Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  A sign read, “Benji’s explorers, back there.” Books about space, planets, travel, and all the greats like Neal Armstrong, Amelia Earhart, The Tuskegee Airmen, and more littered the area. Telescopes and a model of the solar system were displayed.

  We passed through the science and medical section on our way to the stairs. I briefly took in the medical journals, lab coats, microscopes, beakers, and Bunsen burners.

  We all followed Damon upstairs. The whole floor was dedicated to technology. There were a few glass-enclosed rooms along the perimeter, where class instruction and hands-on training would take place. Lessons about robotics, gaming creation, computer building and programming, and so much more. I followed Damon’s line of sight, to the hanging sign that said, “Damon’s World.”

  People went off to check the place out for themselves, especially the kids, who could be heard oohing and ahhing.

  Max raised an eyebrow at Damon, silently asking, Well, are you proud? Do you approve?

  A little choked up, Damon answered, “Yeah, I am, and I do.”

  My heart was full. Surrounded by friends and the love of my life, doing a job I was born to do. I’d gained so much in a relatively short amount of time, I almost felt undeserving. But then I thought about all that we’d overcome to get here, and it filled me with gratitude.

  Through the trauma came the triumph.

  Epilogue

  We arrived home from the OBH on a high note. Pete’s big solo performance was a hit. And with midnight nearing when we got in, I needed to quickly put my plan into motion. I sent Damon on a late-night drive to get wine. He’d protested but conceded, and I rushed to put the finishing touches on the place before he got back.

  The lights were on a mood setting and the last of the candles lit by the time Damon returned.

  A glance at my watch told me he was just in time. He froze, his lips curving upwards, taking in all that I’d been up to. Freeing him of his wet umbrella and helping him out of his coat, I said, “Merry Christmas and happy birthday, baby.”

  “You remembered.”

  Laughing while hanging his coat on the hook, I grabbed his hand and dragged him into the living room. “Yes, I remembered, silly. When have I ever forgotten?”

  “Well, it’s been some years since I celebrated a birthday so…”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re right. That means we’ve got to make this one count.”

  Between the tree, the candles and the fireplace, we were nicely lit up. With the rain as our backdrop, I’d say the scene couldn’t have gotten any better. I’d already changed into something comfortable, and I made quick work of getting him out of his clothes before heading off to get the champagne flutes, pouring us both a glass.

  “Here’s your gift.” Handing him the box, I got cozy on the floor in front of the fire with him.

  “This is the downside to sharing your birthday with Christ. You get one gift instead of two.”

  “You hate presents. Now stop stalling and open it.”

  He sat my gift down and beckoned for my left hand. Once he had it, he slipped a platinum band, containing a row of emerald and diamond solitaires going around its center, onto the finger that my wedding ring used to occupy. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

  I held up my hand, turning it every which way. The firelight reflected off the stones. Meeting his smoldering gaze, I said, “Yes.”

  He hit me with his slow, cocky, one-sided smirk and said, “I know.”

  I shook my head. Classic Damon.

  “Okay, I see what you tried to do here. You’re not distracting me. Open your gift.”

  He sighed dramatically. He rested his glass down on the floor next to his hip in order to take the wrapping paper off the medium-sized box. When he opened it, he found another wrapped box inside. He rolled his eyes at me, then opened that box too. Another wrapped box was inside. “This isn't funny, Justin.”

  Damon hated opening presents, and I laughed as he tore apart the third box to find an even smaller box inside.

  “Justin!”

  Not finding humor in this game anymore or me falling to my back guffawing hysterically, he went to push himself up from the floor. I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He watched me with suspicion but slowly eased back into place. Wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes, I tried for a serious expression. “I promise that’s the last box.” I did the cross-my-heart bit.

  He shook the box near his ear and frowned as something insubstantial in weight bounced around inside. The pretty paper and box was ripped to shreds a second later; his eyes remained fixed on mine.

  Damon turned the box over his palm, and out fell an intricate Rockford platinum band, the parts locked into place by tiny screws and bolts. Aggressive, but not obnoxious. He turned it over a few times before eyeing me with a squint.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  I leaped on him, and we wrestled until I had possession of the ring, forcefully slipping it onto his finger, proclaiming, “You do.”

  “I do what?” he asked, doing a poor job at playing slow-witted.

  “‘You do’ accept, you idiot. Why do you insist on ruining this for me?”

  He squeezed my nape while I lay on top of him. “Yes, I do. I always did.”

  “I wasn’t expecting this to feel so anticlimactic,” I said quietly.

  “It was perfect. We don’t need the bells and whistles. All that we’ve ever needed, we have right here in this room.”

  Rolling me over, we came together in a clash of tongue and teeth. After tearing away the cotton covering me, Damon settled between my thighs. He fanned my hair out around me as his gaze wandered my face. I bloomed under his attention.

  This time around would be different.

  Our bands collided when Damon entwined the fingers on my left hand with his. He opened me up with his other, while nibbling at my lips, sucking eagerly at my neck and marking me in several places. I soaked it up like a cat in leisure.

  A moan escaped me once he released my hand to take a punishing hold of my hair. His cock simultaneously breached my hole, inch by agonizing inch.

  I wouldn’t call what happened next making love. I’d call it war and peace.

  Damon alternated between rocking into me by degrees, holding me close as he entered and reentered me, while telling me how much he loved me, to me sliding backwards with every forceful thrust of his hips while he screamed for me to shut up and take it. It was unpredictable, and it set my soul on fire.

  Damon’s external beauty would always be a work of art to me. But as you aged, beauty

  became less about what your eyes saw and more about what you saw in their eyes. In his eyes, I saw love in its purest form. Love for what and who we were—both together and apart—and excitement for what we would be in the future.

  I no longer needed to hear him say, “It’s me.” Because any form he came to me in was simply beautiful and accepted.

  “Some people won’t love you no matter what you do, and some people won’t stop loving you no matter what you do. Go where the love is.” So here’s to him loving me and me loving him no matter what. We survived.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  To the beautiful and sweet Caitlin Jennifer from across the pond who eerily has the same exact tastes in books as I do. You were the first one that I told about my brilliant idea to write a book and from the start you made me feel like I could be the next best thing. I sit biting my nails waiting for your thumbs up on everything I write, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as you’ll let me.

  To Charmaine and Rashidah B. Sometimes your visions for how successful I will be can be frightening. Your belief in me surpasses my belief in myself. But you two refuse to accept that I can be anything as bland as mediocre. You kept me motivated and inspired throughout this whole process. Always willing to listen, to encourage, to sample, and ask for more. Never making me feel judged for what I’m into, and
you’re always excited to explore any and everything that I pen, even when it’s far from “your thing.”

  Barbara, thank you for being the best pen pal a girl could ever ask for, and for bravely stepping into my playground even though rainbows and marshmallow hearts are your happy place.

  Yvonne, Glendo and Natalie, thank you for taking photos and mixing cocktails. It mattered.

  And CinSo! You made me better. Thank you.

  About the Author

  C.P. Harris resides in the city that never sleeps, although for her it’s lights-out by ten. She grudgingly dedicates her nine-to-five time slots to the finance world, but her most important role is mother to teenage twins. Her hobbies include traveling, boxing, reading, writing—and more reading. And… more writing. She's always had dreams of being a writer and after waking up from the most disturbing but romantic dream one April morning, she ran out and bought a laptop and hasn't looked back. Romance is where her heart is, but she has plans to spread her wings across genres.