Star-Crossed (29 page)

“I thought you were gone,” I said. “I went to your place earlier, and the guard said that you'd left.”

Will nodded, not taking his eyes off me.

“I'm staying at a hotel,” he said. “I leave tomorrow.”

He took my hand, lacing our fingers. I leaned into him, slowly sinking into the cotton T-shirt; the safety net that was his chest. I burrowed my face in the fabric.

For the first time in my life, I felt saved. An overwhelming grace, like water, flowed through me.

We took a ride on the Ferris Wheel, my head resting against his shoulder. We shared a milkshake with one straw instead of two. We held hands and gazed into the old, ancient broken glass box in which sat one of those coin-operated fortune-tellers that printed out your fate on a tiny strip of paper.

Will pressed his hands to the glass. We both felt unnerved.

His hotel room was plain; a simple cream colored the walls, a clean white blanket was tightly spread across the bed. There was a small television, a coffee maker, and a tiny desk.

I drew the blinds, rendering the whole room dark.

Timid hands found trembling limbs; our fingers grazed carefully over unseen skin. His mouth found mine, and we kissed long and slowly; it was all too sweet, too careful.

He hoisted me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist. I fell back on the bed with a soft laugh, and Will silenced me with another kiss. Rougher, full of suppressed yearning; his tongue slid alongside mine like a sweet dance. Our hands worked to shed our clothes, and he took me on the bed in a series of frantic thrusts. It was hard, and heated, and our collective shared moans must have shaken the walls.

We fell apart together; fell into each others arms. The orgasmic surge that slid over my skin was almost spiritual, healing. As if we were both, in that instant, reborn.

When it was over, he took my hand. Long, cool fingers.

“Do you love me?” he asked quietly.

I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. We were both still drenched in obscure, ink-colored night.

“I do,” I said.

“Then will you do something for me?” He was breathless. A pause ensued. “Will you come with me?”

He flipped on the light, and for the first time since we had walked through the door, I felt as if I could really see him; not just the lovely face, but his whole being. The small slant of his hopeful smile; the stubble that shadowed his sallow cheeks. Or the way he leaned, reclined on his arms in a way that made the muscles tighten beneath soft skin. His lips, swollen and sweet.

Those two dark eyes. The same that I remember, with such a perfect clarity, wanting to know during that night of the masquerade. When he was still a stranger. When we were both just two masked faces, searching for the same thing.

He touched my cheek tenderly. I felt the first few tears of a warm ocean begin to flow.

“I think you're a bit lost,” I told him. “Your real life is somewhere without me. Somewhere new, a clean slate. Isn't that what you wanted?”

Will smiled. He kissed me slowly, his hands framing my face. I thought about the sky; the million dying stars that were slowly fading into the massive, cosmic blackboard. How everything seemed to have come together in a way that I wanted to believe, with my whole, healing heart - was fate.

“You're wrong,” he said. “I know exactly where I am.”

If there's one final thing you should know about this story, is that it ended with a game. A game involving two lives, coming together under circumstances both damning and reviving; consequential and undoubtedly life-changing. Heart-breaking, beautiful, and every emotion in-between.

It ended with a girl taking a man's hand, and following him to a place where the grass sprawled over rolling mountain tops like a turquoise sea. Where there was an ocean that stretched for miles, and a small cottage in the hills. An open sky, an enduring hope; a new-found belief in something greater than what I could even possibly understand.

I had come so far, and the notion of each thing that existed beyond the threshold of my ungraspable past remained an orgiastic, incredible mystery. I do believe, in the depths of what I can reach, that this is perhaps the single thing that we can endeavor to discover; a mystery, a golden-glimmering life of our own.

It ended, some years later, with a ring; safely concealed in a velvet-lined box, with a single quote that I would wear forevermore, and ever more:

And the rest is rust,

and stardust.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Luna Lacour is a part-time author, full-time Theologian, and an avid reader of classic literature. She also enjoys music (namely punk), cinema (mainly drama), concerts, theater, documentaries (anything involving Louis Theroux) and classrooms. She graduated with her degree in Secondary Education: English with a minor in Religious

Studies.

A New England native, Luna currently resides in sunny Tampa, FL with her boyfriend and their two cats – Loki and Lazarus, respectively.

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