The Beginning of Always (42 page)

“Maybe I should go back in.” I swung my knees around and touched my feet down on the cold cement. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“No.” Alistair turned his face. “No.”

Our eyes connected and I stopped in my tracks. Despite the woolen blanket, my body shivered.

Alistair expression was slightly pained and if I had to guess, I’d say his eyes pleaded with me.

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly.

The statement was loaded.

I nodded slightly. “Okay.”

He placed his whiskey back on the table, the bottle making a hard, crisp thud upon the glass top. He fell back upon the seat, tumbler clutched in his grasp.

Alistair wore no shirt, his tight muscles on display. Against the dark tan of his chest, a scroll of black text stretched across his left rib. By my angle, whatever was written seemed to be in unintelligible script.

“I see you got a tattoo,” I said in hopes of redirecting the conversation. “Does it mean anything?”

Alistair leaned his head back over the edge of the bench and gazed at the stars. When he answered, it was towards the heavens. “
Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate
.”

The words flowed around me, fluid and seductive.

“What does this translate to?”

“It’s Italian. Dante.”

“
Divine Comedy
Dante?
Inferno
?”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

Alistair paused to consider his answer. Then he said, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

I gave a laugh, incredulous. “A bit clichéd, no?”

Alistair returned me a small crooked grin and straightened up in the seat. He raised his drink to his lips. “Yeah, well, I got it when I first moved to New York. Crazy drunk idea.” He took a swig of whiskey. “Twenty-two-year-olds are not known for their killer wit and intellect.”

I stretched a finger and placed it lightly against the smooth skin. I faintly detected a shivering reaction from Alistair. “Is it … backwards? How come?”

“So I can read it in the mirror, that was my logic.”

“Did it hurt?”

“I forget, but I’m sure it did, needle right on my ribs. But I’ve been through worse.”

I trailed my fingers from the top edge of the tattoo to the bottom, reading Alistair’s hard muscle and ribs underneath the skin. I drew small circles and followed the script, transfixed by the curves and angles.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured. The contrast of his tan skin and the deep black ink mesmerized me. I flattened my palm against it and tilted my head, trying to imagine what it was like in its readable reflection.

“Beautiful …” I said in a distracted tone. Alistair shifted closer to me and pressed his body against my hand. He rested his deep, dark enigmatic eyes on me and spoke low and even.

“‘Turn, Beatrice, o your holy eyes upon your faithful one, who, that he might see you, has come so far.’”

Alistair leaned into me, until his lips almost brushed mine. He was so close I could count his individual lashes, the pulsation of his pupils, each blink and brush of his eyelids.

“Out of your grace, do us this grace; unveil your lips to him, so that he may discern the second beauty you have kept concealed.”

The last syllable hung in the air, restless and uncertain. Alistair continued to gaze at me even after he was done speaking.

I pulled my fingers off him slowly.

“That was amazing.”

“That’s for you.” Alistair broke our tenuous connection and settled back onto his side of the couch to take another deep draw of his drink. “That line always reminded me of you. I reread
Divine Comedy
a couple years ago and I couldn’t help but remember Beatrice.”

“Since when did you read medieval Italian poetry?”

“Since Mrs. Peterson got on my case about senior English.”

I gave a small smile. “Epic Italian poetry, I guess some things haven’t changed.”

Alistair returned me the barest of grins. “I suppose not.”

“It’s very beautiful.”

“Yes,” Alistair agreed. “Beautiful.”

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t awkward anymore. Instead, a sense of ease flowed over me. I settled into the cushions and wrapped the blanket closer to me. I made a mental note to check out
Divine Comedy
when I had time.

“You have any tattoos?” Alistair asked suddenly.

“Hm.” I teased him, rocking my head back and forth. “Who knows?”

Alistair chuckled. “I’m not a betting man, but I’d guess you do.”

“Well, if you were a sober man, you’d remember you walked in on me naked. Not much of a way to hide there.”

Then, Alistair broke into loud laughter. He threw his head back and his entire body shook with amusement. His laughs hit with ease and mirth, and I smiled at the sound of it.

Alistair shook his head and leaned forward on his knees with his drink in his hand. He chuckled and tilted his head slightly in my direction. “Now that you mention it, I didn’t spot any tattoos. Although I have to admit I was a bit distracted.”

I pushed his shoulder. “Typical male, just looking at boobs.”

Alistair’s eyes crinkled, his dimples flashing. “Can you blame me? Your breasts have just gotten more beautiful with age. Like a fine wine.”

I groaned loudly. “That’s so cheesy and sleazy all at the same time.”

“What can I say? Cheesy sleaze is an art.” Alistair downed his glass, and then placed it on the table before falling back amongst the cushions. He stretched his long arms above him and those hard muscles rippled and contorted underneath his skin. He gave an audible exhale and sprawled his left arm against the back of the bench. His fingers inched towards my hair and he wound several strands through his hand.

“They are beautiful.” He combed his fingers down my hair. “You are beautiful. Back then and now.”

“Um … thank you.” It was awkward hearing his words but, deep down, completely exhilarating.

“So beautiful. It hurts to look at you sometimes,” he murmured so quietly I had to strain to hear him over the waves.

“Are you drunk?” I peered at Alistair’s face. It was impassive as ever but I could sense a thinning of his veneer of apathy and coolness. His eyes were softer and held a tone of … longing?

Alistair smiled softly at my question and ran his fingers deeper through my hair.

“Most definitely.”

“You don’t have to drink so much.”

“I know,” he said quietly. His fingers gently caressed me and the scene shifted, surreal.

I sat quietly, unmoving as he continued to work through my sleep-produced tangles. His hands gradually worked down until he rested his palm against my neck, massaging gently. I gave an involuntary groan of satisfaction and my head fell forward.

“Alistair, what are you doing?” I asked. His fingers pressed into the back of my neck and circled around my shoulders.

“I just want to touch you.” Alistair pulled me closer into an embrace and despite my mind screaming warnings, I allowed it. “Can’t I?”

I was growing distracted and overheated with the sensation of Alistair’s hands. “Can’t you what?”

“Touch you. Just touch you,” Alistair arms tightened and I tucked my face on his shoulder. He turned to look at me and we stayed like this, our eyes connecting to each other as Alistair moved his hands slowly over me, taking in my form through the blanket.

I inhaled deeply, the smell of his essence assaulting me. This wasn’t … this couldn’t …

“Alistair … you’re drunk,” I said even as my body softened and molded into his. I had always been amazed at how well we fit together. All other men … it was always two puzzle pieces just wrong for each other.

“So?” Alistair rested his face in my hair and his breath blew hot against my ear.

“So … you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Florence.” I shuddered as his words vibrated my skin, his voice was so close they melded into me. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

I pulled back. Alistair loosened his arms and I shook my head. “We can’t …”

“Why? It’s just me. It’s just me.”

“Alistair … I need to understand, I need to know what’s going on between us.”

He sighed.

“It’s hard. I don’t even know myself. I’m fighting this need, trying and trying. But I keep losing to myself.” Alistair leaned until his lips barely grazed mine. “There have been so many things I’ve wanted to tell you over the years.”

His essence enveloped me, the smell of whiskey on his breath familiar yet foreign all at once. This Alistair sitting before me was someone so different, pronouncedly changed from the boy I once loved. Before me was a man, and despite his achingly nostalgic face and his familiar scent that both soothed and numbed my every sense, he was a stranger.

I might want to deny that, might be able to fool myself into thinking I wasn’t in dangerous territory. But I was. I was treading water against the tide, and soon, I would drown. The scary part was that a part of me, a considerable part, wanted that.

He’d always be drowning and I’d always want to save him or doom myself alongside with him.

My eyelids fluttered slowly, lowering. I breathed in Alistair, the entirety of him, here, with me. His lips hovered in the space between us and everything went numb except the rapid beating of my heart. It throbbed in my chest and sent its echoes down every crevice of my body, until my fingertips hummed with anticipation.

“I have really missed you.” Alistair leaned in that sliver of an inch and made contact. The feel of his skin against mine picked up and ravaged me; it turned down all the noise in my head, yet ramped up every single twisted sensation in my heart.

A kiss. That’s all this is
, my mind whispered to itself. I shifted closer and deepened our connection. That old flame, the fire that had smoldered in my soul for years, it began to crackle and spark in response. I gave a sigh between our lips and his tongue wound in.

I reached up and ran my fingers through his cool hair. The fibers slid between my fingertips and the touch of it was so sweet, I wanted to weep.

Everything was so familiar, yet new. The feeling of him in the now with me blended with the old to mix into something completely intoxicating.

I was addicted.

Alistair’s arms tightened around me. He held me so close it was as if we were one. As if we’d never let each other go. As if we’d be here, together under the starry sky, forever.

“Wait.” I jerked back, breaking my lips from Alistair’s kiss. He released me reluctantly and I forced weight backwards on my elbows, needing distance, needing clarity. I tilted my head back, allowing the cool night air to percolate itself into my lungs. I fought to center myself, fought to gain control of the moment.

“What are you doing?” I asked between heavy breaths.

Alistair was still leaning forward into my space, his forearm resting against the back of the bench. “I already told you, back at the apartment.” His stare fell on my mouth and I bit my lip, glancing away. “I’m being honest. Didn’t you always ask me to be honest?”

“Is this being honest?” I whispered.

“Florence.” Alistair reached for me, but I shook my head. I pressed a quivering palm over my face, exhaling breaths, willing the nervous energy to be expelled from my soul.

I couldn’t get sucked into this fiction again, this addiction. I kept falling for his tricks and his advances. At what point would enough be enough?

I pushed my hair off my forehead, shaking my head. “We can’t,” I said, but in a hesitant tone.

“Florence,” Alistair repeated.

I shook my head again, harder and on repeat.

“Florence, didn’t you miss me?”

For a moment I was speechless, trying to figure out the exit to this conversation, the alternative to dredging up painful memories, our past selves.

“Why are you digging into old scars?” I said. “It’s over and done. We aren’t the same people; we can’t revisit the past and those feelings. This is all wrong.”

“You’re here, we’re here together, there’s nothing off the table.”

“And when was that decided?” I said.

“We both decided that, years ago. We’re not the same, this isn’t the same, but I know we can still be honest with each other.”

“We aren’t the same!” I said. “And that’s a good thing. We shouldn’t be the same. So then, whatever you feel, whatever this is”—I gestured the space between us—“it
is
all a lie. It’s just our past, our memories getting the best of us and meddling into the present. Let’s not do something we’d both regret.”

Alistair shook his head. “Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel anything? I don’t regret anything about you. Not this. Not even leaving you. I can’t regret that.”

“I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have come out here.” I rose to leave, but Alistair seized my wrist and pulled me towards him. My back crashed roughly into his chest and his arms immediately linked around me. He pulled me against him and he held me as if he’d never let go.

“Florence,” Alistair whispered in a soft tone. His voice was right next to my ear, his arms binding me to him.

My eyes began to mist and that tightening wound in my chest.

My heart pounded.

“Florence,” Alistair murmured in my ear. “Didn’t you miss me?”

We’re not liars.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked in a pained voice. A small voice, pleading.

Alistair dropped his lips to the side of my neck, breathing me in. He waited, allowing our breaths to intermingle and fall into a rhythm in time with the waves.

I closed my eyes and swallowed the nervous lump in my throat.

“I missed you,” I started quietly, and then stopped. I bit my lips, tasting salt and sea and … man. “I craved you, thought of you every day, every minute, every painful second. Anytime I was with any other person, all I could think about was you.”

My body began to quiver, but not from the cold. Alistair’s entire essence enveloped me and his soul invaded mine, more completely.

Or perhaps it had never left.

Our souls were one and the same.

“I missed you as I’d miss air, as much as I’d miss water. I didn’t
yearn
. I’ve been suffocating, thirsting to the point of going crazy. I’ve been dying slowly with wanting. I haven’t felt whole since we left the hospital together.” My voice cracked at that last sentence, those violently emotional memories flowing out, memories I’d tried so hard to forget. “My heart hurts, it aches, it’s empty … even now. Even now, I’m empty.”