Symphony of Light and Winter

by Renea Mason

  At three in the morning, I woke screaming. Michael placed his hands on my arms and shook me.

  “Linden. Linden. Linden. It’s me. It’s OK. Shhh.”

  “He died?”

  “Who?”

  “Cyril.”

  “Sweetheart, I know he might seem real but he’s not. Dreams can be very convincing. Here…” He got up and moved to the other side of the bed. He climbed in and snuggled behind me. He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around my body. “I’ll protect you. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. None of that was real, you don’t need to worry.”

  I stared at the painting while Michael held me, and tried to convince myself my heart hadn’t broken, and my world hadn’t ended. Wanting to be relieved by the comfort Michael offered, I said nothing else but knew that no one could ever fill the void except the manifestation of Cyril himself.

  Every night ended the same way.

  * * *

  Michael entered the room early Saturday morning with my usual English muffin and coffee for breakfast.

  “Linden, it’s been three months. The doctor said yesterday he is amazed you were released from therapy so soon. He said almost all of your muscle tone is back. I say we celebrate.” His charming boyish grin caused me to smile back every time. There was something so charismatic about him.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I have a paramedic conference to attend in Las Vegas. You should join me and we’ll extend the trip a few days. Lance will be attending too. It will be nice to get in a trip before you finalize your college plans.”

  Lance was also a paramedic and Michael’s best friend. Sometimes when Michael needed to fill in for other EMS companies, Lance would stop by and check on me. I didn’t know him well, but we did spend several nights hysterically laughing at Seinfeld reruns.

  “Ah…I don’t know.”

  “While I’m at the conference you can tour the city and hit the casinos.”

  “Sounds fun, but I’ll have to pass on the casinos for another year or two.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s true, but I want you to enjoy yourself.”

  In typical Michael style, he won me over.

  * * *

  On the third night in Vegas, Michael and I attended a romantic theatrical performance where he became amorous. He started touching me and kept contact as much as possible. When I stayed at his house we had never been intimate, possibly because he was afraid it would complicate my healing progress. I didn’t argue, even though I craved closeness. I could tell he was starting to have second thoughts about the distance between us. I wasn’t a schoolgirl any longer, and welcomed a physical relationship with him. Soft touches to my elbows became arms around my waist, pecks on the cheek, and then passionate kisses.

  At dinner, he ignored all pretenses.

  “Linden, I told you I’d wait and I will. If you aren’t ready to give me your love I understand, but tonight is going to end with you wrapped around me naked, in bed.”

  I choked and spat out my wine. “You sure do know how to set expectations.”

  If it hadn’t been my third glass I probably would have been more appalled, but instead I was amused. Sex—I liked that idea. The warmth of the wine and the embarrassment caused my face to flush.

  “I know it will be your first time. You know how I feel about you. I’ll make love to you gently.” He grabbed my hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “I want to make you mine in every way.”

  I laughed. “Michael, you have me already, because no one else wants me.”

  “Don’t say that. Plenty of people want you. They just can’t have you. Marry me.”

  I laughed so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. “Oh, that’s a good one. You are so funny.” I dramatically slapped the table and then used the surface to balance myself in the chair. I had consumed way too much wine.

  “Linden, think about it. You already live with me; one way or another you will be mine physically, because I am going to have you tonight. Why not make an honest woman of you?” He followed up with a grin, but his eyes remained serious.

  Both he and the wine made convincing arguments; what did I have to lose? That night, I was to become Mrs. Linden Green, and give up my virginity to a beautiful, golden-haired prince, and live happily ever after.

  * * *

  When he said, “I do,’” the look of love and devotion in his eyes overwhelmed me. He looked at me like I was the world’s greatest prize. I wanted to return his adoration, but the part in me unaffected by the wine knew how foolish it was. The side of me influenced by wine felt like a princess in my satin button-down shirt and short pleated skirt.

  Michael purchased two wedding bands at the chapel. As we waited for the clerk to finalize the paperwork, Michael absentmindedly ran his finger over the small gold band on my left hand that identified me as Mrs. Linden Green.

  “When we get home, I’ll get you a diamond.” He raised my hand and kissed it.

  “But you already got me one.” I touched the large, clear stone set in white gold at my throat.

  “I crafted the necklace with much love.”

  I knew he loved me, but his declaration caught me off guard. We had never really spoken of love, or at least I hadn’t. For some reason the necklace irritated my neck the moment I put it on.

  Michael carried me through the streets, pausing to kiss me every ten feet or so. His strength was impressive. I was not light by any means, but he carried me the entire way to the hotel room.

  In the room he wasted no time touching and kissing me. I felt heady with desire from his affections, and the excitement of what was to come.

  I had never been the save-it-for-marriage kind of girl. I had always envisioned test-driving a few models before making the final purchase, but there I was, the virgin bride. Even funnier because of the spur-of-the-moment, wine-influenced, Vegas wedding.

  Michael’s kindness and tenderness minimized my trepidation. With grace and gentleness, he sat me on the bed, not parting his lips from my skin but for a second at a time. He lavished my face, neck, ears, and nose with soft featherlight kisses.

  He looked deep into my eyes. “I have thought about this every day since the moment I first saw you.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You certainly didn’t have to go through all this trouble just to get in my pants.” I smiled at him, but it met a frown.

  “Don’t make light of this, Linden. This is our wedding night. I didn’t do this to get in your pants; in fact, I wasn’t even talking about sex. I was talking about making you mine. You belong to me now.” Perhaps it was the serious delivery, but it made me feel uneasy. Soon enough I was lost again as he unbuttoned my shirt, one button at a time, pausing to kiss the necklace as he dipped his head to my cleavage.

  The soft kisses continued as he slipped my shirt from my shoulders. His hands continued down my back to the clasp on my bra. He released the constraining garment and freed my breasts. He wasted no time capturing one of my nipples between his lips while his fingers toyed with the other, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger while tugging ever so slightly.

  I moaned. The sensations traveling through my ultrasensitive body were intense and made me desperate.

  I tried to reach for his pants, but he pushed my hand away. He looked up into my eyes, and allowed the nipple to slowly escape his lips. “This is about you. I want you to remember this night and know that you gave yourself to someone who loves you.”

  I didn’t acknowledge his sentiments except to drop my hand from his pants.

  He undid the side zipper on my skirt and I kicked off my shoes. He grabbed the bottom of my skirt and slid it down my legs slowly, kissing his way down my stomach and along my thighs and calves. He reached up, grabbed the band of my pantyhose and panties, and in one swift move tugged them down my legs and off my feet. The moment was awkward when I looked down to meet his eyes, but they were too busy perusing my bared skin. After a long moment he met my gaze. “You are th
e most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

  He stepped between my legs, bent and cupped a hand on either side of my face, and kissed my lips softly. He tasted of chocolate and wine. As he continued, I moved my hand to the button on his black dress pants. I undid the button and lowered his fly. He made no move to stop me this time. His lips never left mine as I slipped my hand inside the opening in his silk boxers and grasped his arousal. He gasped, then let out a deep sigh. I continued to stroke the soft skin covering rock-hard flesh. I gathered the wetness that appeared at the tip and smoothed it down his length. When he looked at me his pupils were black and his milky white cheeks flushed.

  He started to unbutton his shirt from the top down. I let go of him, and helped unbutton from the bottom up. His body was exquisite. When his shirt dropped to the floor, I ran my hands over his chest. His skin was smooth, fair, and flawless. The planes of his chest were hard and well defined. He was built like a Scandinavian god. His hips were narrow and even though I had no experience with men sexually, I was excited about the eventual possibilities. Magazines like Cosmo touted a man with a large penis had advantages, but first times could be painful.

  My nerves finally set in. Perhaps the wine began to wear off. I gathered my courage. Grabbing the waistband of his pants and boxers, I pulled them down allowing his erection to spring free. In our current position it stood erect at eye level. Without thought I licked the head of his cock. He groaned. He tasted salty, like the ocean on a haze-covered morning. When I lavished attention on the delicate head and outlined the ridge with my tongue, he gasped.

  I released him for a moment and he finished removing his clothing. When he righted himself, I had him fully seated in my mouth, moving up and down his shaft. With a harsh moan, he grabbed my head and forced me away from his throbbing cock.

  “Sweetheart, I love what you’re doing, but if I’m to consummate this marriage you’re going to have to stop.” He smiled and kissed me softly.

  Reaching under my arms he lifted me and scooted me back on the bed. He hovered over me as he propped himself up on one arm, and then with his other hand reached between my legs. I was wet, ready. His hand touched my heated skin and I almost wept from elation. He stroked me gently and slipped one finger inside. The entire time he caressed and kissed me. Another finger joined his first and then another as he delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure through me.

  As he prepared me and I felt the intensity building, I arched my back and pressed myself against his hand. His movements increased in speed. He applied more pressure. His thumb found my nub and began to rub it in small circles. Three more strokes and two long moans later, I soared as pleasure ripped through me. The feeling of having his fingers inside me while I climaxed was intense. Coated in a thin film of sweat, I had trouble quieting the quaking of my muscles.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered and placed soft kisses all over my face. My eyes were closed and I savored the sensations. I felt him shift and position himself at my entrance. The head of his cock rocked against my wet, swollen flesh.

  “Sweetheart, it’s time to be mine. Do you give yourself to me?” He waited for a response while still rocking himself back and forth in my slickness.

  I would have agreed to anything. “Yes.”

  He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “I’m going to take you now, but I’m going to try to distract you so you won’t notice the pain.”

  He didn’t hesitate. I felt his welcome invasion. He stayed very still with just the head of his cock inside me, and then he did two things at once. In one massive thrust he buried his cock to the hilt, which was actually the second thing I noticed. His distraction was real fucking effective. The first thing was the excruciating bite he delivered to my neck. The pain of taking my virginity paled in comparison to the pain that ravaged my neck.

  Blinding light flashed before my eyes and it was all I could do to remain silent. Clenching my jaw, I stifled my reaction, but one pained groan escaped my lips as my neck continued to throb. My vision blurred and the room around me seemed to waver. I closed my eyes, willing the agony and the dizziness gone. I looked up at Michael.

  He pulled back from my neck and stared at me, concern lacing his features. “It’s OK.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “I thought the distraction might help. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry.” His words were panicked but offered a tone of reassurance. The soft kisses started again and he started to move. His strokes were gentle, almost coddling.

  I wrapped my legs around him and urged him on. He sped up. I gave in to his rhythm. I could tell he was close by the look on his face and the determination of his hips as they pounded against mine. The muscles of his neck were tense. Instinctively I knew what he needed to hear. Wanting it to be over, I did the one thing I was sure would cause him to lose control. “I love you, Michael.”

  Immediately after the words left my lips, he exploded, throwing his head back while his cock made sharp, deep thrusts within me. His breathing was punctuated. He thrust until every ounce of seed had been spent. He remained motionless for several minutes, sighing and taking deep breaths. He leaned forward, resting his arms near my head while he breathed heavily, eyes closed, pressing his forehead to mine.

  He kissed me softly. “I love you too.” Then he rolled off to lie on his side. He wrapped his arms around me. His sighs of contentment were audible as we both drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Several hours later, a strange gurgling sound pulled me from sleep. I ignored it but soon the room felt frigid. I needed to grab an extra blanket from the closet, or perhaps put on some clothes, and finding the toilet was a priority as well. Michael’s arm was still draped across me. His skin felt cold to the touch. When I tried to wiggle out from under him I noticed something was not right. His arm felt too rigid.

  I called out to him, “Michael. Michael. I’m going to get us a blanket.” He did not respond. “Michael?”

  I felt panic set in. I moved to shake him. His skin was stiff.

  I reached for the bedside lamp and the moment the illumination hit, I cried, “No, no, no!”

  I felt for a pulse. The cold skin produced no heat, no warmth. I felt sick, like my stomach turned inside out. The tears came and fell like raindrops on my feet. I stared at his lifeless form. There was blood dried on his lips from where it flowed from his mouth. It formed a red circlet just above where my head had lain, like a morbid halo.

  Then I remembered Lance. He decided to stay the extra time in Vegas with us. I dialed his room on the desk phone. He answered in a groggy voice.

  “Lance, I need you come to our room, something terrible has happened. Hurry, it’s Michael!”

  “Linden?” he said groggily.

  “Yes. Now!” I screamed.

  Only a few minutes passed and Lance was at the door. I was wrapped in the sheet from the bed and couldn’t care less about my modesty.

  “Oh God… Lance, you’ve got to help him. I think he’s dead. Please…”

  He stood there for a moment, surveying Michael’s naked form and said, “How did you do it?”

  Appalled, I screamed at him, “Do it? I didn’t do anything. I woke up to go to the bathroom and found him like that. I didn’t do this.”

  Something that looked like a flash of lightning filled the room.

  He walked toward Michael, checked his pulse and breathing. “Well…he’s dead.”

  I openly sobbed while Lance stood cool and collected. There was a disturbance to the air and I started to feel woozy.

  I glared at Lance. He didn’t seem the slightest bit upset. I guessed it was an occupational hazard. After your one-hundredth traffic fatality perhaps one gets desensitized, but it was Michael, his friend. Hell, he owed me a reaction.

  He stood calmly and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Look…I’ll…take care of this. You go get dressed and let’s get you on the first flight back to Pittsburgh. There’s a protocol we have to follow. I’ll co
ntact the authorities and then call you with arrangements.”

  It was like my body had a mind of its own, following a script I wasn’t privy to. The physical me protested.

  I heard myself ask, “Lance, what are you going to do? We got married tonight.” That seemed to get his attention. Something flashed. What the fuck was going on? Lance’s image shimmered. What the fuck?

  Shimmering Lance ushered me toward the bathroom. I mindlessly took his cue, but first walked over and took one last look at Michael and kissed his forehead while dropping tears on his face, hoping they might bring him back to life. After an insanely long time, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and did as Lance instructed.

  Lance shoved my suitcase toward me and pointed to the bathroom. “Hurry up. I need to make a few calls and you need to be out of here before anyone arrives. It will be easier to explain.”

  I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Strange feelings assaulted me as I grasped the handle of the suitcase and turned around. I was met by another flash of blinding light. As my eyes refocused, the room contorted and in the distance I saw the piano room in Cyril’s house. From behind me, Lance was saying something about Michael’s family and that he’d call me. It was then I remembered Cyril’s tight grip on my head, his mumbled apology, and the fading of reality just before I relived every moment with him and his enemy. Prick!

  He was in my damn head. I channeled all my fury and screamed at him through the haze. “Damn you, Cyril! You stupid fucking asshole!”

  There weren’t enough expletives to throw at him. I think at one point I even made up a few. “Get the fuck out of my head, you. You motherfu—”

  Overwhelmed by the sensation of falling forward, I put my arms out to brace myself and landed on my hands and knees. I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting to see what had happened. It had all been so weird; I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up in Oz or Wonderland. I held still, waiting for the room to stop spinning. When I felt it was safe, I opened my eyes. I was in the piano hall as suspected. Son of a bitch.