approach me. I slip the outfit on one article at a time.

I hear Quinn moving around behind me, but I can’t force myself to turn and engage her. It’s like I’m viewing life through a fog that makes movement and socialization hard to accomplish. The light she’d shone on me is blocked by the permanent layer of clouds surrounding me. I fold and pack mechanically until my bag is full, and then move into the bathroom with my toiletry bag.

“Are you upset with me?”

Frowning, I turn to face her. “No. Why?”

“You got so quiet. I-I wasn’t sure if maybe it was something I’d done.”

“This is me now, Quinn. The sadness comes and goes in waves, each bigger than the one before it. This is why I shut myself away here. I don’t want to be asked if I’m okay. I’m not. And I won’t be for a very long time. I don’t need to drag anyone else down this hole with me.”

“Yet, here I am, ready to take that ride with you over rough terrain.”

Deep down I appreciate her tenacity. I want to thank her, but my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. Here in my hotel room, I could block out everything. Cocooned during my liquor-fueled bender, I was a blank slate. I could hardly tell day from the night as the dates blurred together. Now I’m being thrust into a real world environment where my son no longer exists. It’s a pain like nothing I’ve felt before. I’m being eaten from the inside out one bite a time by a million ravenous fire ants.

Peering down at the counter, I grab my toothbrush and other incidentals. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Nothing.” The hurt in her voice is an accelerant.

“I didn’t ask you to be here.”

“I never said you did, Ollie.” The soft-spoken tone crawls under my skin.

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“No. I wish to God I did.”

I toss a bottle

of travel shampoo across the room. It slams into the wall, and onto the floor. The pop is so satisfying I do it again and again, pitching like I’m trying to win the World Series until my breathing is heavy, my arm aches, and there’s nothing left to throw. Puddles of various liquids coat the floor in small pools. The destruction feeds the rage inside of me and slinks back beneath the surface, satisfied for a time. My chest rises and falls rapidly.

Her eyes are so wide I can see the black rings around her shrunken irises.

“Still along for the journey?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”