Once We Were Starlight

And love, I thought, feeling sure that that would arrive at some point as well.

We walked on the beach and I told him about Sundara, my heart in my throat, fearing that he’d reject me once he knew the truth. And though his eyes were troubled, he took my hand in his, kissing my knuckles and telling me I was brave. “You shouldn’t tell just anyone about your past though, Karys. Some people will judge you.”

My brow furrowed in shame. But I knew he was right.

I’d never known Dawson well in school, but I soon found that he had a jealous streak. I avoided looking at photographs and videos of Zakai, but Dawson never missed an opportunity to comment if we came upon some ad campaign or another featuring him. “It’s hard to compete with that,” he’d say on a laugh that sounded more bitter than jovial.

“There’s no competition,” I’d reassure him, but it was usually several minutes before he’d come out of his self-induced funk.

One of Dawson’s co-workers threw a party that New Year’s Eve, a luxurious gala in a hotel ballroom where champagne flowed and the drugs were hidden away in upstairs suites where “privileged” guests were given all-access passes.

The countdown lowered. Horns blew. Music played and Dawson took my face in his hands, his mouth meeting mine. A new year was born. I was twenty-three years old.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispered.

I went to the bathroom and when I came back, Dawson was waiting for me, his eyes slightly glazed as he wiped at his nose. I took his hand in mine and we headed to our room. There was a painting of people strolling in a park near a lake on the wall near the elevator bank. I stepped closer. “An impressionist,” I whispered, stepping even closer, the picture blurring together into a thousand tiny dots of color.

“Huh?” Dawson asked.

I glanced back at him as he approached me where I stood. “Do you like impressionism? This one is a type called pointillism. The picture only becomes clear when you step away.”

He squinted at the painting. “Looks like a mess to me,” he said with a short laugh.

That night, he made love to me with a vigor and passion he’d never shown before. I banged my head on the headboard during one particularly enthusiastic thrust, and I cried out with pleasure, enjoying the pain, wanting more.

When it was over, Dawson, bleary-eyed, rolled over and grabbed something out of the drawer, rolling back toward me and flipping a black box open. A giant diamond sat inside.

“Marry me,” he said.

My mouth dropped open and I sat up. “Dawson,” I gasped. I was shocked, almost numb. I hadn’t for a moment expected a proposal.

“Say yes,” he whispered. “You’ll be the happiest woman in the world. I’ll make sure the other wives are green with envy. I love you, Karys. Say yes. Say yes.”

He loved me. Despite what I’d been. What I’d done. I laughed, bringing my hand to his cheek. “Yes,” I repeated as he slipped the ring on my finger. Dawson gathered me in his arms and kissed me, and though my body did not sing under his touch, there was a quiet, gentle hum.

Not every wind was brisk and hot, its arrival spinning your mind and toppling your world. Some breezes were cool and gentle, bringing calm and relief.

Later, unable to sleep, I sat on the window seat, staring out at the city lights. I knew there was a giant billboard with Zakai’s face on it just around the corner out of sight. Although it wasn’t in my line of vision, it was as if I felt it there all the same. Felt him like a ghostly specter forever haunting me.

A couple ran by on the street below and though I couldn’t hear them from the height of my perch, I could tell they were laughing by the way they moved their heads. Thrown back, their joy directed at the stars as they happily welcomed a brand-new year.

My thoughts went again to that awful New Year’s Eve when I’d last seen Zakai in the flesh. I wondered if this holiday would always hurt. I glanced down at the rock on my finger.

No. You’ve made a happy memory now. Today is no longer cursed. Today is the day you got engaged to be married.

As if in agreement, even in sleep, Dawson made a small snuffing sound and turned over in bed. My gaze moved to the headboard where I’d hit my head, the memory of the jolt of pleasure it’d brought. It troubled me.

I had liked being hurt during lovemaking once upon a time. The pain had intensified the experience. Zakai had known it very well.

And he’d noticed when I’d stopped desiring it.

I blinked at the stars, something opening inside me. A hidden door containing golden chests of secrets. It squeaked as it widened. Yes. I had wanted him to hurt me once. I’d needed it.